When I was a teenager my father pointedly told me, “You will not date a boy with a motorcycle. Ever.” He was also the guy who made me ride my ten-speed on the sidewalk (I was officially a dork) and instructed me to always RUN when I crossed the street even if I had the Walk sign.
My safety was paramount.
On a side note: there was an add-on to the Guys You Can’t Date list which happened when my dad was driving and we pulled up to a red light. The bumper sticker on the vehicle in front of us said:
A boyfriend with a van was out of the question.
I actually feared motorcycles well into my adult life. I wouldn’t dream of riding on the back of a bike until something happened. I wrote about it in my post, The Bad Boy Experience, and once I felt the freedom of riding in the wind, I was hooked.
Many years after my first bike experience, I briefly dated a cop. He was a high-ranking guy in Metro, but started as a motorcycle officer.
He was kind. I was a single parent and just about as stressed as anyone could be with an intense job, raising my girls alone, and the dreaded monthly bills that always left me with less than I needed. I didn’t have much time for dating so we talked on the phone many evenings when my teenage daughters had gone to sleep.
On a few occasions (late at night) when I was at the breaking point he’d show up at my house on his Harley and take me for a ride. We’d go from Las Vegas to Boulder City and then he’d bring me home. My brain was finally quieted and I slept soundly on those nights.
Two months ago, my doorman, Frank, took me for a ride on his Harley after he’d finished his shift.
I was struggling with something I was writing; my brain on overload and I asked if he wouldn’t mind helping me out. We rode along West Side Highway, the Hudson River in our sights, and when he brought me back to the building I was able to finish the piece I was working on. He told me his beautiful wife loved to ride on the bike with him and he was one lucky guy.
I don’t want my own motorcycle. They still seem a little scary.
BUT, I’m now considering another option.
MN has a Vespa. Yep, told ya he was fun.
Click here if you don’t know about MN (Mr. Normal).
We’ve been on two more dates and at my request, he’s picked me up. We’ve ridden around the city, scooting in and out of traffic with ease. One evening he took me for a ride on his side of the Hudson and the view of the city was spectacular.
I’d also like to mention something I learned:
A Vespa is cool.
When stopped at traffic lights in Hoboken we were told, “Great Vespa!” and “I want one of those,” by two different carloads of hipsters.
Given the average hipster’s lack of enthusiasm for almost everything it was impressive. Although, now that I’m thinking, it could’ve been sarcasm (dreadful human beings).
Nonetheless, I’m considering getting rid of my car and Vespa-ing up.
I’m still having massive fun with MN, that hasn’t changed. We’ve gotten to know each other better–shared lots of stuff. I’ve talked about what I plan to do once my year of blogging about online dating is over. I’ve been brainstorming about ways to use these experiences to do something bigger.
On our last date he told me, “You’re moving at the speed of light and I’m at the speed of sound. We’re at two different places in our lives and I don’t know if this can work.”
It was disappointing. I didn’t see our different paths as an issue. Sure, he’s twelve years older and retired. But I’m not exactly dewy. I know, I’m just getting started with this encore career and there’s no doubt I’m crazy-driven. With the profession he had, he was once equally focused, except he’s not in the midst of that anymore.
I’m not sure what the outcome will be. Maybe we’ll keep seeing each other and it will play out, as it should or we’ll just be friends. Maybe if I get my own Vespa we can go for rides together once in a while. Who knows? I don’t feel the need to make any big decisions.
Instead I’ll roll with it.
PS-Dad, I know you’re reading this post. Don’t worry.
“You see, I don’t know how to ride a motorcycle, actually.” Henry Winkler