Passengers must be seated behind the operator, astride the passenger’s seat with feet on foot pegs or floorboards, or be properly seated in a side car. ~from the Rules of Motorcycle Safety in British Columbia ??!! even my imagination can’t conjure up where else one would sit
We printed out the form for motorcycle club membership. Both my husband and I were ready to join the ranks of Hogs riding en masse, just because it rocks and we’re part of the boomer brigade. The form didn’t require much information other than the driver, the passenger, and nicknames. My husband shouted across the country kitchen, What do you want as a nickname? Bitch? I shouted back, Why, Bitch? That is so passe. Everybody on the passenger’s seat is called that. Why not call me, Lips? With slight agitation, he demanded, Why that?! I responded sweetly, Because you could be called the Makeout King. It’d identify us as being slick. The discussion stopped quickly, but there was no pouting. With our regular nicknames penned in ink we proceeded to the general meeting held at the local golf club. I would have preferred something on the order of The Twisted Tattoo Bar and Grill, but the country club is known for their prime rib. We encountered a down-to-earth friendly group, a few retirees and others leading busy work lives. A good part of the order of business involved how to get people together to ride. It’s critical to find a good leader of the pack, but no one wants to put their foot forward. It commands a high degree of responsibility and a good knowledge of the mapped roads. Also, most riders don’t want to spend the bulk of their weekend time on their bikes due to the constraints of everyday living. We look forward to spending time with our new compadres whenever that will be. At least the two of us have our own freedom to become the sons of anarchy in between our chores and afternoon siestas. Also, I promise that I’ll properly sit in the passenger’s seat.