The power of music is a curious, but undeniable thing. I have a love/hate relationship with Pandora, but today she served up “Flirtin’ With Disaster,” by Molly Hatchet. And instantly – without hesitation and in Technicolor, high definition detail – I was 18 years old with the wind in my face - flying down Cherry Bump Road at dusk on my motorcycle. So carefree and so careless. The road, lovingly nicknamed by some adolescent boys, I'm guessing, was perfectly suited for driving fast. And if you hit the bumps just right you were bound to get some glorious air time. Probably not what my father had in mind for me when he bought the bike.
Dad owned a Honda Gold Wing. A thing of beauty. He enjoyed riding so much that he bought a pretty little red 350, hoping to get his 4 girls in the game. He brought it home before I was old enough to drive. Torture. But I waited, watched and learned. Finally my turn came and I passed my car and my motorcycle driving tests on the day I turned 16. Look out, world!
Fast forward a few years and the 350 had been traded in for a sleek, black and burgundy 650 - AND I had music now. Cassette tapes, baby. Life was good. Getting portable music in 1981 was not an easy task. But I managed to create a bomb mix tape just for riding…The Devil Went Down To Georgia, Renegade, Carry On My Wayward Son, Cheap Sunglasses, a few Dan Fogelberg tunes for good measure and of course, Flirtin’ With Disaster, the very song that was playing that night as I tooled around the outskirts of my hometown just for fun.
As I came to the end of Cherry Bump Road I sputtered to a stop. I had burned the last of my reserve tank and was out of gas. I pulled over and the car that had been behind me the whole time pulled over as well. Two young men - late 20’s maybe, dressed in their gas station uniforms and covered in a good days sweat and grime - got out of the car and walked toward me. As I stepped off the bike and removed my helmet one slapped the other on the arm. “I told you it was a girl!” he said. “Wow, what clued you in?” I asked (thinking maybe it was my halter top…) He replied, “Because – you only left the ground 3 times.” Well, there you have it then. The two nice men went to get me some gas and I'm not sure to this day if I ever did tell my dad about that night. Having 4 grown sons of my own now, I am keenly aware that there are simply some things a parent would rather not know.
I have never wished to go back to any stage or season of my life. I am a firm believer that my best days are the days I’m living in and the days ahead will be even better. It is whatever you make of it.
But I miss that motorcycle. Yes, I really do.
I always listen to music when I walk or exercise for lots of reasons, but mainly because it drowns out the sound that my left knee makes now every time I walk up hills or steps. And I am just fine with that. Bring on the final third of my life. I have much to be thankful for in these amazing days and I can’t wait to see what’s next. It may not be air time on Cherry Bump Road (although I'm not ruling that out entirely), but it will be an adventure. Because I’m still that girl on the motorcycle at heart, just smarter and stronger and better with time. I have everything to look forward to.