Several years ago my good friend Jack appeared in my driveway astride a brand-new electric motorcycle. Despite being battery powered, the bike was a menacing looking piece of equipment. It was no cheap scooter or rinky-dink child’s toy, although when Jack peeled off his helmet he was grinning like a little boy on Christmas morning. I was flabbergasted at the sight. Not just because Jack had never mentioned any interest in motorcycles, but because I know Jack’s wife, a physician whose main function is keeping people alive. Jack got off the bike, and I climbed on and grabbed the handlebars. I felt a thousand percent cooler than when I slide into my 2008 Volkswagen Jetta. “How did you get away with this?” I asked. Jack’s face dropped like a teenager acknowledging his curfew. “I can only ride it on roads with a speed limit of thirty-five or less.”
I was halfway through recalling this memory to my wife, Jess, when she began shaking her head. She knew where the story was going. “Absolutely not,” she interrupted, in the tone I’ve come to understand means the subject is closed for debate. “Not even if I take a safety class?” I said. “And keep to the side roads? And wear a helmet?” Five minutes later I had devolved into a pouting child. “It’s not fair. Jack’s wife let’s him ride a motorcycle.”
The truth is, if I wanted to buy a motorcycle I could, and doing so would not be the end of my marriage, it wouldn’t even be an argument. Jess is not a domineering tyrant. What she is, is all things I am not: patient, practical, pragmatic, and not easily buffeted by the daily winds of untethered emotion and careless spontaneity. In other words, she’s much smarter than me. So if she thinks an easily distracted, accident prone guy riding a motorcycle is a bad idea (even if he would look really cool doing it) she’s probably right. And I consider myself a bit smarter for learning to defer to her better judgement.
While writing this, I texted Jack to ask him if he still had his motorcycle, as I haven’t seen him much during the pandemic. Part of me was hoping he’d gotten rid of the bike so I could end this essay on a note about getting things out of your system. But Jack being Jack, not only responded, “Of course!” but he also included a recent picture of himself sitting on the bike sporting dark sunglasses and a snug-fitting denim jacket. Basically he looked as cool and carefree as he always does, and I stared at the photo with a mix of jealousy and exasperation. “Are you going to buy one?” Jack texted. As I considered the question the devil on my shoulder spoke up. C’mon, do it. You know you want it. I texted back “You bet!” Then immediately began searching for the most badass denim jacket I could find.
