Men and motorcycles

What is it with men and motorcycles? I will never understand the appeal. Ever.

In the past almost twelve years since we've been married Isaak has gone through his share of motorcycles. And on Wednesday he came home with another one.

Oh lord. 

I knew this day was coming. We have been going back and forth for weeks about this whole motorcycle thing, and seen as how we just bought a new vehicle before we moved here, buying another car (really it could of been anything with doors, seat belts and airbags, I wasn't being picky) was kind of out of the question. And, commuting to and from work, a motorcycle really is the most efficient way of travel, for Isaak anyways.

All of that being said, I still was not happy about him buying another one. I haven't been, how shall we say, enthusiastic, about Isaak getting another bike in the past.

Because I am a serious motorcycle hater. 

I hate 'em. 

I hate 'em a lot. 

No amount of convincing on Isaak's part or any any body else's has ever or will every change my mind on the matter. Sorry. But I accredit my unreasonableness to a little story involving Isaak and his crazy man killing crotch rocket.....

Ten years ago when we were living in California I got a call mid afternoon that Isaak had been in an accident while he was out riding with his biker friends from work. Isaak was all of a whooping twenty years old, and set off with a bunch of other lunatic young guys. Isaak took a corner too fast (too fast as in he was trying to break the sound barrier) and his bike came out from under him. 

A trip to the emergency room, a broken collar bone, concussion, digging embedded rocks out of his wounds, and skin being ripped from his body because he skidded so far and fast it shredded the clothes from his body......

and that pretty much ruined any enthusiasm or agreeableness I would have for motorcycles, ever again!

Call me crazy! But I did not sign up to be a freakin' widow at twenty years old or any years after that thanks to some reckless adrenaline inducing Satan inspired death trap on two wheels driven by some equally reckless crazy man who thinks he is invincible! 

Am I makin' myself clear?!

I have made myself clear. 

The problem is that boys will be boys and I have discovered that no matter how old they get, there is still that pubescent sixteen year old lunatic living deep down in them that rears it's pimply face in the prospect of adventure, speed, fireworks, guns, breaking things and blowing stuff up in the front yard and all the other crap that they find amusing. 

So, you wanna get another bike to drive to "work"? Yeah right by the way. You wanna ride that bike for "work" as much as I wanna wear stiletto boots for comfort. You were about as happy as the fat kid in Willy Wonka when he started drinking the chocolate out of the river. But do you remember what happened next? In little fatty's enthusiasm he fell into the river and got stuck in the tube! He got stuck in.the.tube! Yeah. I think I've made my point. Don't fall into a chocolate river and get stuck in a tube.

That being said, when Isaak brought home his new bike this week, I handed him a contract. It reads as follows.....

 Motorcycle Contract

I, Brant Isaak Brooks, hereby agree to the terms of this contract.

• I solemnly swear to never drive faster than the speed limit unless I am being chased by evil people who desire to cause me physical harm.

• In the event that there is no speed limit posted I solemnly swear to drive with the flow of traffic.

• I will not swerve in and out of traffic to get around other vehicles that are driving slower than I think they should be.

• I will wait patiently behind said vehicles that are driving slower than I would like.

• I will not speed off and accelerate to an obnoxious speed when passing other vehicles or pedestrians on the road.

• I will not attempt to do stupid tricks while driving, such as but not limited to, “wheelies”, standing on the seat, spinning the tires, taking sharp corners and trying to get the bike to touch the ground like those idiots on tv.

• I will not drive in any manner that will cause an accelerated decline in the performance of the motorcycle.

• I will do my best to avoid potholes and not drive through them thinking I am on a motocross course.

• I will always wear a helmet, gloves and long pants so that in the event I leave my bike against my will I will have done everything in my power to keep my skin attached to my body and prevent a traumatic brain injury.

• Every time I sit down to ride I will remember that I am not some 16 year old punk who thinks he is invincible. When I am tempted to drive like a maniac I will picture the faces of my wife and children and remember that they do not wish to become widowed and bastards.

• If an accident should occur that is not my fault I will have to provide witnesses that I did not bribe to attest to my innocence. 

• In the event that I break any of the terms of this contract I agree to let my wife take a sledge hammer to my bike and crush it to smithereens while I watch. She will then take the scraps to the Village Artisanal and donate the pieces to a sculptor who will melt down the parts and use it for abstract art. Furthermore, if I break these terms I will never purchase nor ride another motorcycle again nor will I talk about, nag, or whimper to my wife about purchasing one in the future.

It's good to have these things in writing because motorcycle accidents have a way of killing memory brain cells in the same manner that child birth does. It's amazing how fast we forget the pain we just suffered through to bring life into the world, when just moments before we were cursing our husbands and God for making them. And then two months later we're all like, "oh, I can't wait to have another baby!!" We say that because, well number one, babies are awesome and cute and worth the pain, but number two, child birth destroys memory brain cells y'all.

So do motorcycle accidents.

Hence the need for a contract, in writing, copied and saved in multiple places in the event of a fire, computer crash, or home invasion where the intruder's main purpose is stealing worthless documents.

So, Isaak gets a shiny new bike, I get to destroy it with a shiny metal sledge hammer should the occasion ever present itself again. Seems fair to me. Hoping it doesn't come to that though.