I picked up my motorcycle

I picked up my motorcycle this weekend! Kate and her dad came with me, and we rolled it up a 2×10 plank and into Kate’s dad’s van. He lashed it up straight with webbing, and we drove away with Arlo Guthrie’s “I don’t want a pickle” playing on the stereo:


“I don’t want a pickle

I just want to ride on my motorsickle.

And I don’t want a tickle

I just want to ride on my motorsickle

And I-I-I-I don’t wanna die,

I just want to ride on my motorcy…


    …cle.”


Later on, as I repeatedly stalled the bike at a redlight facing uphill, the situation was less idyllic. I managed to keep my cool (barely), gunned the bike, made it across the light, and finished my very first foray into traffic with no harm done. It’s just exactly like learning to drive stick for the first time in my mom’s Mazda station wagon. In moments of frustration or inattention, though, the station wagon didn’t have a habit of rolling slowly onto its side. Anyhow, I made it back safe, and I can’t wait for the weather to get warmer!

I picked up my motorcycle

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