You meet the nicest people on a Honda, but I ride...

Busy work day, since I have been closed for thirteen hours and want to try and catch up, but I don't, the crew keeps working and I get all the help I can and the higher levels send me more to do, and we keep circulating items, over five hundred and seventy six in three hours, normal is only three hundred. The sunshine rules and I get to leave the island having been thanked for a picture of another motorcyclist from Saturday's ride.

So I am riding to the Dodge dealer to ransom my Caravan, they fixed the important stuff and told me how much more they wanted to help it along for another eighty thousand miles. The bill is as large as I want to pay so I delay the extras. I have my keys and the bill is paid and time to ride my trusty Triumph home, I won't meet the nicest people but I am sure that old ad was aimed directly at the Harley-Davidson riders and the one per centers.

First person I met was hollering at me from his little junky Japanese car - mentioning my heritage and his opinion of my links to apelike creatures with foul words and bad vibrations - I immediately thought I had found an enemy for life. He complained that I had "been Killed" back there - I started to guess he had wanted me to fall over and such. I had been paying attention and no one had gotten close, I hadn't violated any laws and I was still going to enjoy my ride. But then I didn't have long greasy hair with a wife beater shirt with stains on it, and I wondered if the performance was more for his passengers or his own ego - do I think he graduated high school, had a full time job, wasn't on some sort of government aid? Well, no I don't but I could be wrong I have been wrong before. The things one sees when you aren't carrying a gun, and I like athletic and muscle undershirts - but always clean ones.

Second person was a few miles farther along the Pacific Highway. I am at a red light and a driver again hollers at me, tells me that I have a nice ride. This man has two children in the car with him and his language is clean, and I like hearing that I have a nice ride. He asks what size it is, 795cc I answer. He asks if that was big enough (size matters!) and I answer that it got me to Minnesota and back - he is happy and I can feel a little wish that he could go do that. Responsibility gets us sooner or later if we are lucky, but we will dream anyway.

Third encounter was predictable, a big full crew cab, 4 wheel drive, Ford pick up truck with big tires. I am in the left lane beside the middle turning lane and this truck driving man is in the right lane. He cuts to cross my lane and I lean to avoid his crushing me - he doesn't see me - I am in the blind zone and his zone is bigger because he is so high - or he hates me and I am going to die. I don't lock up my front brake, I do continue to lean away and slow down and finally stop behind him in the middle lane. I am lucky, he doesn't back up to roll over me, my motorcycle is in good shape, my heart hasn't given out on me or the ride. He crosses all the traffic and turns around in an apartment parking lot and I have been put on notice that --- I am not important to big Ford truck drivers, my motorcycling skills are improving, and Someone is Watching over me. Thank the Lord.

On my Caravan is a bumper sticker, it says "Motorcycles, Start Seeing Them" should have put it on my helmet?