Motorcycles are a little like dogs. They provide an instant point of connection. Motorcycle people cross the street to start conversations. They ask questions about where we're headed, warn about bad weather forecasts, suggest a particular route. They reminisce about their bygone motorcycling days or the days when their brother/father/uncle used to ride. For the minutes that we exchange words, they are along for the adventure and we are happy to take them with us.
I love the reactions of women, and of older women in particular. They are thrilled to see me on my own bike. They are unfailingly encouraging. Today, sitting in a Bob Evans in Bucyrus, Ohio, two older women engaged us in conversation-- something that happens with such ease in this part of the country. The older of the two spoke fondly of the days when her brother used to ride. I could hear the wistfulness in her voice. Did she ever ride on the back? Oh no, she replied. Did she ever want to ride herself? Oh my goodness no. And still I could hear an old, undeclared desire.
She was glad to see me doing it though and why not? she said.They offered words of encouragement and wished us a safe trip. "You go girl" they said and wished me well in the supportive way of people who have had a dream and even though they have had to let it go, are happy to see someone else try to fulfill it.
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