Today's MOSTLY TRUE SHORT STORY: Why I Ride

F LoBuono

It was a rare summer's day; certainly hot, but not too humid with beautiful, azure skies - in other words, perfect weather for a ride on the Harley.

At 63, I no longer harbor any Born To Be Wild fantasies. My best riding days are behind me. I've already been down three times on my motorcycle and NONE were my fault. As roads get more dangerous with more and more people distracted in their driving, highways have simply gotten untenable for much riding. Remember, cars surround you in steel. All you have to protect you on a motorcycle are your wits and a thin pair of jeans.

So, if it ain't perfect, I ain't ridin'!

But, THIS day was flawless and the road was calling.

I removed the protective cover from my machine and fired her up. My plan was to take Route 9W, a picturesque, two-lane rural road near my home in Rockland County, NY, and then open her up on the Palisades Interstate Parkway (PIP), another bucolic, but faster, highway down to the George Washington Bridge and return. The total distance was about 20 miles and should take about a half hour.

The ride down 9W was smooth and uneventful - just as I like it. After about 10 or 15 minutes, I reached the PIP. I gunned her onto the highway and cruised up a long incline at about 60 mph. The machine was running perfectly, the roar of my exhaust providing the soundtrack for my ride. All was right with the world.

Suddenly, out of my side-view mirror, I noticed a pale blue, late model convertible Mustang quickly gaining ground on me from the left lane. As they got a little closer, I could see that it was a car full of young women, their long blonde hair blowing wildly in the wind.

In a flash they were by me, music blasting, signing and laughing at the top of their lungs. And, I could smell their perfume.

It was then that I remembered exactly why I ride . . .