Tuesday, February 17, 2009


There are some things that you just don't do after turning 50.

Your bones are becoming 'brittle' (which used to be a cool kinda chocolate and nut candy deal that you spread out on a heavily buttered pan). 'Cracked pelvis' actually means something now.

You know more about fiber, irregularity and prunes than you ever wanted to, and worse yet, now you NEED to know it.

A regiment of daily aspirin is undertaken (doesn't that sound like it should be some kind of contact sport for the geriatric crowd - on horseback with armor). Your muscles now sag instead of bouncing back.

And, as my dad used to say, you read the obituaries just to be certain yours has not been published yet.

In other words, you ain't a youngster no more.

Sure, somethings you can get away with - in the Southwest where I live, our motorcycle 'gangs' are entirely grey-haired couples with flesh bulging out of the leather vests. Convertibles, which actually are sensible vehicles out here, are a standard for the mid-life crisis crowd.

But how many 'mature' individuals do you know that have gone sky-diving for the first time? Learn to pole vault? Walk barefoot over glowing coals? (although now I would love to do that - remind me to tell you about it sometime)

However, I am seriously considering getting a motorcycle to ride. At age 53.

My brother got a little tiny two-stroke Honda when I was 12, and of course taught me to ride it as soon as he could. And since I was 5'10" already, never got stopped or questioned and could ride it anywhere.... when I could talk my brother out of it and would promise to fill up the tank before I brought it home.

And it was a blast. Literally. Wind whipping through my hair (only sissies wore helmets back then), the asphalt disappearing under the wheels of the motorcycle.

Okay, okay, let's not call it a motorcycle. It was a bicycle with at least the concept of an engine on it. And to buzz up to the movie theatre or down to my best friend's house, it was just great.

Fast forward to this past year.

When gasoline prices began to hit the $3.00 for a gallon, the distance between us and the vaguest suggestion of civilized life (i.e. a store that sold something besides gasoline and highly caffeinated sodas) suddenly became to look costly.

About then I began to seriously consider going back to a motorcycle simply to save some money on cash. And I do admit, I like the idea of feeling the wind in my hair again... although I would wear a helmet each and every time I got on that bike.

Somehow, this is the only image that comes to mind.

And I'm not sure if its gonna work.


Lisa said...

Might be worth a try! Although maybe that's the whole reason gas prices went back down- the nation's fear that Hope would get on a motorcycle!!

Annette said...

Are you ready to give up that truck held together by bumper stickers? :)

Sailing Past Maturity Straight into Senility said...

Give up my truck? NEVER! Even if I am forced to bow to obscene gasoline prices and drive two wheels instead of four, my truck will ALWAYS be MINE!!!!

(And it's the one vehicle that is actually paid off, so if nothing else, I can use it to pick up hay)