It was a wonderful morning to ride — the sun was out, the wind was down, and the country air filled the lungs; it was one of those moments when someone says, "It's a great day to be alive".
But no one did.
What someone did say was they'd just got the tags for their motorcycle and were ready to ride. Akin to the shame that must come when you know you have a red headed stepchild locked in the attic, I finally said I would order my tags right away.
You see, I have another two wheels just sitting quietly, more than a little neglected, and patiently waiting — my Yamaha FZ-09 is covered from the elements and if truth be told, symbolically covers my guilt. She was built for the open road and hasn't seen it for two years. If this isn't shameful, than at the very least it's rude.
With my ride behind me, it didn't take long before I found myself standing quietly with a motorcycle battery in one hand and a key in the other — with some trepidation I removed the cover to behold the same beauty I remember. With the battery installed, and with little hesitation, she started up right away; the "seductive purr" of my bike recognized instantaneously like the whispers of a lost lover. My neglectful ways were forgiven and the only stipulation for complete absolution was the open road. She will be tagged in a week.
I don't have the heart to tell either of them that my Gary Fisher in the basement is going to see the trails this year. And sadly, "three times two wheels" is just a little too many so one of them is going to drawn the short straw.
I like to spread the neglect around — after all, it's the fair thing to do.