I have been MIA from posting here since last fall. That is mostly due to They gave me sketchbooks - a blog about the journey to rediscover my artistic-ness. I have a degree in graphic design, which probably should've been a plain old art degree. I have rarely drawn since graduating, but have started again and am sharing my story. Check it out if you're intrigued.
On with the posting. This won't be about farming or gardening. (The garden is planted and the wheat heads are filling.) Today we're going to talk about wearing leather.
My college boyfriend had a motorcycle. I looked forward to the noise of him rolling up to the dorm, knocking on the now nonexistent glass doors, and off we'd go. That guy became my husband and he sold the cycle shortly before we married. I had nothing to do with that decision. He was building a business and busy farming, so cycle riding just wasn't happening often enough to justify having the bike.
As our kids grew, he sometimes spoke of wanting a Harley. It was mostly a passing thought and we continued raising our children and working. The past few years, as one kid left the nest and the other was inching her way out as well, he mentioned it more often. Then, in March, my man finally decided we're not getting any younger. He wanted to grab onto that dream of us riding around the state & hopefully parts of the country. He calls me his little biker woman. People who know me personally may find that comical. I like to write, but I am not a talker. I am not outgoing. I am not terribly daring. I am, however, married to an outgoing talkative somewhat adventurous man. He has joked about getting me into leathers - pants, jacket, boots. I laughed, not really thinking about the realities of riding long distances. Now, we have leather jackets and are shopping for leather chaps and good riding boots. I'm kind of a safety freak. That's an understatement. I AM a safety freak. He's wearing a helmet because it makes me happy. Wearing leather gives you more protection if anything happens (short of getting completely squished . . . pretend I didn't say that). Cowhide is much tougher than wimpy people skin.
Going from a gardening, working, farmerwife/mom to biker women hanging out on the back of a Harley can be odd. We went for a ride with some friends recently. Six of us on three Harley's pulling into a very small town with the street blocked off for a car and tractor show. Now, we are all basic ordinary Joes, but that's pretty well hidden by the black leather and big ole' motorcycles. We slowed to a stop at the edge of the barriers and paused, deciding which way to turn & where to park. In my mind, it seemed eyes were settling on us with some apprehension, but they were probably just glancing our way. One of the guys joked we could be the sequel to Wild Hogs. I wanted to take off my helmet and yell "Hey, we're all small town people too!"
I know my farmerwife look. I know my office look. I know my fighting cholesterol look. I'm no fashionista, but I'm comfortable in those skins. However, I haven't fully fleshed out my biker chick look. Helmet hair is an issue and I'm a pale-skinned, sunscreen-wearing, not-so-young person. I don't care about "tatts" as my husband calls them and I don't care about bling. But then, my husband wears Dockers when he rides (hates jeans), for now.
We really do need to toughen up our image... just a teeny bit...
