Adventure came in a box last week, accompanied by the enthusiastic bark of Bandit, the retriever, and the flash of a retreating white FedEx panel truck against a backdrop of green grass and overhanging branches. Inside, was my very own motorcycle jacket. Supple black braided leather, more zippers than I’d ever known on a piece of clothing before, all of it smelling marvelously of the open road ahead.
My friend Judy, who has known me since freshman year in college and therefore knows where all of the bones are buried, laughs at moments like this. She’s fond of asking, “now could you imagine two years ago that you’d be saying…?” Most often the question relates to flower gardening, since that has been a revolutionary change of cataclysmic proportions for me. But the question also comes up about the image of me on the back of a motorcycle…and we laugh about that a lot too.
I’ve finally, reluctantly moved past the romantic and chivalrous feel of borrowing my boyfriend’s jacket for our trips on his Harley Sportster. At some point, romance has to give way to reality, and now that better riding weather has arrived again, I finally admitted I needed a jacket cut for a woman’s figure. Hips get in the way of men’s tailoring. So do other things. The leap of faith and commitment that got me on the back of the bike in the first place, though, is a bit more complicated. But so worth the ride!