I love my motorcycle, and I'm sure it loves me, in a way. I think.

As a kid, I never had a dirt bike or a quad or anything motorized. My dad putted me around a few times on his little motorcycle, but I'm pretty sure my mom didn't want it around.  She always told me about her cool Uncle who was a biker and would go away for months and then show up with some girl with an Afro on the back of his bike. He sounded like he had a cool life. I never thought I would ride though, because I'm a chicken shit.
    After I started my apprenticeship, I started hanging around all the guys from the shop. There were always bikes around, and most of them rode at some point or another. I though the bikes were cool, but never really gave it much more thought. We took a shop trip to Cottonwood to tattoo at the Smokeout West the first year I was there. I rode up in the chase car while all the boys rode their motorcycles. Some had girls on the back and I watched them all riding together and thought it looked super fun. While we were up there I saw all kinds of cool choppers and even got to ride on the back with my buddy Shane. I told everyone that night that I was gonna have a kick ass chopper no matter what I had to do.  I was also drunk.
       A few years later, after having spent a lot more time on the back of bikes, I had my opportunity. I found a Sportster which was pretty cheap, all stock and running well. Long Jon figured it would be good for me to learn on seeing as I had never ridden anything besides a bicycle. I bought it, and I decided I wouldn't do anything to it til I was done crashing it.
     I will never forget my first try at riding that thing. Jon dressed me up in a leather jacket that was too big, gloves boots, and a bobble head helmet. I felt like I actually was retarded. I could not fathom trying to do anything which required coordination while wearing this crap, and I was already scared. He took me and the bike to the empty Cosco parking lot, and showed me how to start the bike, put it in gear, and then just scoot forward with my feet down. He did it so easily. I tried my turn, and started the bike fine. Then I pulled in the clutch fine. When I started to go, I immediately fell over. Instantly. I was so embarrassed, but I figured I was glad I got that out of the way, now let's really ride this thing. When he helped me right myself, and checked the bike, I tried again. I immediately fell over. I was like a weeble that always falls down. Then I was scared and I said I was done can we please go home? Jon said " Do you want to ride this thing or not? Get back on it right now." One does not argue with a direct command from this man.
      This time, he got on the back, and essentially rode the bike for me with me in the front. He helped me with the controls, but it helped me get a feel. I think I screamed the whole time. Needless to say, he suggested I take the motorcycle safety class.
      I signed up, showed up and felt sick the whole time. The first day was just videos and written tests. I did great on those. But the next day was going to be riding and I was terrified. They told us that if you fall you fail. I was going to fall.
     I came to the class the next day, and I was ready for what was surely going to be my last day on earth. They had to be kidding. Me? Ride a motorcycle?... But I decided to try. They Started us out slowly, explaining the parts, and the way the bike works and all that. Then they made us walk the non running bike around to feel our balance. I was ok with that. When we finally turned them on and were instructed to do what I had just tried to do before, I was ready... I started to go, and magically stayed up. By the time I was done that day, I was riding that damn thing and I was saying in my head, "I'm riding this fucking thing! All by myself motherfucker!". Let's just say I still couldn't do a goddamned figure 8 though.
      When the class was over, one girl had fallen and cried and failed, another one just opted out. Not me! I passed but only by 1 point. The instructors asked me if I could stay and take the afternoon class too, but I had to work. They made me promise not to ride in the street. I got my license! (but I'm not supposed to use it)
     Well, if you know me you know that I do use it! A lot! Being here in Payson where we can't store our bikes means I can't ride for the time being unless I'm in Phoenix, so I miss my bike. I'm just amazed when I think back on all this just a few years ago. Since then, I have ridden it everywhere, with lo's of cool people. I rode across the beartooth pass in Montana with a buncha good ole boys, I rode my ass from Montana to Sturgis in the rain with Don Wood, I rode in the Cycle source ride right through a fucking car wash in Sturgis with like 200 other people on kick ass bikes, I crashed my bike naked in Illinois, I won two bike shows with that dirty ass thing, including one in the Limpnickie lot, and I can't even describe how much fun it is to have and to ride. I absolutely fucking love that thing and I would never have forgiven myself if I chickened out and stayed on the fender so to speak. Even though it still scares me to death especially when I hear stories about handlebars randomly falling off, or people left turning you or tires ripping up, I've just learned to enjoy the scared feeling cuz otherwise I might as well be taking the bus.
    Not to mention all of the friends I have made because of our mutual interest, There are really some of the best people in the world out there on bikes, and if you are living a certain lifestyle, it is nice to meet people who essentially live the same, but are all so different as well. Never have I had friends who are so helpful, and thoughtful. They really do treat you like family. I think because sometimes their families want them to get rid of the bike, or just don't understand why you can't pay your rent but you have the money for a new front end...now if I could just find a girl with an Afro I'll be all set.