Two years ago I was single, walking my 4 pound Pomeranian down a side street in the Upper Eastside. I noticed a man wearing a helmet and leather gear, washing the side of his Harley Davidson motorcycle. I also noticed he had a second seat. I walked passed him and furtively asked “So where are you going?” To which he replied, “Wherever my bike takes me in the city.” So I asked, “Would you like some company?” He replied, “I would love some.” I asked him if he had a second helmet. He said yes. So I told him, “Give me 5 minutes, I’ll be right back.” I walked my dog home, threw on my Harley Davidson studded leather riding jacket, my boots and my yellow bandana. I walked back to where I had met him, and he was already sitting on his bike with the motor running. I grabbed his shoulder with my hand, swung myself around and hopped on the back of his bike without so much of a hello, and proceeded to ride with this perfect stranger through New York City for the next 3 hours.
Probably not the safest or smartest thing I’ve ever done. But since when does anybody know me to act in any other manner than my impulsiveness?
It was a great day. We stopped for lunch. Had a great time. Then he called, and called more. And constantly rode by my street, and constantly asked if I wanted another ride. Guess I should have thought about what I was getting myself into when a good-looking girl offers to hop on the back of a dude’s Harley.
It was worth the exhilaration though.
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