One of the very first things I learned about Ryan when we were dating was his love for all things that involve two wheels. Motocross, dirt bikes, street bikes, bicycles, scooters…you name it. He’s pretty much smitten with that form of transportation. It must be something about the wind in his hair and the call of the open road. Actually it’s probably because there is something about danger and speed that gets that kid going like few other things do. Lucky me.
A little history: a few weeks before we moved to California my car (oh that lovely Focus!) decided it hated the thought of leaving as much as we did, threw a temper tantrum and blew up. Awesome. We didn’t worry too much about it because we knew that Ryan would be taking the BART to work and so there really was no need for two vehicles. Which worked just swell when we lived a few blocks away from the train station. Then last summer we got all selfish and wanted more space (a tiny one bedroom apartment that would fit in my parent’s family room starts to wear on your sanity after awhile). So we packed it up (again!) and moved a few miles away where we have basked in two-bedroom bliss for the last year.
Which brings us back full-circle to the problem at hand (gosh, are you following me? I have quite the thing for tangents today). We now live a few miles away from the nearest BART so Ryan has been a true Christian saint and rode the bus to and from the station for the past year. Which tacked on an extra hour to his commute round-trip and left him with quite the unsavory taste in his mouth. Picture homeless people, urine and a nice whiff of garbage and you have basically experienced the bus trip yourself.
So for the last six months or so we have been looking to add a second car to our loving family. Our requirements weren’t crazy…classy, willing to go where-ever, trust-worthy, a true friend…you get the picture. In the end my diligent guy simply could not find what he wanted in the price range he was willing to spend. (I’ll have you know that I broke down months ago and begged him to buy whatever…but the man is stubborn. And cheap).
Then a few weeks ago, my phone was flooded with pictures of two-wheeled machines that look and sound an awful lot like death traps and make me imagine life as a widow at 23. But there was something about that little gleam in Ryan’s eye and the way he so lovingly described every shining detail that made it pretty hard for me to say no. Also, I’d be lying if I said the thought of sleeping in on my mornings off instead of taking him to the station didn’t influence my concession to this seemingly crazy idea.
Less than two days after I gave my ok, Ryan was the proud owner of a 2009 Honda Rebel 250cc street bike (is that right, Ry? the details seem to escape me). Oh joy.
(On another side note…he bought it from the most charming older Englishman that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. From the way he offered us cold water the moment we stepped into his picturesque Berkeley home to his reassurance to me that Ryan wouldn’t die, I was sold. And he had the prettiest view of the bay from his kitchen I have ever seen…so obviously he had class.)
What has surprised me the most about the “death trap” is how much I have actually grown to kind of love it. Ryan is giddy about it,which is pretty cute, and I would be lying if I said it isn’t more than slightly sexy when I watch him pull away on that thing. However, the best part has been the late afternoon/twilight rides we have taken together. There really is something about the wind on your face combined with a little bit of speed. Kind of magical.
(…Heaven’s Devils is the name of the biker gang Ryan and his friends are
hopefully not starting. Heaven help us all.)