By Chris Coray, The Unmuddled
Mathematician
In the mail last week came the periodic notice from the
state that I needed to renew my driver’s license before July. The steps required were pretty simple,
completing a form on-line and then getting a free vision test at a driver’s
license office. There were two parts
that gave me pause. First, they asked me
(in red writing) if I had ever driven fast enough to pass a vehicle driven by
KS or RAJ on a Utah road. The answer
being no, the only other place in the web process where I paused was in
deciding if I wanted to keep my motorcycle endorsement, which costs $9.00
extra.
As a kid I always wanted a two wheel motorized vehicle. My first real hope was a Vespa motor
scooter. My hankering was big but my dad
absolutely prohibited it. He provided
reasons, which included the experiences of some others. So, there was no Vespa and certainly no
motorcycle.
Fast forward 20 years.
Married, children, good job, and with no parental hindrance in front of
me I bought a medium sized motorcycle.
It wasn’t huge but would carry my wife and me on trips around Cache
Valley. When I went to get the original
motorcycle endorsement the examiner watched my very limited skills, told me I
was old enough to know better, and signed off on the application. It was fun to ride and I was not unaware of
the dangers that come primarily from car drivers not seeing you and the fact
that there is virtually no protection for the person on the bike, even with a
helmet. A guy on a motorcycle learns to
make eye contact with the drivers of all vehicles. For a period of about two years things went
well. Riding it was often exhilarating.
One day my brother-in-law came for a visit. He is an attorney, fully grown and
responsible on this occasion. He asked
me if he could take the motorcycle for a short ride. I asked him if he knew what he was doing and
if he had any experience. His reply was,
“Sure, we rode these things around the farm all the time”. So I let him take that shiny, red, beautiful
motorcycle out on the road in our residential neighborhood. The phone in the house rang so I went in, answered
it and was in conversation when my youngest daughter came running into the
house and said, “Dad, you better come quickly”.
Asking why, I received only a
repeat of the same words. So I ran
outside and there was my beautiful bike, shiny side down on the pavement, at
the intersection about 50 yards from the house.
It was on top of my brother-in-law.
I ran to the scene and asked my brother-in-law if he was OK. He answered yes, but not with normal
gusto. That was enough data for me to
begin to verbally release my feelings about the condition of “My Precious”.
Then, in an unusual and surprising way, god spoke clearly
and directly from behind me (note the lack of a capital letter). She said, “Sell it tomorrow.” I turned and there was the boss, with a no
kidding look on her face that would make Clint Eastwood cower. I said, “What?” (Isn’t it amazing how eloquent I can be when
pressed?). She repeated, “Sell the
motorcycle tomorrow”. And so I did,
selling it in a somewhat damaged condition and therefore at some loss. It was never allowed another minute in the
garage and my motorcycle life has been empty since. But this week I still checked “Yes” on the
motorcycle block for my soon-to-be-delivered new driver’s license, paid the
extra $9.00, and continue to live a fantasy that will never be fulfilled. In my fantasy life I still want that scooter.
In case you are wondering, my brother-in-law suffered no
serious injuries. Apart from some
bruising, the most serious issue was the three hours it took to get all the
gravel out of his skin caused by the rash that occurs when human skin slides
across asphalt.
.jpg)
