I got a motorcycle when my husband got out of the army and we became redneck hippies. We moved the trailer we had bought at Ft. Polk, Louisiana (there's no houses or apartments to rent there so you either buy a trailer or rent one) - we did get a cool one with white vinyl furniture, gold shag carpet, and glass tables - to our farm in south Mississippi and set it all up next to a pond and a pasture with six horses. It took the horses forever to realize that they were supposed to graze and hang out in front of the full-length end-of-the-trailer windows.

At night it would be like the Enterprise with our modern white vinyl couch as the control panel against the windows looking out at the stars. I hung my two guitars on the wall, and Phareaux fussed at me. "Guitars aren't supposed to be on the walls." I took them down. (I might add that he had some hanging on his walls in Albuquerque). Sometimes you have to make a statement!

Anyway so we had a trailer, horses, a bunch of hound dogs, and then I got in a rock n roll band, and we had these motorcycles. Buzz got a Honda 250XL, and I got a Honda Elsinor 125. I had to be at a very high rpm to get over a log in the path, but I wasn't strong enough to pick up the 250 if it fell over, so I rode the 125.

We started riding with this guy who had a national number, and we had trial by fire in the woods of south Mississippi. Phareaux and his girlfriend, Jeanie, got these workhorse bikes that would climb trees. So there would be a log in the path and Phareaux and Jeanie would just sort of go over it without speeding up or slowing down, and Buzz would have to plow over it at a medium speed, and I would have to go way back and build up speed to jump it. I finally broke my rib like this. They lay me in the truck while they finished their ride.

One time we stirred up a bald eagle. I'll never forget that. And we'd plow through these spider webs with these huge black and yellow spiders. We'd usually crash after that from patting and beating our backs and brushing ourselves off while we were charging through the sub-tropical jungle. One time in the heat of summer and we had on long sleeved shirts to protect ourselves from the brush we got so hot that we came up on Little Black Creek and jumped off our dirt bikes and jumped in the swimming hole. A gator went out the other side. At least it was intimidated.

One time we went to Lake Charles for a dirt bike competition. I was a flag girl which meant I had to wave a flag whenever anyone crashed at this one turn to let the other racers know that someone was down so they wouldn't run over him. I was very busy 'cause it was a bad turn. Rufus Thomas was the entertainment, and he wore mink hot pants. "Just a'walkin' the dog. I'll show you how to do it. I'll show you how to walk the dog." We later got our beloved Norton (basset hound) from Lake Charles. I'm okay with Lake Charles.

One time while we were living on my dad's land in our trailer the sky turned orange and green, and a great wind came up. I don't think I've ever seen the sky that color before or since. It was eerie. I was at work at the university with my skirt and heels. Buzz went to tie the trailer down because of the giant wind. He tightened it and tightened it and tightened it (whatever it was he was tightening) and it slipped and the wrench repelled like a million times force and hit him in the eye knocking him out! He lay out beside the trailer for awhile as the wind whipped up more and more, and then he woke up! He got on his motorcycle and rode it to the university registrar's office where I was working and walked in there with his bleeding, cut-open eye and said that we needed to trade vehicles so he could go to the emergency room. So I gave him the keys to the car, and I was gonna ride the motorcycle home. On the interstate.

He was, of course, okay but still has a scar above his eyebrow. And maybe not quite right all the time. Ha!

I had to ride his motorcycle home in a skirt with heels. It was one of those that wasn't easy to start. You had to jump on the pedal several times, and I tore my stockings doing this. Then it started up and I rode out to the main intersection where a policeman was directing traffic. The motorcycle idled and then died. He waved me to go on. I jumped down on the pedal and my high heel went flying up into the intersection and made this beautiful arc (just like a character) and landed at the policeman's feet. He was so sweet and kind as to pick it up and bring it to me, all the time stopping traffic, and I smiled so sweetly and took it and put it on and then just turned my wrist down on the throttle and jumped as high and good as I could and came down on the pedal, and the motorcycle STARTED. And I drove away to go out onto the interstate and all that THAT involved and to take care of my baby and his hurt eye.

We later sold them when we moved to Ausitn, but I still have dreams of my motorcycle and that I am in some strange city visiting and someone reminds me that I have this motorcyle, and I get on it and go to get gas. That's as far as it gets. The dream always ends at the gas station. I think in my old age I will get another motorcycle and go wherever I want to go. Now that we have cell phones. I used to always worry that my motorcycle would break down on the highway and I'd have to get a ride and then when I came back it would be gone. That never happened though. We did sell it for about a fourth of what we paid for it. I think I'm a biker at heart.