Biker Bitch

It’s true. I’m a total biker bitch. At least today I am. If the word bitch upsets your sensibilities, think babe (biker babe). I’d answer to that too. I may be upsetting the ethers with my self-imposed title. I don’t have a Harley or any bike that goes vroom-vroom for that matter, but I did just put nearly 32 (hard ass miles) on my big spongy mountain bike. If that does not qualify me as a bad ass, biker bitch, nothing does.

just me and my biker gang chillin'

just me and my biker gang chillin’

Take a look (not at the picture…at women around you), notice that some women are super classy, bring so much charm and grace with them no matter if they are at the ballet or a burger joint. And some women, are driven and calculating, they bring some…who knows…they think it’s important though, some women are nurturing and wherever they are they are sweet and positive, helping and handing out hugs. Lets not forget the women who really are tough, my-girlfriend-can-kick-your-boyfriend’s-donkey-tough, I have a friend who fits this bill. You’d mistake her for sweet or nurturing until she caught you doing wrong to an innocent, or one of her friends…run if that happens, no joke, she is a concealed weapon carrying, baseball bat wielding, ball-smasher…

I haven’t quite figured out where I fit in yet. I don’t like rules,  can only be charming OR graceful for short periods before it becomes thin and forced, I am good at nurturing, you know, if you’re dying…have a head trauma, guts hanging out, bleeding profusely…I won’t stay interested in you if you don’t eventually try to get up and take care of your own donkey yourself. I don’t need a gun or a bat to settle a dispute, rules are for gouls, or fools…I get my work done so I can play, I play hard, sometimes too hard. I’m good for a laugh–at least one, quite accomplished at witty banter, you know, if you bring the wit.

I suppose at some point I wondered if I was defective, broken somehow.  Maybe so, maybe not. I don’t feel broken. I feel like a bad-ass-biker-bitch.   😉 Like it’s okay to not fit anywhere. I don’t need anyone to understand anymore. I kinda feel like it’s okay to just take off, leave everyone in my dust. No hard feelings. 😉

Side Note: the president of my biker gang pulled that tag-a-long and that baby stroller(first picture) almost the entire 32 miles…that’s about a hundred and ten or twenty pounds up some killer wine county back-country…I’d have died, still be out there, kids starved to death, or panhandling on the side of the road…I guess he’s kind of a tough guy too…he puts up with me…that is tough, let me tell ya. (No need to comment here Dear.)

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Us at the halfway point…we looked so happy…and not too sweaty…

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