Ridin'

In my late 20's and early 30's I spent a lot of weekend days the boonies with my dirt-riding buddies: my best friend, Dan, and my brother, Denis. We would spend full days riding our motorcycles through mud, dirt, rain, snow, and everything else, pausing only occasionally to smoke a bowl or munch a candy bar while hiding beneath a dripping fir tree.

I was usually the instigator of our weekend forays into the damp Pacific Northwest forests, and if it was raining that didn't stop me. I'd pick up the phone Saturday morning and call Dan.

"You ready to go?" I'd ask, knowing his answer.

"It's pouring down rain!" he'd groan, trying to talk me out of it.

"Damn right--perfect for bike riding!"

It was always the same song and dance, and with the same results: We went ridin'. As we would say, "The worst day ridin' is still a damn good day."

Good times.