|Yesterday, 05:39 AM||#1|
Joined: Aug 2009
A Monster in the Mountains: A Summertime Flashback
Shift weight onto your right leg.
Ass out of the seat.
Hold the line.
With the expectant gasp of crispy morning air and a bellow, the Ducati Monster snugly seated between my legs turned Dino goop into sex appeal through sound, and surge of acceleration. This embellishment of power and noise, tucked my admittedly too tight jeans up somewhere interesting against the seat, the digital speedometer having a hard time keeping up with my youthful enthusiasm and I found three digits tangoing skyward on the dash-
There. Right then and there I remember. I am 15 minutes into my couples therapy session, the fast idle is still on, and she'd already thrown herself on me, grabbed me by my silken underthings and throttled me like the girls in your deleted browser history. It was okay though. I deserved it. I had been a bad girl. I cheated on my Ducati, my slightly crazy italian girlfriend that was more or less a mismatch with my interests, but great in the sack so to speak.
The day before was spent on a dealerships used 990 Adventure, an old ADV'rs bike that had seen some 66,000 miles. I having found the thing for equal trade value to my Ducati, was excited as ever. I happily bonded to the big KTM, the riding around the murky cosmopolitan city I call home, aiming for potholes that would have felt like a BDSM session on a Ducati that weren't even noticeable on the big desert munching, rock killing, Wan-riding, Katoom. I was hooked. I am part of that helpless generation of "Social Mediaites" that is chained to her phone like a puppy with separation anxiety. I like social media because it reminds me of what I was feeling at the exact moment I post something. I hate it because it's pointless and powerless without numbers. It does however make remembering easier.
"My date is going well." was the caption. The shitty instant filter not quite totally showing my affection for the KTM. I was in love. This suave Austrian James Bond of the dirt was my hearts new flame. You see the KTM was one of the reasons I was into motorcycling. Endless hours pouring over the forums, hours as a young lass watching Dakar on OLN through a tiny TV at my grandmas house. The dictinct note of the KTM 660 Rallye and then 690 Rallye bosses destroying basically anything else that went up against it etched into my mind. Something about it was decidedly masculine, I was finally able to use my height for something other than getting things off the top shelf, I could reach the ground with relative comfort with my 32-inch inseam. He does great at 110, no buffeting. He does great at everything. He cooks, cleans, his suspension eats literally every whip the Ducati swings my way. He can do my taxes, is more comfortable, I don't have to hide the knives, but his brakes aren't as good as the Ducati's. I looked all the way up and down my mental list, and that was the only thing I could find on the con list.
That was it?! How could I not find anything else wrong with it?!
My little feelers latched to the velcro stuck to the tank, I loved where the shifter was, I could stand up on it. I was totally in love. Ahhh fangirl <3
The bank wasn't. The bank really wasn't a fangirl.
"What?!" I screamed in to the phone at the AMPM Parking lot in a sketchy, industrial part of the city. "You want me to pay how much?"
"$2,474.37." The loan officer said on the far side of a phone that felt like a messenger worth kicking into oblivion like in 300.
Better cancel my order for the KTM Toaster.
My heart fell farther than my helmet did, and that Katoom is a tall bike. I want one. Still do. Don't tell the dealership, but I might have gotten the most extensive test of a KTM in a long while. As I pulled back into the dealership after my 6 hour date. I was heart broken. I moped around the dealership in my gear for a minute, I knew which bike I was buying next but for now. I had a Ducati, a crazy, sexy, slow to wake Italian girl. The seed was planted, we hadn't been on a date in a while.
I had to fall back in love with my Ducati.
As I rode home, the Seattle sky did what it is dat she do dat she does and opened up a freshly packed rain to go with my feels. I got home, parked up in the driveway they same way I always have. I sat on the front steps and stared. My brain was reeling, I wanted that 990 so badly. I was staring at my supermodel roommate and dreaming for the girl next door.
"Where are we going?" I said, as if to an expectant German Shepherd. Mountains you slut.
I sat there on the steps and figured it out before the boots came off. I had a hell of a day in front of me. I was going to do it old school. I had 700 miles planned, one day off, and was young enough, and bold enough to make the two work.
Nothing is more punk than being self-determined and respecting the self-determination of others.
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