Midlife Crisis Motorcycle Sundays
Nothing but Rant here.
Mid-life Crisis Motorcycle Sundays are this sad, strange, loud phenomenon in Colorado. They come on stronger and stronger with the warming weather. It makes sitting outside and having a conversation difficult, to say the least.
Mid-life Crisis – because the majority of perps are men between 35-50.
Motorcycle – because they all ride Harley’s with tail-pipes cut for the biggest, most obnoxious sound and obvious compensation for areas where they aren’t big.
Sundays – because they all come out of their garages in the afternoons on Sunday. Not Saturday – probably because they are taking the kids to sports or having to fix something around the house, dreaming about Sunday afternoon when they will finally be ”free.”
I’ve heard them talk, when they are pulled up at some hotspot for stiff new leather and hardly ridden Harley’s – the kind of place no real biker would show up to. They talk about their bikes, about the custom this or that, the same way my friends and I used to… about our BMX bikes… in FIFTH GRADE! Which makes it all the more a sad, childish mid-life crisis. (What mid-life crisis isn’t childish?) It’s as if they debate an individual’s manhood on how far he is willing to cut his pipes to make his bike the loudest; as if they aren’t cutting off their manhood enough by trying to compare. It's not the size of your dick or the sound of your pipes, brah.
I’m all for fun, and have had my share on a motorcycle. I’m all for getting out of the groove and playing hard. There’s something in this though that is nothing but a caricature; a shallow, minstrel act and they are all the fools, not the king.
And like most fractured men in America, their attempt at manhood or reliving some non-existent adolescent fantasy simply makes life less enjoyable for those they come near; crashing through any peacefulness with the noise and destruction of…. Well… a child with a bullhorn – or Harley in this case.
For the love of all that is good and lazy on Sundays… sell your Harley and pay for some real therapy or adventure. And let the rest of us that have answered those questions about our manhood enjoy our drinks with our real friends.
Mid-life Crisis Motorcycle Sundays are this sad, strange, loud phenomenon in Colorado. They come on stronger and stronger with the warming weather. It makes sitting outside and having a conversation difficult, to say the least.
Mid-life Crisis – because the majority of perps are men between 35-50.
Motorcycle – because they all ride Harley’s with tail-pipes cut for the biggest, most obnoxious sound and obvious compensation for areas where they aren’t big.
Sundays – because they all come out of their garages in the afternoons on Sunday. Not Saturday – probably because they are taking the kids to sports or having to fix something around the house, dreaming about Sunday afternoon when they will finally be ”free.”
I’ve heard them talk, when they are pulled up at some hotspot for stiff new leather and hardly ridden Harley’s – the kind of place no real biker would show up to. They talk about their bikes, about the custom this or that, the same way my friends and I used to… about our BMX bikes… in FIFTH GRADE! Which makes it all the more a sad, childish mid-life crisis. (What mid-life crisis isn’t childish?) It’s as if they debate an individual’s manhood on how far he is willing to cut his pipes to make his bike the loudest; as if they aren’t cutting off their manhood enough by trying to compare. It's not the size of your dick or the sound of your pipes, brah.
I’m all for fun, and have had my share on a motorcycle. I’m all for getting out of the groove and playing hard. There’s something in this though that is nothing but a caricature; a shallow, minstrel act and they are all the fools, not the king.
And like most fractured men in America, their attempt at manhood or reliving some non-existent adolescent fantasy simply makes life less enjoyable for those they come near; crashing through any peacefulness with the noise and destruction of…. Well… a child with a bullhorn – or Harley in this case.
For the love of all that is good and lazy on Sundays… sell your Harley and pay for some real therapy or adventure. And let the rest of us that have answered those questions about our manhood enjoy our drinks with our real friends.