This would not be me

Truth to tell, motorcycles really startle me. If I’m not paying attention, or I’m deeply focused on something in front of me (lost to the world), the sound of a motorcycle scares the daylights out of me.

It’s been that way my entire life.

But it hasn’t kept me off the back of them.

I’m not a driver. Not a pilot. I have trouble with getting distracted and coordinating my hands and feet. The very idea of working a clutch and shifting gears in the proper order sends images of me pitching headlong over the handlebars flashing through my mind’s eye.

And that’s a good thing, actually, because it keeps me safely off the roads. It saves others from having to deal with me when I’m having a bad day of sensory overwhelm and can’t coordinate putting my pants on, let alone getting on a motorcycle and going somewhere.

Some folks can do it.

I cannot.

And I Know It.

But I’m not opposed to riding. In fact, I think I’m a pretty decent rider. I follow the driver well. So long as I have something and someone to orient to, I’m good.

I just don’t belong in the driver’s seat.