FIRST THERE WAS BEATRICE
My First Motorcycle, Beatrice
Beatrice was both a lot of fun and a lot of trouble.
I loved her even though she was skittish, ornery and slippery. Yes, there were some fun rides. But I still begrudge her the times when she left me high and dry. The time she waited patiently for me for three days in airport parking at Brown Field. I returned exhuasted, and she wouldn’t start. The time she blew her headlamp, late at night, far from home. All the times she skidded on painted stripes when it rained, skipped in the wind on freeways, and slipped in gravel.
Ladies on motorcycles were still a novelty when I found Beatrice. More than once a curious driver nearly ran us off the road, not realizing that as he was staring at us he had his much larger vehicle pointed right in our direction.
Unfortunately, Beatrice was my only means of transportation during San Diego’s rainiest season ever.
I do have fond memories of her. One beautiful day I quit a loathesome job and hopped onto her for what felt like a ride out into the sunset. Beatrice could truly embody that feeling of freedom and flying with the wind. The next day, however, it rained again. And soon after I had a job interview where I arrived on time, but with a fat wet stripe down the back of my grey suit. I was offered the job on the spot, politely shook my new boss’s hand and backed out of her office so I wouldn’t have to explain why I was so wet.
Beatrice and I were together for about a year. Then, when I had a little more cash, I turned her in for a brand new Toyota. The sales team got a big kick out of a young lady trading in her motorcycle for a little car. They were all singing “Kawasaki lets the good times roll” in a back room somewhere as I signed on the dotted line.
For many years I forgot about motorcycles. There was an occasional ride here and there. I tried out a dirt bike and that sure was fun.
Trying Out A Dirt Bike
Then my husband and I found Zoe.
THEN CAME ZOE
She was fabulous — much heavier than Beatrice, much faster, and much more steady on her wheels.The plan was for both of us to get used to riding again on this beautiful iron horse. Then I would keep Zoe and my husband find a larger, more manly bike. We both made it official and got the “M” category on our licenses.
But our time with Zoe was brief.
One fine fall morning our entire neighborhood burned up in what was called the Cedar Fire. Zoe put up a good fight — she was still standing in the garage on her kickstand when the smoke cleared. The Roman tub from upstairs had fallen on her, as well as bed springs, the water heater, and whatever else survived the intense blast of heat.
Some of my friends asked, “You couldn’t save Zoe?” No. If you’re fleeing from wild fire, it’s best to take a car.
I sometimes wonder if there’s another pretty motorcycle in my future. At this moment I have serious doubts. I don’t see myself as a biker chick.
Well written article.