Motorcycles have always held a certain mystique for me. They represent freedom, bravery, individuality - plus they're super sexy.
I love the old motorcycles. Having one from the 1920's or 30's would be a dream. I love the ones that look like Sergeant Murphy's in the old Richard Scary books. You know, the red one with the shoes inexplicably hanging off the back.
Many of my characters ride motorcycles. I've never ridden one unless you count the time when I was about seven and my friend's dad rode me around the corner to my house from theirs. I was petrified for the entire thirty seconds.
I've always liked the look of motorcycles, though. They make me smile when I see them on the road. There's a man who rides one to the small neighborhood library we go to. He looks exactly how a burly motorcycle riding guy should look and he sits in the library and reads. I love him for it.
So when my husband said, "What would you say to us getting a motorcycle?" I didn't need convincing. I think he just enjoyed the verbal exercise.
"It would be practical for commuting," he said.
"Sure," I said.
"It's easy to find a parking space."
"Great. Let's get one."
"They get great gas mileage."
"I know. Plus you'll look hot on it. Let's go for it."
"We can finance it."
"Whatever you think is best," I said.
So, we bought one. It's a black Honda Shadow. It's new, but it's beautiful. I don't know how we're going to manage the payments, but somehow we'll get by. I just need to convince him to hang a couple of shoes from it.