on not being a Harley rider

Well, hell. You get old, you get old. I dropped my Harley on my left leg turning around in a gas station. Crimeney! A simple U-turn! I had done thousands of them, but not that day.

Worse, I shattered both bones in my left lower leg. They had to insert a titanium rod into the parts of my tibia that survived and were still useful so it would heal into a bone that would support me

I was in bed for a week, if I remember correctly. I was on crutches for another six weeks, again if I remember correctly.

I was off Harleys forever.

So it didn't happen after a bunch of dilly-dallying, "Shall I? Shan't I?" None of that.

The universe spoke, it seemed to me, "Thou shalt not ride a Harley no more!" I accepted.

And mostly I've survived that well. I gotta admit, being a Harley rider was a big part of who I thought I was. I loved defying car drivers! "Nyeh-nyeh-nyeh-nyeh-nyeh! You haven't killed me yet!" I loved swaggering in my leather jacket, looking down my nose at mere car drivers. But I got over it. And mostly quickly.

The universe spoke and I accepted. I became a former engineer, a former computer professional, a former physics student, and a former Harley rider.

Hell, I was old. Sensible people probably no longer expected me to do those things.

Thank goodness I didn't have to give up being a poet and a storymaker!

Being not a Harley rider doesn't require much from you: you don't do what you did as a Harley rider. Otherwise, life goes on.

But some days it's kinda like Jack Daniels without the alcohol.

Oh well.

Connections:

• former Harley rider
• former physics student