There's so much to catch you up on - like how I floated down a river and totally bruised my ass or how I went to an awesome concert at the Hollywood Bowl. But I'm a busy woman with lots to do, so I'll just catch you up on one of the highlights of my three day weekend.
So, when I can, I like to take my scooter up to Neptune's Net in Ventura County, have a drink, maybe a burger, and enjoy the view. It's nice to take a break from the grind of commuting for an actual fun ride. The Net is a particularly good destination, partly because it's on PCH, so the ride is beautiful, but also because there are always a ton of other riders on the road. I love to catch up with a group of Harley's and pretend I'm with them.
For some reason there weren't a lot of riders out last Friday, but that didn't matter, because the rider of all riders was out. Picture it - I'm riding south on PCH, enjoying the ocean breeze and trying to cut between cars, when I hear the lovely roar of fellow riders. I expect the usual gang of tatted, bandana-wearing muscle men, with their leather clad women in back. But instead I see her. Hot Chocolate.
I kid you not, this woman has a hot pink Harley, with the words "Hot Chocolate" and a picture of a steaming mug of cocoa emblazoned on the side and back of her bike. And her helmet. I should also mention that her bike was nice enough that it had a radio (or cd player or something) on it that was blaring "Blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol" for all of Malibu to hear. It. was. awesome.
(Is it racist if I mention here that she was black, which was why the name Hot Chocolate is particularly awesome? Or maybe you already assumed? Does that make you racist? Does it make me a bad writer that I can't think of any other word than awesome to describe what I saw?)
She was the leader of the two-person pack. The other woman had a jean jacket with "Harley Davidson" and the HD eagle bedazzled on the back in rhinestones. Her license plate said 1moride. She was like the sparkly Sancho Panza to Hot Chocolate's Don Quixote.*
I followed them for quite some time, hoping that the awesomeness (again, I apologize, but I'm sorry - it was awesome) of owning a hot pink bike or a HD bedazzled jacket would rub off on me, but sadly, I was all too aware that, despite my posturing, I could never be that bad ass.
You were definitely Born to Ride, Hot Chocolate, and I salute you.
* I have never read Don Quixote, so I'm not exactly sure of the comparison I'm making there, but I thought it sounded good.