the van full of carpet in the wrong lane

on close calls and what they teach us

We were on our way back from the beach. It was my motorcycle summer - a summer of new found two wheeled freedom on an old Kawasaki 400. It was the first vehicle that I owned outright myself and likely my favorite.

Motorcycles were always better with a girl on the back. I loved the feeling of being held and how they would melt into me. A woman would lean with me into every turn.

Dudes? They’d more than likely resist the corners. They didn’t really seem to know how to dance. That and I was never fond of getting poked. I’m a poker, not a poke-ee.

Sun drenched and salty we were on our way back from a new beach. The beach wasn’t exactly new, likely existing for thousands of years before my arrival. We’d never been there before. Our hearts were huge and expansive. Our sense of adventure was satisfied. Food was next on the agenda.

Aside from growling torsos pressed together, everything was perfect. That’s when I saw the van.

The van was not where it should be. Lurching and dipping like a sailb…