NEUSTAETER: Motorcycles and Me; pretend it’s your mom on that bike
The first time I hopped on the back of a motorcycle I was 16 years old and the guy driving was just 18. I don’t remember giving the safety concerns more than a passing thought and from first rev it was one of my favourite experiences ever.
Something about the way you can feel the air temperature change on your skin, how you can smell flowers, water, pavement and food in the air, the silence inside the helmet and the power of the engine all immediately appealed to me; it felt like a whole new way to experience life and taste freedom.
Although I have yet to feel compelled to get my own bike license, I was happy when I married a guy who rides a motorcycle because I love being a passenger and after a few bike-less years (because babies are expensive, ya’ll) we were finally able to purchase a motorcycle again. To my surprise though, when I hopped on the back with the same enthusiasm of my youth I quickly discovered that hurtling down the highway with nothing but a helmet and some leather between the road and me felt less thrilling and more irresponsible than it had when I was single and childless.