Kendo is a biker. No ifs or buts about it.
I knew this from the moment we started going out (14 years ago – eek!) when we used to walk from my parents house round to his flat to pick up his motorbike (then a Kawasaki GPZ500 with a knackered monoshock) and then go out for rides to Southport and other such delightful Northern places (if my mother asks, we went bowling, okay?).
He’s always owned a motorbike in some incarnation or other in all the time we’ve been together. Well, expect for the Biker Mid-life crisis he had after Egg was born when he traded his beloved Suzuki Bandit 1200 in for a car. That was recently rectified you might recall after the untimely death of my car a few months back.
Being a biker isn’t just something he does. Its part of who he is. It’s in his soul and although I can’t always see the fascination (like when its cold and he thinks it’s a good idea for me to go out with him) I can appreciate the joy of it. Wind in the hair (well, visor anyway) blowing out all the cobwebs that stressful lives build up in our addled brains.
Then there are mornings like this morning. Mornings when I really wish he didn’t have that biker bit in his soul at all. When I’m woken at just before 7am by the sound of his voice from the living room when I know he left for work at 6.30am. When I can hear the rain outside, and hear his half of a telephone conservation to work and I know that his bike ride to work hasn’t been as uneventful as we like them to be, and I’m wondering what damage has been done to him, and to his bike. I know it’s obviously not that bad, or he’d be upstairs telling me he was a mess, or worse someone else would be knocking on the front door to tell me he was more than a mess.
Just ice, plus frozen hailstone, plus a layer of rainwater making for a very slippery road surface and a nice horizontal skid along the top of our street. He’s fine, except for some bruising to his right knee, and a few battle scars on his bike. Me? I try not to think about the what-ifs. You could drive yourself crazy doing that.
Today I’m reminded of a cyber friend of mine whose biker hubby was recently involved in a serious bike accident (I know she reads here sometimes. Hi Wendy! Hope you and John and the mini-woopsters are all okay) and I’m left with the thought “There but for the Grace of God go I”.
Today I’m thankful that my lovely husband is at home safe and well. He might sometimes be a pain in the arse, but he’s my pain the in arse and I’d like to keep him a great while longer.
a mailing tip
8 hours ago