A friend of mine just called me. We spoke for awhile.
A stranger called me earlier today. His name was Carlos. He asked me if I was still interested in being an MSF Rider Coach. It's the 2nd time he has called me.. maybe the 3rd. Maybe the 4th. The last couple of times I was in a coma, who knows.
I had told him the story a long time ago. He knew what had happened. I recall nothing.
My friend.. the nameless one.. I'm like that I guess.. he said I should consider it. I adore the MSF program. It keeps dipshits like me alive. We need a little help.
My wife does not like it. She would prefer I do not ride. She said this in terms like "I already know you are going to whatever you think is right. I know I have no influence here. I know you love it."
She says this because she would prefer I live. She is concerned another call.. someday .. sometime .. will tell her I'm in the hospital again.
I know this is because I am lucky enough to have people in my life who want me alive no matter what needs to be sacrificed. I know I am lucky.
The nameless friend reminded me that 10 years ago he met me in a t-shirt and jeans. No helmet. On a GL1200.
And he just got off a GL1500 in his 1 piece and helmet + gloves.. because some big tough Irish motherfucker told him it was right. Tough enough and hard enough and again and again and again and again..
because that's how it works. That's how my people work. The best of us are dumb as nails and need the kicking.
.. and I know where to kick them, he says. And I know how. And he gave me a list of others in the last decade.. others in t-shirts and jeans who are now full gear snobs and still alive. Some of them are my friends.
I had forgotten. I've always been good at that.
And I know what's right. And I've always been good at that.
And it's hard this time.