I'm as free as a bird.....

A past beau gave me a Harley Owners Group jacket as a parting gift for the demise of our relationship. It symbolized freedom and was his way of saying that it was time for me to fly. It's the requisite black leather and wool affair with the logo proudly displayed. Okay with me, we were gonna wrap things up anyways and I've worn the hell out of the jacket . Makes me feel reckless and exotic and, okay, free. Harley dudes feel some kinship with me and always want to know what bike I ride. I have to then explain that I am, in fact, a wannabee, and the jacket was a gift given to symbolize my freedom. This is always met with support given that the lifestyle and attitude are what's really the important thing. Growing up near a gorgeous beach and state park campground gave me an early vision into this lifestyle. Once a year, the "bikers" came to the beach and set up camp for a long weekend. This was met with much trepidation from my parents, even then realizing my curiosity. We were warned to stay away from the beach during that time as surely drugs and debauchery were the main purpose of their visit. They will rape you and get you hooked on drugs. (Reefer Madness--hard at work!) As you can well imagine, you could not KEEP me away. Like a moth to a flame I was drawn in, and totally enthralled by all of it. I sewed myself a little halter top and wore it under a sweatshirt as I fearlessly strutted down to the beach, only to strip down once I got there. Copious amounts of Sun In made my hair the proper color with a sorta straw like texture--again more sneaking. It was imperative that I look like the girls hanging out by those beautiful bikes, a feat not easily accomplished by a naive little 14 year old. If only I could pull off the black eyeliner without getting caught. You know me--forever in search of anything "glamorous." I was totally unafraid and starved for that attention--and knowledge. I would have given anything for some leather chaps or maybe even a vest to appear more in the style. Smoking ciggies and drinking beer with dangerous looking guys seemed so romantic, not to mention the idea of hitting the highway for wherever the road takes you. As a small town girl dying to get out, this was the shit. I imagined that ANYPLACE had to be more exciting than this. With the smell of campfire and pot and the sounds of Lynyrd Skynrd and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, I sidled up to the party. Somebody would invariably ask if I was "from here?" Yes, was the answer but I assured them that I was leaving just as soon as I could. Why? Where the hell do you want to go? They would laugh and try to tell me that THIS place was it. Paradise. And they looked forward all year to coming back here. At the time I thought they had to be kidding. This was it? Hmm.mm.mm. At the end of their vay cay, as I watched everyone fire up those bad boy bikes and roll out of town, I imagined myself with that same freedom someday. Years later with lots of "notches in my lipstick case", it finally occurs to me. Paradise is wherever you are as long as you feel free. xo