*F-BOMB ALERT* – CONTAINS (more) COARSE LANGUAGE (than usual)
Spring is finally around the corner, and a middle-aged woman’s fancy turns lightly to thoughts of… motorcycles. In honour of the season, I pose you the following question: cruiser or crotch-rocket?
I’m a cruiser fan. I’ve got some old wrist and knee injuries that get aggravated by the weight-forward position on a crotch-rocket, and anyway, I’m a traditionalist. I like the kicked-back coolness of a cruiser.
Here’s the considered opinion of a couple of the characters in my second book, The Spy Is Cast:
Germain and Hellhound put on their riding leathers, and we all trooped out of the hot RV into the cooler outside air. Germain swung astride his Yamaha, and Hellhound grimaced.
“Shit. Can’t believe I’m gonna hafta ride on the back of this piece a’ Jap crap. Lucky it’s gettin’ dark so nobody’ll see me. Why don’t ya get a real bike?”
“It’s better than that bone-rattling piece of shit you call a Harley,” Germain retorted good-naturedly. “They’ve been making bikes for how long, and they still can’t make one with a decent muffler?”
Hellhound perched precariously on the back, struggling to hoist his boots up onto the passenger pegs. “Why the hell would ya wanna ride one a’ these goddam crotch rockets anyhow?” he groused as he groped behind him for handholds. “Ya like bustin’ your fuckin’ nuts on the tank? Maybe you ain’t usin’ your junk anymore, but I still wanna keep mine in workin’ order.”
“Don’t they make a cute couple?” I observed loudly to Kane.
“Hey, Germain,” Kane called. “That’s got to be the ugliest girlfriend I’ve ever seen!”
Hellhound flipped him a stiff middle finger as they pulled away, and we laughed while they rode out of sight.
* * *
So which do you like better – cruisers or crotch rockets?