“God, it’s good to see you again!” she shouted on the way up the stairs. “It has been way too long!”
“Yeah, it has,” he replied, suddenly aware of the advantage in going up after her. The absence of risers on the spiral staircase offered very pleasant peeks now and then. He smiled, knowing she had thought of this, too.
“What did you pack in this thing, kitchen appliances?” Her suitcase was both too heavy and too bulky to be taking up a narrow cylinder.
“A girl’s got to have her things. I’ll be here a while, remember?” She was already across the room, reconnecting with the small apartment and its large wooded view. “I am so happy to be in this room again! Can we have some tea?”
He set the suitcase down and grabbed her hand as she was reaching to open a window.
“Sure, we can have some tea. But I thought maybe you’d like to take a ride first. The conditions are perfect right now! Late afternoon sun, autumn just beginning to state its intentions, the wild open road beckons—“
He was interrupted by a supremely seductive smile, which suspended his words as well as his breath. Both escaped as a sigh, laden with the wonder of what was happening in that brilliant mind of hers.
“What?” She assumed her patented coy look, head tilted ever-so-slightly forward, eyes looking upward.
“Okay,” he thought. “It’s really her. She thinks she gets away with that innocence act. She does, of course, because she’s so good at it!”
She felt herself pulled quickly to him, surrounded by a properly welcoming embrace.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” he said directly into her eyes. “Now, let’s get this out of the way and decide whether it’s tea or a ride.” He pushed the suitcase across the floor with his feet, never really taking his arm from her shoulder.
“Any reason we can’t do both? You seem talented enough to do two things at once.” Not five minutes into the visit, and she was already winding him up.
His answer came in the form of a determined tug.
Moments later, they found themselves in full riding gear, staring at his beloved machine.
“Whew, that’s a real classic you got there, huh?” She gave it a once-over at least twice.
He smiled demurely. “Yeah, I guess you could say so. It’s got some miles and years on it, but it’s not slowing down. You’d be surprised how much power comes from a seasoned and well maintained engine like this one.”
“Mind if I look a little closer?” She bent downward, not awaiting his answer.
“Sure, go right ahead. But let’s face it, they all look the same in some ways. What’s really important is how well you maneuver it, how you move with it as if you’re one with it…”
She stood up and gave him a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, whatever, Zen guy. You gonna stand there talking about it, or are you going to start it up and let me feel the power? What’s the bore and stroke, by the way?”
He shook his head. “Geez, you women—“
She cut him off abruptly. “Such charming sexism, but please, continue. Don’t censor yourself for my sake.”
“Okay, look, you women waste too much time asking about bore and stroke, shaft or chain, as if you have a clue what you’re talking about! Yeah, displacement is important—that’s where the CC’s come in, in case you didn’t know; it’s the amount of collective space filled up by the pistons. You know, they move up and down in the cylinders, that’s what the lubricant is for, so they move smoothly and don’t seize up—anyway, what’s really important, more than displacement, is technique. You don’t want some piston just banging around in a beat up ol’ cylinder. Things get damaged that way. You need power and control—“
“Control, huh? That’s where you come in. I knew it,” she smirked.
He honored her comment with an impatient and insincere smile. “Subtlety, that’s what makes one machine different from another. They’ve all got power—that’s what they’re made for. But the brains behind the power, that’s where it’s at. Knowing just when to lean this way, or that way, when to give a quick thrust, when to ease into a curve. That’s more than power, that’s road smarts. And when two smart people go for a ride, believe me, it’s far more pleasurable than just gawking at some hunk of aluminum.”
“Aluminum? Yours is made from aluminum?” Her coyness gave way to slight incredulity.
He stood proudly erect. “Nope. Pretty much iron and steel. This is old school, remember? It’s not some newfangled plastic pocket-rocket. This one is durable, designed for the long haul, wet or dry conditions, winding road or straightaway. This one can handle it all.”
“It certainly looks like it’s in good shape. You take really good care of it, I can tell.” She gave it another concentrated look from end to end.
He shrugged with nonchalance. “Yeah, I do all my own maintenance. Every now and then, when necessary, I have it checked out by an expert. Even if you know all that’s happened with it, sometimes it’s good to get an expert opinion.”
She gave a quick clinical nod. “Yes, I agree. Now about this machine, you’re obviously proud of it, and it is rather impressive, but so far all I’m getting is a bunch of talk. So while you’re knocking people who are only interested in hunks of metal, you’re simultaneously delaying the real action. Do I sense some hesitancy, some insecurity?”
His tone echoed in his glare. “No, Miss Smart Britches. It’s just that we’ve never ridden together, and I thought it’d be good to see if we’re on the same wavelength. But since you’re in such a hurry, let’s see you get on. Just swing your leg up and over, then straddle—“
“I know how to get on, Control Master. Hey, let go!”
He stopped her leg in mid-swing and stretched it just enough to make her feel somewhat naked and vulnerable. She liked it, of course. But she really did want to finish getting on.
He, however, was enjoying the tease. “So you know how to get on, do you? Then why are you going so fast? Eagerness is good, but you must realize that each getting-on experience is new, therefore different, therefore should be savored. So let yourself down slowly. Take in the experience fully…see how different it is…”
He released her leg, and she eased herself down.
“Oh, yeah, it’s different alright. Noisier than I expected. You don’t ever stop talking. You’re worse than I am.”
“Hey, you want to fight or ride?”
“Yes,” she left the answer for him to properly apply.
“Argue if you want, but most people ignore the fact that getting on can be as gratifying as getting off.”
She fought to keep her snicker from becoming a full-fledged gut-engaging laugh. “Is he serious?” she thought. “Wrong time to ask…note it for later.”
He continued, as if not noticing her struggle. “Okay, so riding consists of two things: physical action and intuitive action. Each one is as crucial as the other. Knowing when to use the throttle, when to ease off and maybe even come to a complete stop. How to read the road, always scanning for the best route and method to get there. Not rushing there, no, but taking one’s time—most people overlook that. They just zoom from Point A to Point Done never even thinking about how much the enjoyment builds up over time. We don’t seem to be interested in anticipation anymore. Just ‘bang!’ the ride’s done, on to the next one.”
She wiggled her impatience. “Hey, speaking of anticipation, you gonna get going anytime soon?”
“Would you listen to me? I’m really serious about this—“
“He’s never serious about this…” she mused silently. “There’s always a punch line, even if it’s days away…oh god, I hope this doesn’t take days…”
“So, you’re the passenger,” he pointed to her authoritatively. “By getting on, you relinquish a lot of control to me.”
“I knew it!” She slammed her fists down onto her thighs.
“Hush, would you? So, I control the throttle—I know you might not like that, but let’s face it, the throttle’s mine. You can request that I go faster or even slower. Just holler it out, or give me a hip check or something.”
She nodded with a feigned obedient stare.
“Stay close, as if we’re joined at the hip. Stay with me in the turns, lean with me, and never lean too far away from me—you could literally fall off. You can always get back on, sure, but you still don’t want the ride to end prematurely because of some nasty crash. I’m experienced enough as an operator—“
“Operator? That’s like a controller, isn’t it?”
He ignored her suspicion. “We’ll start the ride a lot sooner if you quit interrupting. Okay, I’m good enough operating this thing to understand that each riding couple has to find their own rhythm. We all know the basics—get on, ride, get off—but it goes from just a ride to a really pleasurable trip once we get into our own unique rhythm. It might take a few miles.”
She thrust her chin forward and caught his glance with her overly-opened eyes. “And the rhythm of a thousand miles must begin with the first beat…which happens exactly when?”
“When you stop with your chatter. I’m really trying to discuss with you an important philosophy to take into every ride. Please, this is so close to my heart, so much a part of who I am…” Even he started to giggle this time.
“So, to finish up, it’s okay to scream out your delight along the way—hey, it’s supposed to be fun. You can sing to yourself, or get giddy with laughter, even talk, which I know you like to do. Just remember that my ear is only inches away and I do not wish to become deaf. So try to control yourself—“
“And if I fail to control myself, you’ll do it for me, right?”
He looked directly into her eyes and shook his index finger. “I warned you already. To finish up, you’re smart enough, and intuitive enough, to know when to tighten your grip on me, either with your hands or your legs or whatever. I trust you to hang on even when the riding gets rough. We’ll ride till you’re satisfied. Just scream out for me to stop if you need to. Ready?”
“I thought you’d never…yikes!”
Hours later, they stopped for tea.