goldwingers going somewhere
by celia miles

Today I was shot through with a dart that entered as envy and emerged as wistfulness. It was a calm enough time. My husband and I were driving on I-40 in a damp drizzle that wasn’t yet a hard rain. The car was warm. We were companionably quiet. I was working a crossword puzzle and had just learned a new word. My world was as serene and placid as a flat pancake—only I didn’t realize it until we passed a convoy of Goldwings. Six of them traveling together. Each big machine held two persons—a man and a woman—and as we passed, I could look closely at each couple. These weren’t Hell’s Angels or teenagers or leather clad, tattooed types. These were my types! At least in some ways chronological and physical. I saw plump grandmotherly cheeks, gray hair, glasses, solid and stout stomachs, some (surely) false teeth, some gray eyebrows.

They all had their rainsuits on, which may have added to their “filled out” quality, but clearly they weren’t lean and mean boys and girls. One couple had on burgundy suits that matched exactly their Goldwing, and, of course, their helmets—glistening, polished, shedding raindrops—matched. They were talking into their microphones, oblivious to the murky day. The others wore bright yellow or orange suits, colors mostly matching their bikes. It couldn’t have taken us more than a minute or so to pass them by, but they stayed with me. They all sat proudly, straight, comfortably. Not one looked irritated or disgusted with the weather. Well, I wasn’t disgusted either. I like rain, but I was protected, ensconced in my steel and plastic buggy. I didn’t feel the rain on my face, the wind, didn’t hear the sizzle as tires cut through the slick pavement.

Now common sense told me that all six of those couples are not perfectly matched, perfectly happy, perfectly content, but my gut told me something else. They seemed at one with each other, at one with the big bike, at ease with the world, rain be damned, we’re enjoying ourselves! I suddenly felt older than my years, older than the bikers, older than the wet asphalt! I was returning to a cozy house, a quiet day—but the Goldwingers were going adventuring, slipping through the elements in style, not ignoring the rain and not protected entirely, meeting it and glorying in it. So what if I was safe and secure, happy, a whole day at my disposal. At that moment what I really wanted—really wanted— was to be on one of those Goldwings headed somewhere.

Celia Miles is a native of Western North Carolina, born in Jackson County. She is the author of A Thyme for Love (Xlibris, 2000) and Mattie’s Girl: An Appalachian Childhood (Infinity, 2002). The books are available online, or in bookstores, or by contacting the author.