Mid-life crisis? No, just practical
I’m sure it’ll smack of guy-in-transition-mid-life-crisis, but I have the new-found desire to buy a motorcycle.
And while I am a guy in transition and I am nearing middle age, I look upon this idea from a practical standpoint.
Gas is nearing $3.50 a gallon and I drive a 4Runner that on its best days gets 20 mpg in the city.
(I will not bitch about paying that much for gas; I need it and I use the 4Runner as it was intended and I have the dings and dents to prove it.)
There are just days where I wonder if I could do more for the planet. Reduce greenhouse gasses. Reduce traffic congestion.
Yes, I should ride my bike to work. But with the distance between work and home, it just isn’t practical.
So, motorcycle.
(And it just so happens that my bestest friend’s family owns the Suzuki dealership in town.)
Couple of problems.
I am scared shitless of motorcycles.
Because I don’t know how to ride one.
“Dude, all you have to do is get the hand clutch down and the pedal,” that Meat-eating Robot said. “You drove a stick in the Rodeo and the Tacoma, right?”
Yeah, but not very well. I drove five-speed vehicles for 12 years and managed to kill them at weird moments.
“I did not know that,” the Robot said, laughing. “Really, dude, you can do it.”
So I ponder the possibilities.
And the chicks who dig motorcycles.
In leather bustiers.
It could happen.
And while I am a guy in transition and I am nearing middle age, I look upon this idea from a practical standpoint.
Gas is nearing $3.50 a gallon and I drive a 4Runner that on its best days gets 20 mpg in the city.
(I will not bitch about paying that much for gas; I need it and I use the 4Runner as it was intended and I have the dings and dents to prove it.)
There are just days where I wonder if I could do more for the planet. Reduce greenhouse gasses. Reduce traffic congestion.
Yes, I should ride my bike to work. But with the distance between work and home, it just isn’t practical.
So, motorcycle.
(And it just so happens that my bestest friend’s family owns the Suzuki dealership in town.)
Couple of problems.
I am scared shitless of motorcycles.
Because I don’t know how to ride one.
“Dude, all you have to do is get the hand clutch down and the pedal,” that Meat-eating Robot said. “You drove a stick in the Rodeo and the Tacoma, right?”
Yeah, but not very well. I drove five-speed vehicles for 12 years and managed to kill them at weird moments.
“I did not know that,” the Robot said, laughing. “Really, dude, you can do it.”
So I ponder the possibilities.
And the chicks who dig motorcycles.
In leather bustiers.
It could happen.
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