One of my very first columns written for the Sounder was titled: “My man buys a barbecue.” Not since that time, spring of 2001, in the seasonal department of a Home Depot, have I seen such posturing, chest-pounding, and assertion of alpha-male dominance, as I did last week in a Victoria motorcycle shop.

It was a joint decision; a major purchase, especially one of such a frivolous nature should not be taken lightly in any family. We had (for once) bought and sold something, in this case our condo in Calgary, at the right time. (We are often buying high; selling low!)

We could have done the conservative, responsible thing and invested in our retirement, or simply socked it away under the futon, but this seemed to be the opportune moment to spend money as a reward for Jordan’s years of hard work. (Some naysayers will possibly be quick to point out that buying a motorcycle ensures we won’t need as much money to survive our old-age, as we have purchased ourselves an earlier demise!)

Of course, the other issue is the mothers. Jordan and I are both fortunate to have ours still living but—don’t take this the wrong way—despite the fact that we are both 53, it seems that we remain sensitive to any disapproval coming from our moms. I would also quickly like to add that even at the age of 53, it is nice to know that someone is watching over me and has concerns about how I live my life. (I put this in because I know that my two sons and my mother are going to be reading this.)  Of course, we could simply not tell them but mine reads my articles, so I told her right away, and Jordan’s has now seen a photo of the bike that one of our thoughtful boys showed her, so we can’t lie.

Mom felt she needed to remind me that I should be careful about burning my leg on the exhaust pipes, because she had a friend who it had happened to. I was frankly quite surprised that she even knew this much about motorcycles, or that she had ever known someone who rode on bikes, but then I remembered she was once young— perhaps even foolish?—herself. I promised to always wear at least jeans and boots, not telling her that I had already learned that lesson the hard way, having once lost a large chunk of my calf skin on a verboten motorcycle ride. Oops!

Jordan had a bike when we were first married, but then came Paddy, and it became a toy we couldn’t afford. But he always kept that helmet under the bed, so I knew the dream of some day owning a bike again was not far out of his mind.

It is now my helmet; he got the new one. And the new leather jacket, gloves, boots, t-shirt, ball cap… I am starting to wonder if a bike isn’t just about the accessories.

I have never seen him so happy; yes, not even on our wedding day or when his sons were born. He has an inner glow like the one you see on pregnant women or perhaps a kid-in-a-candy-shop kind of gleefulness: quite a combination!

I tried to think what could give me that same glow; that same sense of fulfillment and satisfaction, and the closest I can imagine is the feeling I have when we are together with our sons, talking and laughing and sharing memories and I know that they are both happy and doing well.  Second to that may be riding behind my guy on his new bike.

I have to admit that I kind of like the bike. In high-school, I always desired a boyfriend with a motorcycle. They always seemed so on-the-edge, the bad boys who always skipped class and didn’t care how many detentions they got. They hung out in the smoking courtyard and despised all authority.

It was also something that my mother disapproved of, and we all know how that goes! I can still feel the butterflies in my stomach as, on one of those hot, humid Southern Ontario summer evenings, the distant rumbling came closer and closer to our home. I’d sneak out the door, wearing only shorts, to meet my boyfriend around the corner; probably why I ended up with a burned leg! Oh, I was so wicked when I was young!

Now, the entire neighbourhood will know when Jordan is coming home. I don’t imagine that Jordan and I are going to be getting into any rumbles, even as the TUP issue rages on the island, and I am not sure if we will become active members of HOG (the Harley owners group), even though the people we have met so far seem very much the land counterpart of the Silva Bay Yacht Club members; warm and welcoming and a lot of fun.  It may be that the best part of owning a motorcycle will be those warm summer evenings, driving through the tunnel with a fragrant breeze in our faces.

Why, then, do I sense that maybe Jordan has a little more adventure in mind? Stay tuned!