Gabriel and I decided to go get ice cream on Lizzy. Together. We finally procured two helmets and we were totally legal. Keeping with our modus operandi - - "It might not be a good idea, but it will make a memory" we set out. Most of the 4 mile trip to sugary satisfaction was on back roads. The last mile, not so much. We had to get onto a road with a 45mph speed limit.
We both had to get into a severe tuck to make it up to 45, but we did it. Gabe was yelping at me the whole time. I think he was both really nervous with me at the helm, and a little amazed at how much you **feel** 45mph on a bike. Especially on my bike.
Chowing down on two cones, he fired questions at me - working up to the one that was first and foremost on his mind. 'So, um, is the vibration, um, good for you?'
Um, no.
I didn't add that I am saving myself for a Ducati. Sorry Lizzy, a girl has to aim high.
We made it back home and I wanted to continue going along the river on a pleasure cruise together. I mean, we just had a really fun trip; we laughed a lot and we were on a motorcycle *together*. Why not prolong the experience?
Because Lizzy's vibe made Gabe's butt itch too much.
Just when you are riding high, feelin the groove and that cosmic connection with your bike, your world, your man - hubby yells something in your helmet that solidly yanks you back to Earth.
And makes you laugh your ass off.
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