Declaring yourself

Have you noticed those three-wheeled motorcycles?  I think they look ridiculous.  If motorcycles are too scary for you, but you want the feel of the wind in your hair, get a convertible.  I guess those three-wheelers might be cheaper, but you can get cheap convertibles.  Used.  Not always pretty.  And you don’t have to wear a helmet!  So you really can have the wind in your hair.  Anyway, I saw a woman riding/driving/whatever one yesterday.  She was wearing a black leather jacket with pink sleeves (and a pink helmet, and it may have been a black leather vest over a pink shirt).  The back of the jacket said “Triker”.  Made the whole thing look doubly ridiculous.  Triker.  Laughable.  I thought about it for a second, trying to figure out why that’s such a weird thing to call yourself, other than the implication that you’re four years old and peddling around the neighborhood on your tricycle.  It was around when I got to the word “tricycle” that I realized how accurate it was for that woman to call herself a triker. Biker, triker, two wheels, three wheels.  Ooooohhhhh.  Yeah, I’m quick.

I still think it’s stupid.  On the other hand, I’m way more likely to test drive a whatever-you-call-it-with-three-wheels than I ever would a motorcycle.  Stability is important.  I’m a little afraid to ride even my bike down the giant hill we live on.  But that’s less about stability than it is about brakes and my fear of falling headfirst over the handlebars.

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