Rides, ramblings and rants on a motorcycle.
- We are scientists, too!
1.31.2007,12:56 PM
Confessions of a Female Biker
As the woman in the car next to me applied her make up in the rear view mirror, I was on my knees in the dark of the parking lot checking the status of dirt buildup on my bike's oil cooler.
I've noticed some of the differences between myself, a female biker, and other women around me after a biotech sales rep teased me about my life and appearance as a 'biker'. While standing talking to the sales reps in the cafeteria, one foot was on a chair and my elbow rested on my knee while leaning forward and gesturing with the other hand to illustrate a riding story from my recent trip. It was a relaxing posture that I assume often. I never gave it any thought until then.
On the train home later that same day, I observed the pointy-pointy little shoes that women cram their feet into, reminding me of Asian bound 'lily' feet and jester's pointy curly shoes. I wondered if those pointy-toed shoes should be registered as lethal weapons. Nor can I imagine them being comfortable. I looked down at my sport bike boots, the gray dirt and shiny spot where the left foot coaxes the shifting lever, and the two patches over the outer toes in case I lean over too far on a wild curve.
I looked at the clothes adorning the women around me; the frilly sheer blouses, colorful plush coats, short and long fitted or pleated skirts, jeans without waists that ride low on cushy hips.
Then looked at my own bright yellow and black riding jacket with armor spaced and placed resembling an armadillo, the long-sleeved shirt and collared zip fleece jacket underneath and over my UnderArmors, and lined armored over pants that remind me of a snowmobile suit.
Then I noticed other differences:
I read Bike or New Scientist magazines on the train. They read People, Good Housekeeping and Christian magazines or romance pocketbooks.
My hair is sometimes wild and all over the place from being underneath a helmet. Their's is coiffed, barretted or sprayed in place.
I chat about bikes, hikes, riding routes, topography, exciting places we've been, camping and riding gear. Or psychology, philosophy, science and current state of affairs. They chat incessantly about kids, laundry, clothes, their boyfriend/husbands, nail polish, house 'dressing', cooking and things I have no interest in.
But remembering the long silk black backless dress and black heels in my closet, the luxurious jacuzzi hot soaks by candlelight, using cloth napkins at the dinner table for guests, and the soft whispering kisses I give my lover when he visits.........
Yup, I'm still a female, but I am also a biker.
I'm quite at home being both.
I've noticed some of the differences between myself, a female biker, and other women around me after a biotech sales rep teased me about my life and appearance as a 'biker'. While standing talking to the sales reps in the cafeteria, one foot was on a chair and my elbow rested on my knee while leaning forward and gesturing with the other hand to illustrate a riding story from my recent trip. It was a relaxing posture that I assume often. I never gave it any thought until then.
On the train home later that same day, I observed the pointy-pointy little shoes that women cram their feet into, reminding me of Asian bound 'lily' feet and jester's pointy curly shoes. I wondered if those pointy-toed shoes should be registered as lethal weapons. Nor can I imagine them being comfortable. I looked down at my sport bike boots, the gray dirt and shiny spot where the left foot coaxes the shifting lever, and the two patches over the outer toes in case I lean over too far on a wild curve.
I looked at the clothes adorning the women around me; the frilly sheer blouses, colorful plush coats, short and long fitted or pleated skirts, jeans without waists that ride low on cushy hips.
Then looked at my own bright yellow and black riding jacket with armor spaced and placed resembling an armadillo, the long-sleeved shirt and collared zip fleece jacket underneath and over my UnderArmors, and lined armored over pants that remind me of a snowmobile suit.
Then I noticed other differences:
I read Bike or New Scientist magazines on the train. They read People, Good Housekeeping and Christian magazines or romance pocketbooks.
My hair is sometimes wild and all over the place from being underneath a helmet. Their's is coiffed, barretted or sprayed in place.
I chat about bikes, hikes, riding routes, topography, exciting places we've been, camping and riding gear. Or psychology, philosophy, science and current state of affairs. They chat incessantly about kids, laundry, clothes, their boyfriend/husbands, nail polish, house 'dressing', cooking and things I have no interest in.
But remembering the long silk black backless dress and black heels in my closet, the luxurious jacuzzi hot soaks by candlelight, using cloth napkins at the dinner table for guests, and the soft whispering kisses I give my lover when he visits.........
Yup, I'm still a female, but I am also a biker.
I'm quite at home being both.
Labels: essays
