Tired of Painting

I'm tired of painting, and I'm tired of writing about painting.

So, I'll write about motorcycles and how not to take down a fence.

My dear husband has a very old Triumph 650 motorcycle and when we got married I discovered I loved riding on the back of his motorcycle. Maybe it was the not so quiet hum of the engine, or the fact that my arms get to be wrapped around him and I get to sit ever so close for hours, but I loved it. And when we found ourselves without children (no we didn't lock them in t he basement) we'd go for long relaxing rides.

A few years ago the dear one started talking about me learning how to ride by myself. He started to teach me on his bike, which has an old kick start. We discovered that I didn't have enough umph to turn it over. Then he took me and the beast into the backyard.

Our backyard is about 120 feet long, so there is a bit of a space for learning. Unfortunately on my first run across the grass, the bike got away from me and I went head on into our new stockade fence, taking out a few six foot pickets and breaking a support beam.

The fence took the brunt of the accident. And even though I wanted to get back on that horse, my dear one thought it would be best if I didn't since I can't pick the bike up when it lays over.

Years pass... and I thought I was out of the motorcycle woods, until yesterday. Yesterday, we bought, for me, a used small black 250cc motorcycle. It has an electric start, and I can get it upright when it falls over.

So, things were looking up, until I realized that 99 times out of 100 I don't know my left from my right. How the hell would I sort out the clutch and the front brake or the shift from the back break? Still a bit nervous, okay VERY nervous, I would take out the fence again, I fell asleep last night picturing my left hand on the clutch and my right hand on the brake. And when I woke up this morning I had an overwhelming sense of relief. I knew from the moment I opened my eyes and looked at my left hand and said, "CLUTCH," and then looked at my right and said, "BRAKE," that all would be right in my backyard.