Time to get back in the saddle again

Charlie called yesterday. We'd been waiting for his call over a week. "Is the manly biker man there? This is Charlie at Anderson's"

"No, he's not. But this is his wife. Do you have my bike?"

There was a pause. "Yeah, she's ready."

Charlie couldn't see it, but a smile spread across my face. Christmas on the last day of April. "Thanks we'll be over later."

I hadn't straddled my bike, affectionately labelled by the little one's, "The Black Spot" since the last warm day of fall. My nerdy blue helmet, the bike, and my mental and muscle memories of what to do to go from first to second to third and back again, sat idle all winter. And as the weather warmed, and I'd see bikers and their babes cruising past our house I'd have bouts of will I remember? Will I finally get myself out of our driveway and into that god forsaken traffic?

When the manly biker man returned, I informed him, "Charlie called. My bike is ready."

"Are you going to ride it home?" the manly one asked.

I didn't have to ponder that question too long. "Too much traffic." And there is every morning and every evening. Cars backed up for at least a mile in front of our house.

The man nodded in agreement. I'm sure there was a sigh of relief as well. After all he'd seen my only road experience last year, going from one school parking lot to the next -- a half mile down the road. His only comment, "You need to be in the middle of your lane, not hugging the curb." Yes, I still needed practice.

We drove over to pick up the bike. The man carrying his manly and ever so sexy black helmet, and black motorcycle gloves. Me, looking as wifely as I usually do. Charlie brought the bike around. She's a small one, only a 250; not a man's bike, not befitting the manly biker man.

"She's not warmed up." commented Charlie as he dismounted. "Ride safely."

The man and I both nodded. Then I kissed him and said, "Warm her up for me."

"Are you going to ride?" he asked, pulling his gloves on.

"In the driveway."

And as I walked back to our Rig, the manly biker man headed off, riding the little wifely bike home. That's love.