June 10, 2011 Harley Momma

My dad was a lawyer. Several of the rules in our house arose out of his experiences as an attorney. For example, we would walk to school every morning. I thought it was cool to step off the curb and take a few steps into the street as a car was coming, then when the car passed, I'd be well on my way. He told me not to do that. Not because it wasn't safe. I shouldn't do it because if the car hit me, I'd have a better lawsuit if I was standing on the curb when I was hit rather than in the street.

But, the BIG rule, was: NO MOTORCYClES. EVER. UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. EVER. NOPE. DON'T EVEN LOOK AT ONE. DON'T TOUCH ONE. AND DON'T EVER, EVER, EVER GET ON ONE. EVEN PARKED. NO. DO. NOT. DO. IT. I MEAN IT.

Breaking this commandment was a groundable offense. There was no justification for ever being on a motorcycle. And a motorcycle was defined as anything with 2 wheels and a motor.

I was in about 8th grade and a friend and I were at the bowling alley. (Probably eating, since bowling was never quite my thing) A guy I sort of liked came by on a little motorbike. He stopped and we talked. HE SHUT THE MOTORCYCLE OFF. IT WAS NOT RUNNING. THE ENGINE WAS OFF. I SWEAR.

I asked him if I could sit on the motorcycle. What harm could there be in that?

A lot, as it turned out.

He forgot to tell me about the heat of the tailpipe. I didn't know about the heat of the tailpipe. I fried the inside of my leg. The burn was about the size of 2 side by side half dollars. The pain was indescribable. The first thing my friend said? "Your dad is going to kill you!" Kill? Not likely. Ground me? Most certainly. It was summer, the pool was calling. I'd rather be killed.

I shouldn't have worried about the pool, I couldn't get that massive burn wet for weeks. Well, it seemed like weeks, anyway. Still have the scar. Still remember telling my dad what happened. He didn't care that the motorcycle was off. A rule was a rule and if I'd sit on a motorcycle with the engine off, then it's a slipperly slope to buying a Harley and riding off into the sunset.

Oh, I've been a passenger on a motorcycle since I've become an adult (pause for laughter). Less than 5 times. Scared to death each time. Scared to death that my dad would find out and ground me.

I've never been the driver - - until last night. I climbed on this bad boy and took off.

I was pretty good on the straight aways, but I never did master turning corners. Just ask the lady whose yard I drove through. And stopping was a bit of an issue. Did you know that you can't just put your feet down? You have to use the hand brakes? And back off the throttle? Who can think to do all those things?

Especially when all you can hear is your dad's voice saying "Sarah, you're grounded."