What’s in your treasure chest?

I read a journal entry by dadsperspective the other day that inspired me to write my own post about motorcycles. I don’t know anyone who rides anymore, but I can tell you this, I miss it more than anything.

When I was younger, my boyfriend taught me how to ride on his FZR400. Of course, I grabbed too much throttle nearly ending my life in the blink of an eye, but I was excited and fancied myself the next Mika Hakkinen of World Superbike racing. Although I never rose to International Fame and Fortune, I did manage to land myself a job as managing editor of a motorcycle magazine where I tricked convinced the powers that be into letting me “race” a bit. I worked 80+ hours a week for a meager salary, but boy was it worth it! Pit passes, access to beautifully crafted works of art, amazing classes taught by legendary riders, and an introduction to a reporter turned friend I’ve known for over 12 years, who, by the way, so kindly shoved a daft-%@*$! editor off the track after said editor told me that I would never succeed in the industry. These were a few of the many benefits I enjoyed.

Yet it is still difficult, on a beautiful day like today, to not wish I had a v-twin parked in my garage waiting patiently for me to roll it out, slip on my helmet (thanks, Rick Briggs!), and take a ride up to Berryessa. I imagine myself glidding smoothly through one of those perfectly formed omegas when all of a sudden a giddy scream penetrates the air snapping me back to reality. Monkey reminds me that his bedtime is nearing, and so I take my helmet, running my hand over its smooth, polished suface, inhale the rich earthy smell of my Held gloves one last time, and tuck my memories back into their box. Maybe one day, I will invite them out to play again, but for now, I am content to keep them where they are.

What’s in your treasure chest?

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