When we lived in San Francisco, I decided I needed a motorcycle, specifically a Honda 550-4 model like the one shown here. Never mind that I didn’t have 10 minutes of experience riding a bike like that, nor the required driver’s license.
These were minor details in my plan. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before a friend took me to a Honda dealer in Alameda, across the bay from San Francisco. Once at the dealership, I had a brief discussion with the salesperson, signed some papers, and in a frightening length of time, I was (with my bank) the proud owner of a brand new, blue Honda motorcycle.
Emboldened by my lack of experience and knowledge I hopped on the motorcycle (no helmet, please) and wobbled around their parking lot for about 30 minutes. That was plenty of instruction for me and shortly found myself blasting across the San Francisco-Oakland-Bay Bridge on my way home, going at least 60 miles an hour.
Miraculously, I made it home in one piece.
My confidence grew and, I came to love that motorcycle. My three daughters took turns riding with me as we discovered the hills and streets of San Francisco. We’d go on rides up the coast to Point Reyes, Bolinas and Sonoma for top-class picnics. As I write this now in retrospect, it’s highly unlikely, to say the least we’d do this without safety gear.
However, since I was now a skilled driver, at least in my own opinion, I wanted a regular, enthusiastic riding partner. Who better qualified for this than my youngest daughter; she was the most fearless and she was up for anything I cooked up for us. To her, nothing was too ridiculous or dangerous.
She was my perfect match.
One Saturday morning I woke before dawn; I went to her bedroom and shook her awake. I told her to quietly get dressed and meet me downstairs in front of our garage. Ok, Dad, this is another great plan waiting in the wings.
It was just about dawn when we started our journey; she had no idea where we were going, but it didn’t matter. The Golden Gate Bridge was a short distance from our house and, soon we were zooming across the bridge as the sun started to rise. It was a beautiful sight and for a moment, it seemed we were flying. We were, in a sense.
She wanted to ride forever; however, we crossed the bridge and returned home, stopping at our favorite bakery, Ahren’s for a bag of doughnuts to share with our family. We made it back home before anyone was up or knew we’d gone anywhere other than to the bakery. Neither my daughter nor myself mentioned our sunrise ride.
Some things are just too special to share, I suppose.
Are we there yet? 