The 360 Degree View

This little piggy's eyes light up red... I also love the curly little tail!

I have a friend named Michael. Michael has a Harley Davidson Ultra Classic motorcycle in Black Pearl and Black Cherry. He also has a boa constrictor named Esmeralda and a few more tattoos than I am accustomed to but he cooks, does graphic design is into yoga and loves music- so we have a lot of things to chat about- more than you'd think since I weenie'ed out on the tattoo and snakes scare me witless. I like it when my comfort zone gets challenged - well, eventually I like it.


Motorcycles have always scared me. When I was 5 or so I witnessed a pretty awful bike accident on a freshly graded road outside the bungalow colony where we were staying. The victims were young and wore no helmets so the accident was, as much as I can recall, pretty terrible, and fatal. From this I gleaned a life-long staunch support of helmet laws and the thought that I would never park myself on the back of a motorcycle. Do not underestimate the zeal of a veteran Harley Davidson fan for sharing his passion for riding or the strength of a fourty-something woman's response to the question, "What are you, chicken?"

Absolutely not. Kind of not. Hide the damned snake and bring on the bike.

Michael picked me up across the street from my office at the corner of 34th Street and 10th Avenue. He could have misinterpreted my greeting- I hugged him so hard someone passing yelled "Get a room!" Obviously clinging for dear life and l'amour look very similar when viewed from the outside. I figured the longer I hugged the longer I lived. My office mates on the third floor cheered out the window from across the street- there seemed to be a lot of misinterpreting going on. I think I might have also hugged a bit hard- when a man who can tattoo HIMSELF says- "I can't breathe here Hun... you're crushing my windpipe." it's time to stop hugging and face the muffler. And exhaust pipes.

It was... a BIG bike- saddle bags (not "side things") and the trunk (not "that box on the back") as well as my very own seat behind the driver- "It's really comfy"- said Michael-I poked it the same way a 4 year old does liver- with extreme prejudice. But it was...squishy (also like liver, funnily enough)- I looked at the width of it, did a little mental math and realized my butt would fit- this was good to know as there seemed to be no other seats available except the driver seat and THAT I would save for some other time. I wondered if, like a horse there was a wrong and right way to mount this puppy- the right approach seemed to be from the kickstand side on the left. I had a fashion crisis on this adventure- I like wearing dresses and skirts to work- but when I thought about how one sits upon a motorcycle I had never seen anyone ride side-saddle. I decided the best course of action was work-worthy jeans- black, black shirt, silver concha belt and the only shoes that went with the outfit- boots, so pointy Michael asked.."Where exactly are your toes in those things?" I wished I could say "Home, with the rest of me." I just smiled weakly. I put on this little helmet, a kind of a cap really- there are two names for this style of helmet- the first is "peanut shell" which kind of made me laugh- strenuously hoping that this teensy thing would protect my peanut- and the nuts inside. The other name is "brain bucket". I chose not to think too hard about that one.

Michael had warned me that city driving was a bit scary- maybe for him. For me, sitting in the parking lot stock-still was a bit scary (serious understatement here). He started the bike- said "Are you ready?" and wisely did not wait for a reply. We took off and at that moment I regretted all the mean things I have ever done to anyone, regretted not travelling more when I had the chance and most of all, deeply regretted drinking a 20 ounce Diet Coke just before leaving the office. My heart was in my throat and racing, lungs pumping and we won't even discuss my bladder. The wind was rushing past me- and cars were a whole lot closer than I thought they should be. Michael hit the gas- or rather he...did that thing with the handle (throttle?) that makes the engine go "vroom, vroom" and we sped down 8th Avenue- destination: Brooklyn and the "Celebrate Brooklyn" opening show with The Neville Brothers at the Prospect Park Bandshell. Michael's sidekick on the bike is a computerized navigation system called a Garmin. It mounts on the handle bars and shows maps, restaurants, gas stations and so on. The Garmin also seems to like to take the long way. I was too breathless to give driving directions, any air I was taking in was being used for promises to my God should I survive the night.



The Garmin. And me, in the rear view mirror.

Wind was whipping past me and even though we stopped frequently for red lights we still seemed to be moving at a fair clip. I had my hands on Michael's shoulders (the seat in the back was kind of like a booster- I was at least 6" higher than the driver.). To his credit Michael was fairly calm when he mentioned "If you dig your nails into my shoulder like that it distracts me from the road" This seemed less than desirable- my nails retracted immediately and I settled for clenching my toes instead.

As with most things- as we rode I became distracted- began to be less aware of being scared. We started onto the Manhattan bridge ramp into Brooklyn and I began to notice the view- not just the traffic or the water or the skyline, though they were all there. It was ... a vista without obstruction. No windows or doors, no walls, just me- and the wind on my body, the sun on my face. Three hundred and sixty degrees- of view. Of life. Nothing between me and it but living it. Past being afraid was this exhilarating moment - a huge yawning sensation in my stomach that wasn't fear, but a space for new experiences to excite me and feed my soul.

We rode around for several hours more. I learned when we arrived at the park, that the Nevilles had played the night before. Oops my bad. My next life goal will be to learn to read the calendar. But as we went back to Manhattan on my favorite of all bridges- the Brooklyn Bridge, and I saw Mr. Roebling's wonderful structure as never before, spinning its magical web of cables above me and the roadbed flashing past, I realized that it's not about the destination- or even about the journey- it's about all those wacky little detours that make my life so much fun.

:) X 24