camera56
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I did an interview with our very own FJRChick. She's a gem. You can read the entire interview here. Here's a snip . . .
When did you first ride a motorcycle?
I rode for the first time in the fall of 1991. Here is the story of what prompted me to ‘ride my own’.
I’m at a party with a bunch of guys from my unit and the talk turns to riding motorcycles. My buddy starts talking about how much I love to ride and what a great passenger I am on his sport bike. Apparently, my extra 120 lbs. is not enough to slow his bike down and the added weight on the back makes cornering more fun. Well the motor pool sergeant asks me if I’d like to go for a ride on his cruiser. I always want to ride on a motorcycle. Call it a weakness, call it a passion, call it what you will, I jump at any opportunity to ride without reservation.
The guy looks me in the eye and says “Ass, gas or grass?” Excuse me? What did you just say? He restates, “Ass, gas or grass? No split tail touches my bike without a fee”.
Now my Army days are long gone, and it took me a long time to clean up my language, so I cannot accurately nor as colorfully describe what I think of his attitude. An internal confrontation rages in my head. How could he say that to me? What kind of reputation do I have around the unit? Why am I in this situation? I’m not an idiot. I’m perfectly capable mentally and physically to ride a motorcycle. I have an income high enough to buy a motorcycle. Why do I allow someone else to have the choice to give or take away something I desire?
That was the moment I decided to ride my own.
I did an interview with our very own FJRChick. She's a gem. You can read the entire interview here. Here's a snip . . .
When did you first ride a motorcycle?
I rode for the first time in the fall of 1991. Here is the story of what prompted me to ‘ride my own’.
I’m at a party with a bunch of guys from my unit and the talk turns to riding motorcycles. My buddy starts talking about how much I love to ride and what a great passenger I am on his sport bike. Apparently, my extra 120 lbs. is not enough to slow his bike down and the added weight on the back makes cornering more fun. Well the motor pool sergeant asks me if I’d like to go for a ride on his cruiser. I always want to ride on a motorcycle. Call it a weakness, call it a passion, call it what you will, I jump at any opportunity to ride without reservation.
The guy looks me in the eye and says “Ass, gas or grass?” Excuse me? What did you just say? He restates, “Ass, gas or grass? No split tail touches my bike without a fee”.
Now my Army days are long gone, and it took me a long time to clean up my language, so I cannot accurately nor as colorfully describe what I think of his attitude. An internal confrontation rages in my head. How could he say that to me? What kind of reputation do I have around the unit? Why am I in this situation? I’m not an idiot. I’m perfectly capable mentally and physically to ride a motorcycle. I have an income high enough to buy a motorcycle. Why do I allow someone else to have the choice to give or take away something I desire?
That was the moment I decided to ride my own.
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