GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #553: BORN TO BE MILD PART 1

So I'm not what you would call a risk taker, physically speaking. I mean, aside from abusing my body with decades worth of alcohol and a few flirtations with harder drugs. And I guess drinking gallons of Coke a day for nearly my entire life. I'm talking about stuff like skydiving. Or doing Jackass type stuff. Or even playing sports. I remember when the football coach at my high school tried to get me on the team because he thought I could beat the shit out of people on the field. I said no because I kind of liked getting around without crutches.

So I'm not a big fan of motorcycles. I know, everyone on the fucking planet thinks they're cool as shit. Everyone has their own fantasies about rolling down the highway with a ton of Harley between their legs. I just don't get it.

I can trace it back to my Uncle Bill, the one who married my Aunt Sue, not my dad's brother. He had a motorcycle, and he loved tearin' ass down the road.

Even as a child I didn't see the appeal, but one day I was hanging out with my cousin, and Uncle Bill decided to give us rides on his motorcycle. My cousin went first and loved the hell out of it. Then I got on and was taken on the terror ride of my life. I don't think I was older than five at the time, but I remember the sheer terror of going what felt like a million mph with the wind ripping at my face. I didn't wear glasses yet--that would be three years later--so I felt every inch of that goddam wind. I remember thinking, well shit, I guess this is how I'm going to die. When I got off the motorcycle I couldn't walk straight. I felt like I was in a daze and that I probably had died, but my brain hadn't caught up to that fact yet.

I tell a lot of people this story, and they still don't understand how stupid I think riding a motorcycle is. I remember feeling vindicated, however, when a friend of mine who fantasized about riding a motorcycle all her life told me she finally understood me. Part of her fantasy had been to ride just behind a hot guy, and she got her wish, much to her dismay. She did not like the ride, but I suspect it was mostly because she didn't know where to put her legs and wound up getting a horrible burn from the exhaust pipe.

So yeah. I still don't get it. And I have even worse memories from when I was arrested for DUI at a Harley-Davidson dealership, but I think I've told that story here before. Anyway, fuck that noise.