I attended a motorcycle rally on Sunday, called Idaho Patriot Thunder. As I observed the festivities from my designer lawn chair while sipping on a latte and watching my daughter play with dolls in the parking lot, it occurred to me that I didn’t really fit in.
Surrounding us were over a thousand motorcycles. Milling about were as many riders who, at first blush, looked like a horde of pirates in leather jackets.
There were many tattoos. There was a lot of machismo there, too, but hey, I’m no slouch in that category. Ask anyone you know and they’ll tell you that no one – not ANYONE – better mess with me at Bed Bath & Beyond when they are having a sale.
As I rubbed SPF 100 sunscreen on my pinking cheeks (taking care not to move my feet too much to avoid getting the new tennis shoes all dusty), a curious sense of unease began to wash over me.
They were looking at me.
Not all of them, just the ones who looked like they wanted to kill me.
And as I tied my sweater around my neck and adjusted the tuck on my salmon colored polo shirt, I wondered why. What made it so difficult to just blend in?
I mean, the cause for which they were riding was a worthy one, and the proceeds would benefit some good veteran-oriented organizations. I was down with that.
When they finally roared off (it took seventeen minutes for the whole group to empty out the parking lot), a sense of sadness washed over me. We climbed into the SUV and after turning on the Bee Gees CD, I wondered to myself if the bikers and I would ever really connect.
As the last motorcycle disappeared down the road, I turned away and headed the opposite direction – toward my appointment at the spray tan salon.
Life is a mystery.
Bonus Photos of Idaho Patriot Thunder
This was the fourth Idaho Patriot Thunder, and the event has gotten larger each year (this was the first year over 1000 riders participated). The proceeds always go to worthy veteran support organizations. High Desert Harley-Davidson is the host.