A Strange Offer

Tonight Punam and I did 'The Stand' at Second City. On my way there I found this note on my motorcycle which had been sitting for a couple days while I was riding my bike.

"Call me if you want to sell Tom(?) 872-XXX-XXXX Anytime."

I love my motorcycle, love it. It's a 1983 Suzuki 550cc. The model doesn't have a name so that let's you know how relatively average it is. It's great for getting around a town but not good for much else. What I love about it is I know it. It's mine. We've been through some stuff. I may have talked about it before but motorcycles are like horses. They respond to your touch, you ask for something they give it to you, you ask for too much they let you know. It's a very sensitive machine. That may sound weird but I think anyone who rides motorcycles feels similarly.

It shocked me that someone would make an offer like this. Now when I'm thinking about it, it offends me. My motorcycle is a part of me, it's mine, it something that defines me. It is something I love and represents a past time I love. I might sell my motorcycle at some point but not now and certainly not by being propositioned by a note card. I'm not a pimp, I won't whore out my motorcycle just because someone took an interest.

People say riding motorcycles is dangerous, it is. But there is a thrill to danger. There is also a certain amount of safety involved when someone knows what they are doing. I've only given three people rides on the Suzuki: Drennen, Punam, and Julia. I think they enjoyed it and I think it was something special, it was for me anyway. When I give people rides it makes me feel like I'm sharing something very much myself with them, something very personal. And to be so caviler about trying to buy that off of somebody makes me mad.

When I ride my motorcycle and the sun is shining and the wind is warm and blowing, it feels like the closest thing to flying.

I won't sell that.