One young man, straight home from Vietnam, asked me to take a ride on his motorcycle.  My judgement was not the best years ago.  I did not know him, but my friends did.  I said, “Okay.”

I eyed this guy.  I was at least six inches taller than him, and many pounds heavier. He got on his bike and I sat behind him.  There was no back bar on the seat to prevent me from sliding off the rear.  I thought I could handle a short ride around the block.

But, I did not know the guy.  Stupid is what stupid does.  He headed us onto the nearby major freeway.  He cranked the engine to gain speed.  I had to wrap my arms around this guy.  I did not know where to put my legs or knees.  Once on the super-highway all bets were off about my survival.  I was terrified.  He was a little guy.  He was the only thing that kept me on the bike and not becoming roadkill.

He wove in and out of lanes at top speed.  We went through lighted tunnels that made me dizzy.  Finally, we approached two semi-trucks that were side by side.  “Noooo!” I screamed into the wind.  He went in between the two trucks.  It was horrifying.

He was on adrenaline of some sort, and laughed when we reached my friend’s house.  I peeled myself from him and his motorcycle and told them all:  “That was my last ride on a motorcycle ride.”  And, it was.