Riding in the Shimmering Heat

Don’t Tell Me I Can’t Ride

It was already pushing 90 degrees when I rolled the W650 out of the garage this morning. The National Weather Service has been in full panic mode, warning everyone to stay inside like the world is ending. I almost took the car.

I had every excuse ready: It’s too hot. I’m getting older. I should be more careful. Then I caught myself. I spent summers welding inside steel barges in heat like this. Now I’m supposed to be too delicate to ride a motorcycle because it’s 90 degrees? Please. So I geared up, hit the starter, and rode anyway.

The heat was real, but so was the smile on my face the entire time.

I ran my errands, stopped for tea and a cookie, and sat there watching the heat shimmer off the pavement, feeling more alive than I have in weeks.

I’m 72 years old. I still know my limits. And I’m nowhere near ready for the rocking chair. If that makes me stubborn, so be it.

That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.