I'm a Biker Chic (Yeah right)

          This weekend Hubby and I went out.  I was really wanting some Olive Garden bread sticks and salad and he sweetly agreed to take me there.  So up the stairs I went to change into something nice.  A few minutes later he shouts up that we are taking the bike. This is fantastic since we haven't been on it in a while and it is starting to get cold so this may be our last chance this year. But this also means I'm changing into something more casual. When I come down the stairs Hubby tells me I look like a biker chic. I hadn't meant to but with my black boots, skinny jeans, studded belt and favorite black t-shirt I guess I kind of did.  Not really caring I kissed the kids goodbye, gave final instructions to the babysitter, put on my safety gear, hopped on the back and off we went.

         When we get there Hubby pulls to the curb in front of the door to let me off so I can get us on the list. I swing my leg over the bike. I unstrap my helmet and pull it off. My long hair fell out of my helmet landing around my shoulders and in my face.  I shake my head to get my hair out of my way. Holding my helmet in one hand I turn to the door to start walking.  Every eye is on me. (yikes!)  This was a Saturday night which means there was a crowd outside waiting for their buzzers to go off. I walk the gauntlet of staring faces to the front door. I think, huh, I kind of like this. I go in I get my little buzzer I head back out. Every eye is still on me. I think, huh, I don't like this. 

          While Hubby and I wait for our table, then eat, then pay, then leave I noticed people looking over at us.  You can see the thoughts in their eyes.  They think our lives are exciting, they think we may be dangerous, or, at the very least that we have a devil-may-care attitude. You can see the young boys and some of the dads envying Hubby. You can see that some of the older folks think "I used to be like that". There is a perception, a preconceived notion about bike riders. I have noticed it before. The most prominent one was on our road trip to Atlantic City. We were at a stop light and there was an older woman in the car next to us. She kept giving us pointed dirty looks like we were the problem with the world.  Part of me wanted to jump off the bike and tell her "Wait a minute before you judge, I've been married to this man for nine years. We have three kids and we are good parents, we give to charities and go to church. We barely even ever swear or drink!" And part of me wanted to flip her off and stick out my tongue, which probably would have just proved her point for her.  But really, why judge? You really have no idea. I like riding on the bike. I love the feel of the wind and the sway of the bike. I love being wrapped around Hubby. I love that I have to trust him completely on a bike. 

The bike for us is an escape, a deviation from our normal existance not a public statement about who we are.  And yet, that very experience of conclusions being drawn about us gives another dimension to that escape. For that moment maybe I am a wild woman, traveling the country with a biker I just met, not a care in the world, never knowing where I will lay my head or who I will meet next.