On Becoming a Wüss …
I admit it. Today I
have to admit it, I have become a wüss, or would that be whuss – in American –
or maybe woos. Mostly we say pussy, meaning a sort of a weakling or a weeny. Or, when the going gets tough, a wüss sits
down and takes a nap. The internal
dialogue says, “Nah, that’s too much trouble.
Looks uncomfortable.”
It’s a beautiful January day here in southern Virginia. Relatively warm. Sunny.
No real wind. I got up thinking,
“It’s Sunday. I could ride my bike to the
coffee shop. Weather looks perfect.”
Then I thought, “Well-l-l, it is a little cold. Just a trifle
chilly. I’ll have to put on my riding
chaps, wear the heavy leather bike jacket.
I dunno. I really don’t feel like going through all that … “ So I used my car. Chickened out. Wüssed on the bike.
I used to ride even if it was cold, really cold. After decades I actually finally bought a
pair of insulated chaps. For years I
just rode with frozen legs. Just did
it. Too cheap to spend the money on upgrading
my comfort level. I finally bought a
windshield. Years and years riding what
bikers call naked, or without a
windshield – the wind just blasting into your face and chest. That
made a cold ride freezing. There were
days I’d have to stop at 7/11s every ten miles to warm up. My hands just frozen blocks.
It can take any extra ten minutes to gear up to ride a motorcycle in the colder seasons. A lot of the time, by the time, I actually
throw a leg over the tank, I’m sweating buckets with all that gear on. I hate that.
But that’s a side issue.
Of course for years I either didn’t have a car – yes, no car
– or the car I had was a real piece of
shit truck. True red-neck p.o.s. pickup. Damn!
I hated that truck. It drove like
a weasel on greased tile, ground in every
gear, sometimes it wouldn’t shift at all.
I’d have to double-clutch it into every gear. Reverse would just block itself out. The inside smelled like a wet dog – all
the time!, no matter what I
did to de-aromarize (defume) (get the smell out of) it. Thick oily grunge on the floor. Some kind of damp hoarder pile of stuff
behind the seat.
So, in essence, I had
to ride the bike. But now I do have a
really nice little two-door high gas mileage nifty cartoon car. I really like it. I don’t have to spend so much sweaty time
strapping my laptop case onto the sissy bar and stuffing extra cold weather
gear in the saddlebags. Worrying the
whole time that all the expensive computer stuff is going to stay put. The worth of the equipment in that briefcase
exceeds the worth of the damned motorcycle.
– Really. That’s a fact. - And the briefcase is not waterproof. It’s not even water-resistant. Tears would
go right through it.
It makes it tough to get on the bike some days, just because
the car is so much more comfortable and convenient. I can throw my computer stuff in the back,
along with my workout stuff. Just carry
a lot more stuff and if I want to go into a store, I can just lock the car. When I’m on the bike I always take the fifty
pound computer bag with me, and I do have a bad back. Ouchies!
It’s not just riding the
motorcycle too. I used to be quite a tough guy. I’ve skied all day what it was -60 (with wind chill). Yes, the whole day. Days when the mountain was more like a
vertical hockey rink than any kind of snow cover. When I was a ski coach, I had training days
when we played football in knee-deep snow.
Lots of things like that. I’ve
kayaked in storms with five-foot waves coming in my face. I’ve kayaked in blizzards – before the big
lake froze over, of course (like in early November).
I complained to my wife for years
about not having winter riding gear. So when the weather changed this year, I
pulled out my dusty wallet, took out my shiny looking credit card (which is
like not at all new) and bought winter gear.
I got the insulated
chaps. I got the windshield. I got the hundred dollar winter
gloves. I got the thick leather high riding boots.
And I turned into a weather
pussy. ???
I blame it on finally getting a nicer car.
I mean now, I’m always thinking, “Why suffer, if I don’t have to?” Still, it’s a true rush riding the bike. I’ve
become kind of bipolar about my
transportation. Is that a bad thing?
dalepeterson.us
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