I finally got to ride on The Lad’s motorbike this weekend. His spare helmet is too big for me so it tends to wobble around on my head a lot; I probably look like a Parkinson’s sufferer from the outside.
On the first ride we took he reminded me to lean with the driver into the turns, which I’d already known from having ridden around on the back of my dad’s bike when I was nine or so. What I forgot was that at nine I was (a little) smaller than I am now, a lesson which was quickly brought home the first time I leaned my whole weight into a turn, putting my body parallel to the ground and nearly capsizing the bike. Ah, physics, you tempermental whore.
Six people searching google for “tempermental whores” will come here today and be wretchedly disappointed.
I also find I have a tendency to bunch my whole body up against his back like a small, frightened hamster girl. After a few rides, he suggested that maybe I could lean back a bit as the weight on his wrists was starting to induce carpal tunnel. “You can hold on anywhere,” he reminded me. “Your death grip could be, for example, on my shoulders, rather than my air supply.” Reading between the lines, one can infer that I might as well be holding onto an imaginary bar in the air, for all the good it will do me when we have to stop suddenly and I am flung headf–Mom, do you still read this? Because that bike is totally, totally safe and I’m not going to ride on it anymore anyway.
Moving right along…tonight is sushi night, hosted of course by Sushi. It sounds very adult but I understand it’s more of a Girls Gone Wild night of covering each other in sticky rice.
Oh man, I apologize also to everyone searching Google for that phrase.
