From the Back Seat...

The other day, Sam asked, "what do you think about going out to dinner tonight? Give you a break from cooking...?" I always appreciate those gestures....

Had it been during our first year of marriage, I probably would have accused him of implying my cooking was something other than wonderful. But after four years, the anticipation to impress him with what I cook for every meal is limited to "every now and then" and his delight in being surprised is too.

But seriously, I appreciate that Sam keeps dating me. It's nice to get out of the house every now and then, and he always manages to time it just right.

So....
He handed me my helmet and said, "let's go!"

Oh....he wants to take the bike...

Clicking the strap to the helmet, I straddled the back of the bike, ready to vroom-vroom into the sunset! Romantic? If it is, it's definitely a different kind of romantic than coffee on the front porch, or walking on the beach, or reading next to a fire, or just staring at each other with oogling eyes.

Since we were only going a little ways, I wore my sunglasses for eye-protection. Thankfully, I wasn't the driver. As the "vroom" got louder and the bugs hit harder, I went from wide eyes, to squinty eyes, to slitted eyes, to shut for three seconds and open for one. It felt like my eyelashes were being peeled off.

They actually make specific goggles to prevent all this.

Stubborn as I am, I'll probably stick with my sunglasses and tolerate the wind.

Heat coming up off the pavement already makes it hard to breathe. But have you ever seen the reaction of a baby when you blow in his face? Multiply that by 100, with the extra heat, and I was gasping for air! For a while, it was fun to let my mouth hang open and let the wind catch it--no wonder dogs look so happy hanging their head out the window! But after noticing my reflection through a passing car, I decided to let the dogs have all the fun.

Have you ever been on a horse when it suddenly decides to buck-up? You start to squeeze the horse with your legs to keep from falling off. So with a motorcycle, you never know when there's going to be a slight bump in the road or a sudden "speed up" impusle come over the driver, and so the whole time, your legs are squeezing the bike. Quite the work out.

And it's not a bike if it's not vibrating--I mean, you're practically sitting on the motor. So unless I'm planting my feet into the foot pegs, they're slowly being jolted off into mid-air.

And yet, through the discomfort--like clockwork--when we roll up to a stop light coming side to side with a Cadillac, somehow, I pull it together, put on my "bad" face and act all like, don't you wish you were me! Slowly look at them, give the Elvis snarl--all in just enough time for the light to switch to green--and then comes the final look: yeah, I'm gonna beat you accross this light. 

But by the time we got off the bike, I felt like I'd been beat up. My legs were sore, my eyes were dried out, and even my neck was sore from fighting against the wind.

And somehow, Sam calls all this: therapy. He finds it relaxing--time to clear his head and just riiiiiiiiiiide! What am I doing wrong that I find it strenuous, and exhausting?

Anyway, when we got to the restaurant, I craved nothing more than a burger and fries--and that's just what I got. Scrumptious.

Despite all the strain from the ride, it was so nice to be able to hang on to Sam and be behind him. And being able to wrap my arms around him for extra security--I'm adding that to my list of romantic occasions.