Two wheels and a wailing hamstring.

In like a lion, out like a lamb. My arse.

Not a lion or a lamb, just a gratuitous Lucky Humperdink shot...


If I possessed a magic wand to erase both March and April from my thirty-ninth year, I would so use that bad boy to wipe those two months from my memory. Eight weeks of trauma and drama, more tears than I thought I could shed. Countless loveys telling me that I look like shit, albeit in a loving way. Sleepless nights, worrying and scurrying, and feeling helpless because I cannot help those who don't want to be helped. Anger and exhaustion and fear, knowing that my love is not enough to pull someone up. Throw in a wicked cold, a pulled hamstring, the inability to run more than a few hundred feet without my hamstring kicking my arse ( no, literally, seizing up and kicking my arse into stopping that incessant attempt at movement), a couple of biopsies, enough whining in my noggin for a lifetime, and I have been right on the dark edge of despondency.

I hate whiny people. Seriously, I hate people who revel in telling you about their gout and corns and hinky step-cousin and bad childhood. I loathe the people who gain their identity from how things happen to them. And yet, here I am. Whiny and just a step shy of telling the intertubes about my fallopian tubes, family trauma and Redneck-Sopranos upbringing.

So I switched gears this weekend. Literally switched gears.  With this finicky girl.

Notice she is named Pretty Girl, Not Nice Girl with a Smooth Shift...


Call it a bucket list check, but I took a class. To refresh what it feels like to ride a motorcycle. Sixteen hours of counter-weighting and swerving and tight turns and stopping on a dime. FYI, Pretty Girl had the shittiest shifting I could have imagined, and she was pretty herky jerky. And by the end of the class, on a windy, drizzly thirty degree day, I was as herky jerky as Pretty Girl was. So much so that I am going back this weekend for a bit more punishment/joy.

Pretty Girl was kind of a mean girl, but she reminded me how much I like feeling free. When I was shifting up and pulling the throttle, I actually forgot about my hamstring screaming at me and all of the heaviness that  awaits me. I was in the 'right here, right now', with no room to think about anything but the two wheels underneath me.

This might be a love affair. If my hamstring will stop the incessant wailing.


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