Thumper Thinks Out Loud

Beware the F-bomb...

Yesterday I went for a nice little ride around town, zooming up streets, zipping down others. I had no real destination, other than when I left the house I decided it was to gas up...and it only took me 45 miles to find the gas station just 2.4 miles from the house. It was a beautiful day, not too hot, not too cool, and lots of bikes were on the road. I passed a gaggle of hard-core Harley boys; one pointed at the scooter and they all lit up with smiles. During the 45 miles I was pointed at (happily) waved at by kids on the sidewalk, given the thumbs up from an old guy in a minivan at a stoplight...it was kind of cool.


But today...today I just needed to run to the grocery store, and I had an overwhelming need for a taco. And gee, Taco Bell is right across the street from the grocery store. How fortunate. But while was munching on my quite tasty Big Taste Taco, a couple of wanna-be bad asses (you know...the guys who wear the leather on weekends but you know they wear pocket protectors Monday through Friday) were gesturing towards my scooter in the parking lot, discussing who "the douchebag who rides that piece of shit" probably was.


In their discussion--which I couldn't help overhearing because they were sitting right in front of me--they dertermined it was the skinny little guy in the corner. Probably someone who was too chicken shit to ride a REAL bike. Because the skinny little guy apparently had no balls, he was a "douchebag," "chicken shit," "fairy," and "pussy" to boot. The kid in the corner was oblivious, and I had no reason to destroy their little fantasy world, so I kept my mouth shut. In just a few minutes I learned that no REAL biker would EVER be caught on a scooter, that anyone who even has one as a second ride is just a douche, and that it's perfectly all right to run the little faggot-mobiles off the road. They wadded up their trash--and then left it on the table when they got up to leave.


Yeah, I was rolling my eyes alot.


But then I get out into the parking lot, and there by my scooter stands Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber. I popped the seat open to get my jacket, and the nerdier looking of the Wannabees marveled, "Well it's a chick. That's cool." I still didn't say anything.


But THEN...they leaned against the rustbucket-pickup I had parked next to--they weren't even ON bikes, just wearing bike jackets--and as I zipped up, Nerd2 asked Nerd1 how late into the season he thought he'd ride. "Probably mid-December. Too fucking cold after that."


That's when I laughed. And Nerd1 in his infinite intelligence grunted "Whut?" Nerd 2 added "Let's see you fucking ride when it's so cold your nuts hurt."


I fired up the scooter, and tilted my helmet down so they could hear me. "Only time during winter I wouldn't ride is if there's ice on the road. It just doesn't get that cold in California."


(In my head I added "Who's the real rider now, pussy!" to that, but I didn't have the guts to actually say it...)


((I kinda wish I had, though...))


On the whole, I think I prefer the hard core Harley boys who have sense enough to appreciate the absurdity of a 3 wheeled putt putt ridden by someone in full gear. Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber...those two are probably garage queens who spend five times as much time washing and polishing their bikes than they do riding them.


:::sticks nose in air::: Yes. Yes I AM better than they are.


Shuddup. I am!