Last year his bike wouldn't start and I let him ride my Harley. He's a careful rider, he's my son, and he can borrow it any time he wants. Oh, my, you should've seen the brouhaha on Facebook when I playfully mentioned that he removed my red, white, and blue lever fringes and stay-back whip. People were incensed, outraged even, and they let me know. How dare he modify anything, they asked angrily. "Does he even know what an absolute honor it is for you to let him ride your bike?" was one infuriated comment.
I had to ask people to chill out. The "modification" he asked for and I agreed to was minor; those fringes and whip could be replaced in less than two minutes. Besides, I reminded everyone, he's my SON; he has special privileges that no one else has. Why in the world would I make him feel under obligation to use my bike when I'm not using it? Sheesh.
Fast forward to this year. He worked on his bike and got it running. He made several solo trips and enjoyed the feeling of speed, dancing through curves, and the wind in his face. We went on some favorite back-county, no-shoulder roads that rolled and twisted and turned and curved through woodlands, farmlands, and climbed high into the foothills. We had a marvelous time and stopped to take a couple of pictures. I have heated gear and could've gone on for a long time. His poor fingers were numb, so it was time to head home and warm up.
As we were locking up our bikes, I asked him, "Did I go through the curves fast enough for you?"
"No," he replied with a grin, "but you did okay, it was a safe speed."
Memories! We will never have that moment or that ride again!
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