Resurecting the random muse

Feeling a need to break from sociology research for a bit, inspired by an arbitrary random event today, and a memory evoked from a blog post by trophos just the other day I feel as if it is a great time to muse on life for a short time.

Topic: younger days, stupid but incredibly fun moments and the realization that at 52 I once had a life much different from what I am living now.

My fellow blogger wrote of a man on a motorcycle from her past. Many memories of my own man on a motorcycle came flooding back. What I didn’t share in my response with her is that I can say I had 3 men on 3 motorcycles come and go in my life in a short period of time many years ago. A little look back is in order, inspired by an obscure song that really means nothing to this conversation and a funny little scooter that just passed me winding its way down the road at a slow but steady pace.

Motorcycle man #1

His name was Don. He was a friend of a sort of ex-friend. I was twenty-ish. He was forty something and married. He rode a Harley. Looking back now I’m sure it was one of those male midlife crisis purchases. I’ve seen that trend in the forty-ish something man a lot since then. I rode with him a few times on the back of that Harley. I was so altogether naive. Don’t ask how I could be that naive even at twenty. He was a nice man. Scratch that, a nice older man. I was not into older men, but I was into taking a ride on his Harley. When his advances were not met with his desired outcome both he and his Harley no longer roared up to my apartment doorway. I still have a fleeting image of Don jump into my head every time I hear a Harley.

Motorcycle man #2

His name was Mike. He was one of my patients. No, I don’t think I violated any professional codes with this one. As far as I know there is no hard and fast rule that forbids a dental assistant from casually dating one of her patients but I may be wrong. Mike worked construction I think and was really into Martial Arts. His teeth weren’t great, thus the reason our relationship began in the first place. He was easy to chat with, nice looking despite the amount of dental work we were doing in his mouth and had a sort of bad boy biker image while the underneath was really rather sweet. For those of you old enough to remember I would suggest thinking Bob Seger circa the late 1970’s. I would specifically suggest Bob Seger singing Roll Me Away. I must pause a moment to listen to this song and smile.

I am back, although the pause was longer than expected as I had to scroll through a few other songs by Bob.

Mike and I did not date in the true sense of the word. We went to lunch a few times. A few eyebrows were raised as we pulled back into the parking lot of my dental office on his motorcycle after lunch. I think I remember a dinner and I definitely remember going with him once to a Martial Arts competition. I also remember 1 night and then it was over. Mutually over.

Motorcycle man #3

His name was Paul. I knew him in high school slightly. I then came to know him again because in a long involved way he came to know my ex boyfriend. This was the ex boyfriend whom I did not want to be “the ex” at the time. Young, stupid, and thinking it was love. It took me a while but I realized that was not love. Paul in some odd way that I don’t really remember became the ex boyfriends roommate after I exited the shared house. The ex and I had many mutual friends and we would run into each other quite often initially after the break up. Paul again was one of those bad boys. Paul was also really into drugs. Lots of drugs. This was probably 1980 or 1981. This was my I’m-going-to-do-everything-I-didn’t-do-in-high-school-phase. This was also my I’m-going-to-get-back-at-the-ex-for-dumping-me-phase.

Come to think of it, I believe that drugs were what drew the ex and Paul together. I think they worked with each other and through a mutual interest in all things hemp related, they became friends. The ex originally had been a “good boy” but he had his rebellious phase prior to mine and chose to jump on the experimental bandwagon. Long story that is best saved for later but my outcome with Paul was two-fold. A downright, flaunt it in your face one night stand under the very roof of the house I used to share with the ex and the drunkest motorcycle ride I have ever taken meaning the only drunk motorcycle ride I have ever taken.  In fact, I am pretty sure I haven’t been on a motorcycle since.

I look back on this night and wonder how and why I am still alive. The short version is that I appeared at a party with some of those mutual friends from earlier in the story. I drank, a whole lot. Paul had a motorcycle and Paul was going for a ride. Paul was drunk, high, hot and exactly what I thought would make the ex jealous.

I truly have no concept of where we went, how fast we were going or how long we were gone. I remember leaning into a corner, sliding, gravel, laughing hysterically and then we were back at the party. I never would have suspected until hearing Paul telling someone nearby just how close he came to dumping the bike that that particular ride may have been my last forever, taking away any choice I ever had to ride anywhere again.

Even though I know and understand the stupidity now I can’t help feeling a little smile tug at the corners of my mouth when I remember all three of those motorcycle men.



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