The other woman ...

When I left for work Monday morning there was an oil stain on my front walk, a tarp on my front lawn and the windows had been left down on my car ... all night long (thank goodness the tweakers skipped our street last night). The windows on my car are my issue, the rest are Bill's. Since coming back from a short trip to my mom's house, Bill's been distant and distracted. He's left me for another woman ... OK he hasn't left me, he's still at home. And it isn't another woman ... it's worse. It's a motorcycle. In an attempt to divest herself of some of my dad's stuff, my mom gave Bill her old car, my dad's 1969 Triumph Tiger motorcycle and a bag of socks. Yes, a bag of socks ... oh and a car — but both those things pale in comparison to the motorcycle. Bill's a mechanical guy and he knows how to work on cars 'n' stuff, but he doesn't like to and I've never seen him spend any amount of time enjoying working on any of his cars. But this bike is a whole new thing. He loves this bike. No, that's not right, he LOOOOOOVES this bike in a way that just isn't natural. On his 800 mile drive back from my mom's I'd call him every couple of hours to make sure he wasn't sleeping. One conversation went like this: Bill: Man, I'm making great time. Me: Are you speeding? Bill: No way, I'm too afraid I'll get pulled over and something will happen to the bike. Another conversation that same day: Me: How's the new car riding? Bill: Fine and the bike's doing great, too. (I wish I were kidding or exaggerating.) He pulled into our driveway around 7 p.m. Saturday night and after tumbling out the passenger-side door (the driver's side door is protesting the move to western Colorado), he proceeded to stand in our driveway for several hours until we had enough neighbors and friends to help him extricate his beloved bike from the back of his new car. Oh yeah, he had to remove the bike's tins and mufflers and stuff the motorcycle into the cargo area of the SUV because U-Haul won't rent trailers to anyone driving a Ford Explorer (Crazy, I know. Click here to read more about that). After it was safely out of the car, he stood around for a while longer generally fawning over it. Sunday was all bike day all day long. But now he's got lights and spark and the bike threatens to turn over, so it was a productive day. And how do I feel about this? Fine actually. While this bike is Bill's dream motorcycle (the bike he's always wanted to have his whole, entire life — I swear he turns into a 15-year-old whenever he's around the thing), to me it's more than that. It's my dad's bike. My dad and I were early risers and I remember weekend mornings he would sometimes take me for rides around the neighborhood and to visit friends. I like those memories. I like having the bike around. So Bill's other woman can stay.