Meanwhile Back at The Ranch: Back in The Saddle

Blame my parents.

It’s easy to blame parents these days.  For example, have you seen how many kids have cell phones?  They were all bought in the spirit of “convenience.” When I was a kid, there were no cell phones, so my parents bought me a motorcycle.

The motorcycle was also purchased in the spirit of convenience.  I was about to be fourteen with two much younger siblings at home.  It was going to be so much easier for me to put my ballet and tap shoes in a little backpack and head to dance class on my Honda CB 125 than it was to load up the previous items along with two other little people.  At least that’s what I’ve heard.  So, one day I drove my motorcycle down to the Chickasha Bank, took my written test, and hopped on my motorcycle.  I drove it in front of the bowling alley and passed Taco Mayo.  I made a right hand turn and circled the Braum’s and turned left from the center lane back into the bank parking lot.  Voila!  I had a motorcycle license.

Now along with the convenience of me getting to drive myself where I needed to go, was the inconvenience (to my parents) of me driving where I didn’t need to go.  There’s too many place to list, but let’s just make a note that no other sibling was allowed to have a motorcycle after me.  Sorry for ruining that guys.

In the fall of 2010, my husband and I decided to take the motorcycle course offered by our local Harley Davidson dealership.  Let’s just say it was quite a bit more involved than the experience I had at fourteen.  We spent an entire weekend studying the state laws and then spent Saturday and Sunday driving Buells around the dealership parking lot under the scrutiny of our peers and two instructors.  After completing the one hundred question test (we both made 100’s) we  had one obstacle left: the driving test.  Late on a Sunday afternoon, the participants went through the maneuvers described and then demonstrated by our instructors.  They held clipboards and scored us with an unknown rubric.  At the end of the weekend, the scores were calculated and we were escorted into a little room to hear the results.  Greg and I were the only married couple in there, so they said we could go in together if we wanted.  It was devastating….for Greg.  He learned that I was number one in the class, and he was number two.

"Are you sure you're in first?"

In October one used Harley Davidson was purchased.  I had to be the passenger, but I

knew how to work this deal.  Whenever we were at a stop sign and we would pull out into the road, I would ask, “Are you sure you’re in first?” This was really the only suggestion I ever made, but I made it a lot.

Today, I picked up my very own Harley Davidson.  I don’t have any tattoos and don’t have any plans to get any.  My hair is short, so it looks absolutely terrible when I take off my helmet at my destination. (Today it was Pizza Hut…not really a HOG hang out, but it was open and we were hungry). I wear jeans with my Harley boots which seems a lot safer than the swimsuit, concert t-shirt and flip flops I used to ride around in at Fort Cobb Lake.  I am a confident, safe rider, and a woman who knows she can do anything she sets her mind to.

Blame my parents.