The Chick On The Back

My children are horrified, but that’s part of the fun.

When my daughters were growing up, they were absolutely forbidden to even think about riding on a motorcycle. So yes, I am now a hypocrite. In my defense, I could not have anticipated meeting this beautiful man I married and how he would change my world.

Still, he is older and far more responsible on a bike than the lusty young lads they would have ridden with. I don’t think he was ever that young. At least, that’s my justification.

Everybody knows bikers have tattoos. My husband sure does.

The grandchildren have way more tattoos than I do, so there’s that.

It’s all relative.

I’m thinking of getting more tattoos. Why not?

The world is entirely different when experienced from the back of a bike. You see things you miss when riding in an enclosed vehicle. There’s a closeness to nature. You notice the scent of the vegetation and the baby foxes in the long grass by the side of the road.

Sun on your face, wind in your hair. The warmth of the pavement beneath you. It has a Zen-like quality; it’s almost meditative. You can actually feel the air, the sun. Worries and cares fade away. There’s nothing else like it.

It’s freedom.

It’s a little badass, too, at least how we do it. So that’s fun. We rock it in style. Form follows function and all that.

I have a vintage Schotts jacket with stars on the epaulets. I also like to wear my buffalo hide jacket with conchos and lots and lots of long fringe. It looks fantastic, flowing in the breeze going down the road.

Instead of motorcycle boots, I prefer sexy cowboy boots. I wear red wraparound sunglasses that match our bike. I also usually wear a bandana, but it’s often a Kenzo or Hard Rock scarf tied around my head, the tails streaming.

It’s just my thing. I will never settle for the ordinary.

All my husband has to do to look the part is get on the bike, but he looks very fine in leathers and a bandana.

We bought our 2014 Indian Chief Vintage bike new, and tricked it out. It’s a work of art. Just looking at it is a joy.

It drives like a dream, incredible engineering blended with vintage style. We wear the gear, but it’s not for show. Many people think it’s like a costume, but actually, it’s for protection.

Not always, however. We have ridden around the lake to a gathering, my husband wearing a silk Tommy Bahama shirt, chinos, and loafers. I was perched saucily on the back in a short little sundress with sandals, a fancy plate of deviled eggs clutched in my arm.

He wants to take the bike everywhere. So the compromise was he had to go slow. Fair enough.

People seem to like the picture we present riding by. So many waves, we wave back, me — usually with a peace sign. There is a biker code that says you acknowledge other riders you pass with a wave, which means holding your arm out low with your fingers slightly spread.

It’s really nice. You feel a comradeship. Bikers will always help others.

Nothing about the bike or what we do is to try to impress anyone. It’s simply what we enjoy. It’s what we love doing together.

Yes, it is dangerous. But every sport, even life itself, is inherently dangerous. We take care, avoid major highways, bop along and enjoy the ride. My husband is very experienced and safety-conscious.

Having said that, he does like to fly down the road now and then. I do not. He does that without me, and I don’t want to hear about it.

But time is passing by, and we’re getting older. We have no intention of ever getting old, but the fully loaded bike weighs close to 1000 pounds. It’s a lot for him to wrestle around.

One of these days, we’ll get a trike. But it will be a cool one.

And we’ll still ride, and I’ll still be the cute chick on the back.

© 2022 Conni Walkup Hull

Thanks for reading. I appreciate you.