Saturday 6 February 2016

Perfect Memories

Last night I had a dream that I was riding a motorcycle.

I have been on a motorcycle just a handful of times in my life. My mom won a 50 CC Honda in a contest when I was a teenager, but she didn’t let my brother or myself anywhere near it. She just sold it to some university student that I hated for a few years. He did take my motorbike after all.

To tell you the truth, I have never been that comfortable with motorized two wheeled vehicles. They just don’t seem that safe. At least in a car you have a metal shell surrounding you and there is no need to stick your foot out for balance. You can control the amount of wind that blows in your face, listen to the radio, drink coffee and you have a sturdy belt to hold you in the car if there is an accident. Plus, you aren’t cradling a tank of gasoline between your thighs and testicles. Who needs to rest their nuts on an unexploded bomb?

My brother had an accident while in Florida one year on a motorbike. He slid along the pavement until several parts of his body had the skin stripped off to the bone. He was considered lucky. I did a header off of my bike when I was a kid and the road rash on my chest and face made me never want to repeat it…ever!

My best friend died far too early in a motorcycle accident which resulted in a closed casket funeral. Bikes are not my favourite.

However, in last nights dream I owned a bike and seemed to be happy to do so. It was summer and the neighbour across the alley and I were working on our bikes, talking back and forth. We were laughing about the fact we spent more time working on the bikes than riding them. Perhaps they are designed that way; it is far safer to sit in your garage twisting nuts than taking your chances on the mean streets of wherever it is that you live.

Working on my bike in the garage was one of those perfect moments that you remember for the rest of your life. I was happy, laughing and being productive, the weather was perfect and for a change, everything seemed to be working out. I didn’t want that day to end and of course I didn’t want to wake up. I held on to the dream until it was a bare wisp of memory. Perhaps it will come back tonight and if I am terribly lucky I will have another perfect moment this coming summer working in the garage.

Perfect memories are too few.

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