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She's out of the shop and back on the paths of laughter and excitement. I'm thinking of naming her 'Blue Betty,' or when she acts up 'Bitchin Betty.'

Chad dropped me off at Carroll's repair and the obvious care he took in fixing it and explaining things to me i'm sure i'll take her back there if she needs anything. And then in the cold, cold late winter air i drove off on her and laughed maniacally because i couldn't help it.

There's something unexplainable about being on a motorcycle - it's a liberating moment. I'm very alive, my eyes darting everywhere, which is good because motorcycles aren't always well-seen or well-respected. Part of the subtle excitement is the fact that it still seems as if i'm a pedestrian. I didn't get inside anything, i just climbed aboard. Like riding in the back of a truck or hanging on to the side of a beach buggy. A pedestrian with a motor between his legs. A bicycle from my youth with quite a bit of power and noise that isn't playing cards clothespinned to slap against the spokes. I used to live on my bicycle growing up, stopping and talking to my buds with the bike still straddling my bike, able to scoot off into the distance at a moment's whim.

And moving down the road i'm still outside. It makes a car seem like a house with wheels or an La-z-boy chair inside a glass egg with a steering wheel instead of a remote. It's a charge! It amps me up and every trip on it a peal of laughter burbles up from somewhere inside me. No doubt the 9-year-old with his first 'big boy' bike.

She waits on the side of house for a little better weather, but i can't hold out forever...