Last time I did this I thought "now that taxes are over I'll be able to keep track of the normal, everyday stuff a little better." Yea right. I think I'm truly losing what little sense I had to begin with. Not gradually either; it's an exponential plummet. I've always known that kids kill brain cells. I had hoped that when they grew up and left home I would regain some of my former cerebral glory. I haven't exactly noticed that happening though. In fact, now that some of them have moved back in for the summer I've noticed a serious decrease in my already depleted cognitive skills. I've caught myself drooling a couple of times.
I do appreciate the things they do to help out. Travis has kept the yard looking good now that I'm too invalid-ish to do it myself. Cameron even got up on the roof of my office to change the filters because I've been banned from getting on a ladder. Baseball is winding down; there are only the city tournament games left. Jake got a great hit in Saturday's game, but I missed it.
I left early because I had been invited to participate in a 100 mile ride with the B.A.C.A. (Bikers Against Child Abuse). I was a sponsor this year so I even got Bullock Eye Care's logo on the back of the commemerative black biker T-shirt. I signed up as a sponsor months ago and I've been looking forward to this for a long time because I don't get to do too many group rides with bikers. I even skipped shaving for 4 days or so to look a little rougher. So I left Jake's game early to get over to the place we were leaving from. When I showed up there were already about 100-150 motorcycles there; most of them Harleys. I didn't recognize a soul; not even the guy who invited me. I just kind of wandered around halfway listening to some of the conversations. I couldn't tell what most of them were talking about, but I did recognize some of the most commonly used words in their vocabulary from way back when I spent all that time in prison. I realized quickly that not shaving for 4 days didn't make me fit in any better. When it was time to go a guy got up in front of everybody and announced what route we'd be taking and what stops we would make. He also used some interesting descriptive words which sounded a little unusual because he was yelling through a bull horn.
So when we pulled out of the parking lot it was kind of cool because we had about 150 bikes all pulling out together. Some of the guys were riding ahead and stopping traffic so we just went right through every intersection without stopping. Some of the drivers being stopped were waving at us and using gestures that didn't seem too friendly. One of them I recognized form the last time Merrianne asked me to flip the light off. So when we got to the freeway and headed toward Prosser it was pretty impressive seeing so many bikes spread out for a mile or so. Changing lanes was interesting. On one occassion we were passing a semi and as we were changing back into the right lane some of the bikes in front of me pulled back in way too close to the front of the truck. He layed on his air horn with a nice friendly greeting. I was about halfway back so I could see how far we were spread out forward and backwards. I could also see all the cars stranded in the other lane not able to pass or move forward at all because of the long string of bikes in the other lane. I guess I'm not a true biker because I'm really uncomfortable ticking people off when they're right beside me and we're going 70-75 and I'm on 2 wheels.
We arrived at our first stop- Desert Valley Power Sports in Prosser. We stood around and basically loitered for about 30 minutes or so. I was afraid of running out of gas because my range is only about 100 miles, so I left the parking lot a few minutes early and stopped at the gas station just up the street. As I was getting gas I saw all the bikers drive right past; leaving without me. I felt this strange sensation of relief and thought, Oh well. So I went down the Old Inland Empire Hwy and went home. I missed the party back at JD's tavern and the "bikini girl bike wash" after the ride too.
There is a moral to this story. It's OK to ride a bike and not be a biker or even a wannabe biker. I don't wear leather and my chick doesn't wear a leather halther. I love to ride but I don't live to ride, or ride to live. (I'm not sure what that means. I saw it on a jacket.) I've always heard that you are what you eat, but I also think that you become who you hang around too. And I know I don't want to become a leather-wearin', foul language usin', butt-crack-showin', beer-drinkin', bikini bike wash-watchin', borderline antisocial sociopath. I'd rather be a fat, bald, middle aged guy who feels younger than he really is when he plays his guitar and when he rides his motorcycle. That's OK with me.
