When in Rome

Yesterday I did something extremely stupid. Quite possibly even more stupid than getting on an Ohio-bound plane with no one but David over a year ago. I got on the back of a motorcycle without a helmet. I know! I know! I don't plan on ever doing it again so you can breathe now Mom and Dad and assorted friends and family who just read that.

So I was sitting in my lakeside cottage poking around the Internet, avoiding the sink of dishes, when I heard the unmistakable roar of bike engines in the driveway. "$#@$*%," I thought, "that's Jim and Rhonda. The house is a mess and more cussing!" Looking out the window, I see Rhonda on the sidewalk and Jim in the driveway. I greet them in the front yard and Rhonda says, "Get some shoes on! We're kidnapping you!" "I haven't brushed my teeth," I squeal. Jim says, "Well brush 'em, kiddo! Do you have some sunglasses? We're going for a ride down to the AMVETS for a burger". (So if you're keeping track Jim is a bike-riding, board-gaming veteran. I don't get it either.) I say, "Of course I have sunglasses. You don't have a helmet though? David would kill me if he found out I rode without one." Jim rides without one because there are no helmet laws in Ohio, a fact that David and I never cease to comment on when we see people on bikes not only without helmets but also no shirts, no shoes, no sleeves.

"Are these people crazy?" we ask. You can be the safest rider in the world but nothing is going to stop a deer from jumping in front of you or a driver pulling out into traffic and right into you. "These people are out of their minds and they certainly will be when they are lying on the pavement under a coroner's sheet," we "tsk-tsk", "What kind of person gets on a bike without a helmet?"

And then here I am minutes away from doing just that. Retreating into the house to brush my teeth and get shoes so the pipes of Jim's bike don't burn my feet. He'll let me on the back of his bike without a helmet but not without shoes and jeans that's where he draws the line. As I am shuffling around I hear the bikes start up and leave. I peek out the window and see that Rhonda's red bike is gone. "Phew," I think, "dodged a bullet there. They were playing a joke on me." I start to wash the dishes and then hear Jim's voice, "Hey are you coming or not? It's roasting out here!" I tell him I thought they were joking with me and he says, "No, why would we do that?" As if any of us know why Jim does what he does. Rhonda had ridden over to the store to pick up some groceries. That was the bike I heard leaving.

At this point I'm like, "When in Ohio ride without a helmet like the Ohioans do. Jim, you have to call David if I fall off and die. How do I get on this thing?" Turns out it's just like getting on a horse. Step on and up and then swing. We meet Rhonda at the store then on down the road for a burger. I was on the bike ten minutes round-trip down the highway against Lake Erie. I didn't die, or flail causing Jim to have an accident and was rewarded with a burger topped with provolone. It was pretty cool and less scary then I thought. Of course, it was just a quick uneventful ride so if something had spooked me I probably wouldn't be writing that.

Then we rode home and I waited for David to get home so I could say, "You'll never guess what I did today."

"Filed your paperwork with mine in our new file cabinet?"
"Nope."
"Became gainfully employed?"
"Nope."
"Drove a car by yourself?"
"Nope. You'll never guess."

He never did guess so I told him and he shook his head,"No way, well right on I suppose." The scariest thing about the whole situation is that if I can get on the back of a bike without a helmet and put my life in a fearless veteran's gloved hands. I should be able to do anything. I should be able to drive a car knowing I used up one of my nine lives and have at least eight to spare.