Moldy Oldie

I started a blog back in 2005 on MSN and only entered a couple of posts into it, but tonight, while driving home through Amish country with Turd after listening to a cover band for a couple of hours, the "caution: horse and buggy" sign reminded me of this post...back when I was a wandering fool who would take any motorcycle available. Fahjah had loaned me his Softail and Brother offered up his Buell (before I crashed it, anyway). Turd, por vous.

Here's the post from Summer, 2005.

So, I’ve been a motorcycle momma for a couple of months now…I’m pretty comfortable on both the Softail and the Buell.

This past Saturday, I took Tom’s Buell out to Augusta/Osseo with Fahjah and his friend Dennis. Things were a-stirring in Osseo (or Augusta…I forget) for Bean & Bacon Days (big Bush’s Baked Beans plant in town). We were traveling to Dennis’ parent’s house outside of town. Awesome place to live…top of a hill…100-some acres of your own property and a constant breeze (poop free smell!). I tell you, in a 2 or 3 mile stretch of road, I’ve never encountered more horse doody, pea gravel or Amish in my life. The Amish wave at EVERYONE. ALL of them wave at EVERYONE. They are completely expressionless, but they wave. I was a waving machine that day. Wave at the Amish boy walking on the side of the road in his suspenders, hat, and bare feet. Wave at the Amish 20-something gentleman in his black carriage (pulled by HUGE blond draft horses) as he goes by. Wave at the Amish girl who stops working in her family’s garden as we ride by and….waves. I waved at every bike too. I figure if you’re lucky enough to ride a bike, you’re lucky enough. Made me wonder…do the Amish hate partying like it’s 1699? Especially with all of us “English” (what the Amish call all non-Amish) in plain sight with all our innovative and high-tech toys and equipment? And, you know, things that make life a little easier, like running water, indoor plumbing, a dishwasher? Especially the kids. I can’t help but think that 11ish year old girl in the garden on a beautiful sunny Saturday afternoon was thinking, “I hate this shit. Where are my damn shoes? I could travel exactly two miles and get a pair of Shaq-Fu Reeboks and waltz through the horse crap in comfort and style. Maybe I’ll pick up a MP3 player and finally get to hear that Weird Al Yankovic song ‘Amish Paradise.’ Then I’m going out to the hill behind the house with my boyfriend and sit in the back of his Camaro complaining about what an asshole my dad is.” I wonder if I was born into that life and, living in 2005, would like it. Maybe if I didn’t know any better….of course, today some Englander just rode by on a horse of shiny metal and leather…there’s a potential better out there. Screw this dress crap. Jedediah, Amos, Father Eldon, I’m outta here. I’m gonna come back and bust a cap in your ass for making me do homework by candlelight. No husband wants a wife with rougher hands than his! And I’m bringing back a set of GOODYEAR’S for that frickin’ buggy!

Anyway, it made me want to stop and just chat. I was intrigued. But I was busy…had shit to avoid and places to go.