The Kawasaki ZRX 1100 Muzzy

Gather around, my friends, and I will tell you a biker bedtime story.

Back in the day, when the world was new and God was young, my boyfriend and I took off from Seattle and we eloped to Coeur d'Alene, Idaho on our motorcycles. We were wed at a charming and notorious little chapel named -- I kid you not -- The Hitchin' Post. To celebrate, we searched out the adult beverage locals were calling "The De-Railer" (I recall it was a fishbowl-sized rum drink, with a limit of 1 per customer, although that part might just be legend). Refreshed, and perhaps somewhat stunned by our own actions, we then agreed it was time to head back to our cabin for the night.

Motorbikes had brought us together from day 1. We commuted on our motorcycles, lived and breathed them. He joined the riding club I belonged to, and the club helped us move in together. We were used to riding singly, but for the sake of matrimony, I had parked mine. Thus, on that white-hot, blistering July afternoon, we were all romantic and snuggly, touring around two-up on his Kawasaki ZRX 1100 (the Muzzy version). Yes, we were two grownup adults on one riceburner sport bike -- sport-touring bike at best. It was no Winnebago-inspired Honda Goldwing or Harley-Davidson Wideglide. It was not any kind of couch-on-two-wheels, for sure!

My husband was no less than 6'5" tall, and back then he was packing a youthful 240 lbs. I am short, and blessed with a curvy, gladiator-style, build. Well, that style but more generously padded. In other words, one might wonder if perhaps the Kawasaki might struggle to carry us both if pushed too hard.

This is a laughable concept. Take my word for it, that bike was not built for words like "struggle" or "pushed too hard." That scooter was truly a green, mean, road-eating machine! If you don't believe me, Google it and learn. The Muzzy version came with certain racetrack inspired modifications that truly made it a beast to be reckoned with.

I remember that I peeked around my brand new husband's shoulder, and realized we might be lucky to live out the day. It occurred to me that our families would likely be informed simultaneously of both events (marriage and subsequent, swift death) on their doorsteps, by complete strangers. At any speed, colliding from two wheels can be deadly. One elk or moose to stroll out onto the highway, or even a zig instead of a zag on the unfamiliar road, and people could end up wondering. Would they speculate that we were overcome by buyer's remorse? Would someone ask if regret had taken hold and we'd wrecked on purpose?

Flying low on the two lane ribbon of I-95, accelerating uphill through gears around a long, lefthanded sweeper, the gauge read 110 for less than a moment. I didn't need to keep looking; I could feel that our speed was climbing! I pounded his chest until he backed off to a more legal and sedate 70mph, and we obviously lived to tell the tale.

Yes, those years were quite a ride. Soon enough, he totalled that bike while out with the club for a New Year's Day ride. Our life together fell apart. We separated. My husband shacked up with another woman, and Ed finally talked me into settling down. After 2 attempts and 13 years, a 3rd divorce filing was finalized, and we all lived happily ever after.

Moral of the story: regardless of anything we got wrong in loving each other, I know that we were right in loving motorcycles.