Comfortable back there?

My younger but bigger bro required a destination for his totally hot bike. A Suzuki 800 with a drive shaft -- it's model name escapes me, but it's hot; orgasmic hot, if you know what I mean. He had called earlier in the day, and mentioned tooling on up. I suggested we go for a ride, and then remembered I would have to take the little one with me, as she and I were home alone last night. She is not my usual passenger. Being younger, and less experienced she generally rides with her daddy, who is a more experienced driver than I.

The bro shows up, has some dinner, and I get to straddle and start his bike. It's heavy; way too heavy for me -- I can barely get it off it's kick stand. But its seat is comfortable, and the engine totally hums. He is so lucky to have such a slick ride. Not that I'm dissing my own wheels, but a townie bopping around 250 is far from sexy. (Maybe like in Harry Potter where the wand picks the owner, so does the bike... but I am way off topic here...)

After muscling around the bro's ride, my bike is a dream to get out of the garage. The little one has her helmet on. She is practically rocketing onto the bike as I start the engine. I give her the signal, she's up, grabbing the strap and saying, "I'm holding on here." I know that is how she rides with her daddy, so I give her the nod, knowing my heart will rev a bit higher without the security of her hands around my waist. And we head out to escort bro part way home: destination the ice cream stand in a neighboring town.

My passenger is chatty. "Did you see that bike mom?"

"The black one parked by the side of the road?" I ask back.

"No, the big one up the street. Daddy wouldn't like that one because the handle bars are too high and the seat is too..." Her voice fades to background as we enter the clogged rotary downtown.

"Look at those flock of birds?" Yeah right, I think I'll watch the cars sandwiched around us instead.

"There's another bike. Did you see it?"

"Nope."

Truly, I was enjoying her running monologue, while giving her an occasional answer, and seeing the entertainment advantages of having her as a passenger, until I spied her little hands waving in the rear view mirrors. "Are you holding on?"

"Yes," was her quick response. "Unless I need to itch and then I let go."

It was more like, unless I need to talk. "Don't scratch. Hold on."

"Okay."

But her assurance lasts about a block when she starts remembering the route we road last week. "We're going up here and then turning here, and then we'll go straight until there." Once again I check my mirrors and that hand is waving about in the breeze.

I have visions of her popping off as we traverse some rough road. "Hold on."

For a few hundred feet my passenger is again quiet. But as her chatting starts up again I check my mirrors and she is pointing out birds and landmarks for the cars behind us. And I wonder if we'll be hit because the drivers are so taken a back by the kid pointing all about. Or are her actions like a flashing safety light drawing more attention to the fact a motorcycle is up ahead. And not only a motorcycle, but a bike with a kid waving wildly from the rear seat.

Again I say, "Hold on," and she quiets.

It's amazing how comfortable she is on a motorcycle.