Making a payment on freedom.
I often talk about “my” motorcycles. There are two sitting at my house. Well, actually only one today because the other is out in the Gazette’s parking lot, but you get what I mean. I have two motorcycles. Well sort of. I don’t actually own one of them outright. I share the ownership of one of them.
I’m not talking about my wife. She does actually own half of everything I own. Except closets. She owns a good bit more than half of those. And the bathrooms. And the bedroom. Come to think of it, maybe I should just say I own half of some of her stuff. But that’s another topic and not really the co-owner I was talking about.
I still share ownership of one of my bikes with a bank. Now I’m certainly glad the bank was willing to lend me the money to get my bike. And I must admit. as co-owners go, they’ve been pretty generous. I mean they’ve never insisted I bring it down and let them ride it. I’ve never had an argument with them about who’s turn it was to take it to a rally. In fact, they pretty well let me act like I own it. But in the back of my mind, I know it ain’t so. So as I’m out on the open road, wind in my face and fancy free, I know that I’ll still have to swing by the bank and drop off a payment once a month if I want to stay on the road.
Somehow, note payments just don’t fit into that image of wild, self-reliant and freedom two wheels on the highway brings to mind. I listened to some of the great classic biker songs. Born to be wild, Bad to the bone, Wanted dead or alive. Nope. Not a single mention of financing.
I suppose this comes to mind because just a few days ago the wife and I were sitting on her, I mean our, couch, going over the check book, and she happened to mention we only had a few payments left on the bike. I was surprised at how good that made me feel. Unencumbered and free. More like a biker than a typical drone with a bank note. I wasn’t born to be wild, I had to finance it. But I’ve almost got it paid off, so watch out world. Here I come.
Well, not this weekend. I promised the missus I’d cut up the dead tree limbs that fell into the back yard. But next weekend for sure. Or the one after.
－ Guy Wheatley