For a long time I have really wanted to get my motorcycle license and learn to ride. Matt’s grandparents on his mother’s side ride Harley’s. His parents ride Harley’s. His two aunts and two uncles on his dad’s side ride Harley’s. His brother rides a Harley. Like??? It only makes sense we’re next. It doesn’t need to be a Harley. It would just be awesome to take rides together in pretty places, and be able to ride out from San Diego to Laughlin with Matt’s family every year. Have you ever seen an Indian? Oh lord.
But then I remember my bad luck with motorized contraptions and how people always try to murder me with their cars. And how I can’t even walk a straight line for like ten feet without fucking it up. And about how even the idea of getting on Matt’s dirt bike gives me such anxiety. And about how over this past weekend two guys died in motorcycle accidents out here. And how that seems to happen somewhat often? And then I figure I should stick to cars. My odds of survival improve.