This is a true story and I originally wrote this on Memorial Day 2011, but recently came across it and decided to repost just for fun. I hope you enjoy.

Motorcycling is such a relaxing hobby. I was certain I’d filled Donna’s tank the last time I rode her bike (apparently not). We have a pair of rather nice radios that (normally) allow us to communicate freely while we ride. Unbeknownst to me, my radio was not working and I was enjoying the peace and quiet. Donna, however, was having a quite different experience.

In my own defense, the view one gets from the rearview mirrors of an Italian sport bike is a combination of a realist view of one’s elbows and an impressionist’s view of everything else.

By the time she got my attention, I stopped short, she stopped short, and laid her bike down in a very slow, but awkward manner (my fault). I watched in semi-detached amazement as, like a game fish fighting the hook, her head snapped left, then right before she managed to break free of her radio-wire tether (hey, what use is one radio anyway?).

After assessing there was no major damage to Donna’s bike, we soldiered on (sic). Hot and tired (and in need of fuel), we stopped at the Sheetz in Somerset to fill up and get something cold to drink. After filling and emptying our various tanks, we saddled up for the 20 minute ride to our destination…. My bike won’t start. After a cell call to my friendly Moto Guzzi dealer (in Florida), we diagnosed a fuel pump that wouldn’t.

After speaking with the Asst. Mgr., she agreed to let me display my fire engine red piece of Italian sculpture in a remote corner of the parking lot until I could return with my trailer and retrieve my ailing Italian mistress.

At least we weren’t stranded. We decided we’d saddle up on Donna’s bike (me in front, Donna riding pillion) and head back to Uniontown to get my truck.

I broke my Rx sunglasses trying to fit them into my helmet (no, I did not have a spare pair). Fortunately, my presbyopia is not so severe that I cannot drive without glasses (good news), however, I am prone to migraine-induced blindness if I’m out in bright sunlight for an extended period of time (bad news). The latter condition being akin to, say, a 90 minute ride in a generally southwestern direction on a sunny afternoon.

Picture if you will, 2 rather corpulent middle-aged fogeys crowded onto a rather petit motorcycle buzzing through the Lauryl Highlands on a magnificent Memorial Day. Somehow we failed to enjoy the moment and, instead, dwelled on the irony and discomfort.

After an uncomfortable 90 minute ride back to Uniontown (too fast for her, too slow for me–hey, marriage is about compromise, right?), we arrived back at home.

I mentioned we rode back to get my truck. What I failed to point out was that that was necessary in order to drive the 1 hour up to my parents’ house to retrieve my trailer (in the opposite direction).

I am pleased to report, that (despite my unregistered trailer and the 60 miles on the PA Turnpike) there are few details worth noting for the rest of this adventure.

I arrived back at the Sheetz to find my bike where I left it and unmolested. Loaded it solo and without incident. Drove home without damage to the bike, being pulled over, ticketed, breaking down or running out of gas.

The bike is in the garage until such time as I am willing to speak to her again. I have my feet up in the living room (w/laptop). Donna’s making dinner and life is good.