new_bike_ramblings

April 16, 2004

9:01am

Starbucks Kokomo

new bike ramblings -morgan young

I'm here at Starbucks at my usual table; far end, second from the corner. But I didn't get here in the usual way. I road in on my brand new white and silver Suzuki Volusia!! I picked it up last Thursday and as I've been telling everyone, "I'm as giddy as a school girl!" I'm sitting here occasionally looking out into the parking lot, as I often do, and there is my motorcycle. A great family, kids, wife, great home, great calling in life, great drumset
and a bike---amazing...

I'm amazed that we actually "pulled the trigger" on this; I'm humbled. Sandra has been incredibly supportive and understanding. This is such an uncharacteristic purchase for us. Nothing about it makes sense. It's not pragmatic. As Woody (Toy Story) would say, "It's a toy! T-O-Y, toy!" But somewhere in my soul there was something that craved this in a way I'm not sure I fully understand. Something in me didn't like, "waiting to live;" waiting for the kids to grow up, waiting until it made financial sense (a bike never makes financial sense). Something in me said, "You're 39 and counting. What are you waiting for?"

Not that God told me to buy this, but I'm not convinced that every "good" decision is a logically sound one. I get the sense from the Bible that our soul is an important part of us. And I'm not sure that logic makes our soul soar a little higher. Something about straddling a big piece of two-wheeled steel makes me smile; not only on my face, not in my brain, but most profoundly somewhere deep in my chest.

Something of a bike brings my masculinity to the fore. The danger, although real and to be fully respected is part of the masculine motorbike connection. (And I fervently pray to my Holy God that me, that bike and all who are on or near would be free from harm.) Something in my artistic side craves counterbalance in the masculine world. It's one thing to say, "I'm a writer." It elicits all kinds of polite Lands-End-wearing, boring, pseudo-intellectual social parties and perhaps all the schmaltz of Erma Bombeck. But it's quite another thing to say, "I'm a writer AND a biker." Which translates, "Oh, you're a writer but not a wuus!" Even as I wrote "a writer and a biker" I smiled hugely and laughed aloud at my little round table.

This indeed is one of those great times in my life when the world and my place in it feels so good. If I could dance, I would. I love you, Lord. I love Sandra and all my kids.

(After writing and reading at Starbucks, I road to Marion, then to Peru, and finally home putting 100 fun and smile-inducing miles behind me. Starbucks, writing, reading, biking, wow...)

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	to more m-files to Two-wheel times page April 16, 2004 9:01am Starbucks Kokomo new bike ramblings -morgan young I'm here at Starbucks at my usual table; far end, second from the corner. But I didn't get here in the usual way. I road in on my brand new white and silver Suzuki Volusia!! I picked it up last Thursday and as I've been telling everyone, "I'm as giddy as a school girl!" I'm sitting here occasionally looking out into the parking lot, as I often do, and there is my motorcycle. A great family, kids, wife, great home, great calling in life, great drumset and a bike---amazing... I'm amazed that we actually "pulled the trigger" on this; I'm humbled. Sandra has been incredibly supportive and understanding. This is such an uncharacteristic purchase for us. Nothing about it makes sense. It's not pragmatic. As Woody (Toy Story) would say, "It's a toy! T-O-Y, toy!" But somewhere in my soul there was something that craved this in a way I'm not sure I fully understand. Something in me didn't like, "waiting to live;" waiting for the kids to grow up, waiting until it made financial sense (a bike never makes financial sense). Something in me said, "You're 39 and counting. What are you waiting for?" Not that God told me to buy this, but I'm not convinced that every "good" decision is a logically sound one. I get the sense from the Bible that our soul is an important part of us. And I'm not sure that logic makes our soul soar a little higher. Something about straddling a big piece of two-wheeled steel makes me smile; not only on my face, not in my brain, but most profoundly somewhere deep in my chest. Something of a bike brings my masculinity to the fore. The danger, although real and to be fully respected is part of the masculine motorbike connection. (And I fervently pray to my Holy God that me, that bike and all who are on or near would be free from harm.) Something in my artistic side craves counterbalance in the masculine world. It's one thing to say, "I'm a writer." It elicits all kinds of polite Lands-End-wearing, boring, pseudo-intellectual social parties and perhaps all the schmaltz of Erma Bombeck. But it's quite another thing to say, "I'm a writer AND a biker." Which translates, "Oh, you're a writer but not a wuus!" Even as I wrote "a writer and a biker" I smiled hugely and laughed aloud at my little round table. This indeed is one of those great times in my life when the world and my place in it feels so good. If I could dance, I would. I love you, Lord. I love Sandra and all my kids. (After writing and reading at Starbucks, I road to Marion, then to Peru, and finally home putting 100 fun and smile-inducing miles behind me. Starbucks, writing, reading, biking, wow...) top o'page