Stories, Myths and Memories

How do we know what influences our decisions when we make them?  The story I tell myself about the Bonneville I have, the second bike I fell in love with, is that I knew the first moment I laid eyes on her that I wanted her.   I’m not sure if this is true or just how I remember it.  Memories are like that- they take on a life of their own, after our choices seem to point to that one experience as the reason everything after it came to happen.  So looking at the Bonnie, that’s what drew me in, but when I sat on her, the feeling only deepened.   And then came that first test ride- she glided smoothly through the gears and took corners like she wanted me to see how deep she would go for me, leaning with ease and just a bit of show.  God I couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t wait to make her mine. 

My first bike was a ’79 Yamaha XS650 that I’d picked up for $350 4 years before.  It hadn’t run in over a year, the battery was dead and she was pretty dented up. It was the perfect starter bike:  I wasn’t worried about dropping her while practicing maneuvers in a local parking lot and it needed enough work, I knew I’d learn how to work on a bike, too.

One Spring, my RIDE club took a day trip down to the Gilmore Car Museum for their annual vintage motorcycle show.  Lifecycle dealership was offering demo rides on their Ducati’s and Triumph’s.  I road 5 bikes that day- the Triumph Bonneville was the first, and the only ride I remember.  I knew after that ride that I’d get one but wasn’t sure when.  It was only a few months later that my Yamaha blew a piston.  It didn’t take much figuring to see that I was going to get the Bonneville sooner than I’d hoped.   I took her home in June of 2008. 

Sold! Picking the Bonneville up from the dealership

Joe told me recently he thinks I have a masculine bike- a guy’s bike.  I was surprised.  Her tank is full and rounded with a glossy black finish and she wears a distinct tank badge.  The handle bars curve up and out - they don’t gawk like ape hangers or hide away like café bars-but sit there perfectly placed to rest one’s hands.  She’s shaped to ride, curvy and sexy.  Sometimes at a stoplight, I rest my hand on her tank just to feel her vibrating underneath me.  She purrs when I start her up, nothing loud or raucous about her.  She wants to be ridden, she wants to be enjoyed.  She’s all woman. 

Some decisions, like getting the Triumph, are easy.  Other times, when I see something I really want, I find myself peering like a child from behind her mother’s skirt- wanting to see it but also afraid to be seen.  For years, I was guided by a set of rules believing they kept me safe.  Then I figured out those rules kept me from the joy in life, as well as the pain.  The memories on this part of the story aren’t quite clear.  I don’t remember exactly when I started to come out from behind my mother’s skirt, as it were.  I do know it was a series of decisions based on my gut responses that began to change things for me.  I was yearning for freedom and I found it when I started to trust my responses to what was happening around me instead of looking to the rules to show me what to do.

Sometimes I still fall into the old pattern of looking outside myself to figure out how to act, what’s expected of me, how I’m being perceived.  I think back to those initial feelings about the Bonneville, that intense urge to own her, to know her, to explore with her.  Those gut feelings were so strong there was no mistaking them.  It’s a little harder to interpret other gut responses.  Sometimes I feel inexplicably drawn to someone in a way that defies what I’ve come to know about myself. 

Carl Jung has been my bedtime companion in these last weeks.  His books encourage excavating our dreams –both waking and sleep- for information about deeper parts of ourselves that long to be seen.  My trip with him so far has me asking lots of questions and not yet finding answers.  It feels like I’m on the cusp, though.  And while I’m a little wary because I can’t see what’s coming next, my gut is telling me to start looking at my memories to see what they tell me about this life I find myself in.  If my reverie about my Bonnie is any indication, I’m in for quite a ride.