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Wild Motorcycle Weekend |
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by Diane Gross
It's SATURDAY and “toy run time.” A toy run is when motorcycle riders ride from one destination to another with toys strapped on their bikes for kids. Sometimes runs provide Christmas gifts for underprivileged kids, sometimes they raise money during disasters that have left families destitute. A small-town fire department near Cordele, Georgia, was sponsoring a toy run to give teddy bears to kids who lost their belongings in fires. What a great thing to do. Then afterwards we would ride to this terrific place to get a steak. I bought a big teddy bear, put goggles on her too, and sat her proudly behind me peeking out of the brand new sac. I loaded SportyGirl, my Harley Davidson Sportster, on my trailer and headed south on I-75 to Cordele!
When we started out, the skies were as blue as my baby girl’s eyes! It was awesome hearing the roar of so many bikes. I thought, "If I keep smiling this big, I'll find out what 'bugs on your teeth' really feels like," -- especially with no windshield or full-face helmet!
We got to this restaurant -- clearly nowhereville! It must have a hellava reputation because . . . Dorothy, I don't think we're in Gawjah anymore! I swear I could smell the ocean! Anyway, the steak was good and even my petite version filled half the platter ? but I just kept watching the sky get darker and darker -- hoping someone would soon be ready to leave. We started back at dusk, After a gas stop, a couple of guys asked me if 50mph was slow enough for me. Slow enough?!?!? I said it was FINE!!! I was embarrassed that they may think I am too old to go as fast as they went. At the second stop, one of the guys following in a pickup truck asked me if I wanted to let someone else drive and then I could ride with him. What's going on? HECK NO -- I WAS GONNA DO THIS! It was my own fault that I was uncomfortable -- I should have put the right stuff in that brand new bag -- now I am the one who will pay the price ? along with some of the riders who wanted to get home quicker. Oh well -- it's water under the bridge now, ain't it? Did I say "ain't?" I think I’ve been around these folks too long! The night air got colder and wind relentlessly sliced across my cheeks like razorblades. It was closing my nostrils (they actually took turns closing depending which direction I was going). I could feel myself breathing but my lips were permanently parted. My teeth were so dry and my eyes so wet that I found myself praying that the tears would make a path to my parched mouth (which now resembled the rim of a margarita glass). Why didn't I buy a windshield instead of a bag yesterday? Too many thoughts in and out of my head -- they all blended in my tummy and raced back to my brain! I kept thinking, “Why the heck did I do this? I don't even fly in airplanes . . . I could be a statistic tomorrow. If I had prepared smarter -- I would have bought a windshield and better goggles, and I would have had extra clothes in the bag -- INSTEAD of a TEDDY BEAR! There wouldn’t be any "BE PREPARED" merit badge for this girl scout! Finally the sign -- "Cordele 60 miles" . . . but could I go another 60 miles? My teeth began to chatter. It was uncontrollable -- my stupid chin was going faster than me! Even though I was wearing a leather jacket, I was freezing and knew hypothermia was near -- my own goose bumps had goose bumps! I was ready for the funny farm . . . “Come on guys, bring the white jacket with the long sleeves (hey that actually isn't a bad idea)!” I had to get a hold of myself -- I was losing this war with my emotions. Singing seemed to be the only thing to slow my chattering chin down . . . so I sang! "I Wanna Go Home, oh Lord . . . I Wanna Go Home!" We did get back to Cordele (or I wouldn't have written this). I spotted my motorcycle trailer -- and the ramp was still down -- YES!!!! Now I didn't care if it took another hour on the road to get home -- I NEEDED home!" I needed a glass of good brandy, my steaming hot tub, and my BED. I just rode her right up the ramp, tied her down like a cowboy roping a calf -- and headed north faster than I had gone all day! Am I whining? Me? Is getting pelted in my permanently opened mouth with protein-rich bugs, wind blasting through my inexpensive goggles attacking my contact lenses, and having to ride back 130 miles in the cold and dark -- fun? Yes, part of it definitely was fun! And the part that wasn’t was a learning experience -- now I know riding 257 miles on a motorcycle takes more than gassing up and sticking a teddy bear in a bag! Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks? Not true -- next time this girl scout WILL "be prepared!" "HarleyGirl Diane," as she's known in biking circles, can be reached by email via her real name, Diane Gross. Read HarleyGirl Diane's first story -- click here. |
My
Bikes
came from everywhere -- all kinds of bikes and all kinds of people
too. I said ALL KINDS! I crowned myself Watermelon Queen of South
Georgia and stood proud with my brand spankin new, seed-spittin,
frog-giggin, hard-riden biker buds! These folks ranged from clean-cut,
English-speaking professionals to a few who I suspect were in
the movie "Deliverance." Differences sure make life interesting!
After
we rode for a couple of hours and stopped for gas, I heard a few
comments. . . "Who's idear was it to start out so late?" As some
bikes turned off at an intersection, I heard, "Where da heck did
they jist go?" Then, "We autta be sucking that beef n' brew down
in prit'neer an hour or two -- and be headin' back come dark."
Did he really mean . . . "in the dark?"