Completely that said, there are a combine things I can point to in my own history that might have been well-thought-out harbingers of what was to come. Speaking of getting in the mood for a ride, here’s something else that caught my attention this week: a short, simple video made by my friend Tim, who documented a ride last fall around Madison County and posted a wee bit of it on Facebook and YouTube. Yes, I know it’s just a video of Tim journeying down Highway 169 toward my favorite Iowa small town… but you have no idea how much this video – AND the sunny 50-degree day we had on Wednesday – made me want to ride!
I once had awareness for collecting up some of the stories from this blog into a book, but when I shared that idea with a new acquaintance in the midst of a discussion about our experiences as writers, she shook her head “nugatory” and said, “Uh-uh, I don’t want to know where you went… I want to know where you came from. I want to know why you started riding.”
At this moment I’ll be straightforward, Woman Bikers kind of took the wind out of my sails, briefly, and here’s why: the fact is, I have no long-buried, deep-seated, book-worthy urge or need to ride that suddenly worked its way to the fore when I hit a certain point in life. The first is a telephone booth. The other thing… wells, more on that next time.
It’s the weekend where we come around up; take a rigidity, look in the mirror and go, “Holy CRAP – what the hell happened to you?” And then we venture over to the Iowa State Fairgrounds so we can pay $10 to get in to the 4H Building and look around at bike-related junk for sale (isn’t this kind of like paying the people at McDonalds just to look at the menu?) and give a big hi-Dee-ho to all the folks we haven’t seen all winter.
Woman Bikers who shaft to me on the phone from sixth evaluation until they day I went off to college was talking to a kid in a phone booth. When I was in sixth grade, my dad brought home an antique wooden telephone booth – the kind that sits in a hotel lobby and contains a pay phone. Dad’s phone booth included the working pay phone, albeit with the guts taken out so it was more of a piggy bank than a pay-per-call mechanism, and this contraption served as our second phone, or “teen line,” until the day my folks moved out of the childhood home many years later.
More hot girl: http://www.BikerKiss.com/i/af15038764
An inordinate length of time later, as I reconnected with some of those kids on Facebook, it amused me to learn that the phone booth was also something I had been remembered for. What the phone booth taught me was that it was fun to be different… to have something in my life that made me stand out from my peers; something that they thought was cool enough to remark upon, ask me about, and tease me about. I know there are Woman Bikers who do have that, who went over and done with years of trying to please Mainstream Society before they finally said cake it, that’s not who I am and I will no longer be denied.” But I am not a Phoenix rising from the ashes.
I am in fact considering advancing to it and organization to take a zillion pictures – which of course I will share with you all! Now certainly, I can’t say I’ve lived my whole life being different. I was never the purple Mohawk swimming upstream in a sea of Big Hair. But the phone booth was one thing – the first thing – that showed me there’s value in standing out from the crowd… that it’s okay to be a little weird sometimes… and that having, or being, something unexpected can bring a lot of satisfaction on a lot of echelons.