Now this declaration came as something of a surprise to me because I haven’t had a husband since 2010, and I’m fairly sure he doesn’t have a key to the garage. In fact, after the divorce went through he got married again and now lives in Tom and Barbara bliss somewhere near Bristol growing vegetables and planting trees. As his life is devoted to minimising his carbon footprint I’m fairly sure that he’d rather cut off his right hand than use it for the sin of opening a throttle.
About a week later another of the dogwalking ladies said something very similar – “your dog was out on a motorcycle the other day.” As if he’d sneaked down to the garage, kickstarted it and hit the road without my knowledge. Changing gear without a clutch paw would have been a challenge but the Wingman is a sagacious animal and if there were sausages at the end of the ride he would have found a way.
And it just makes me a bit sad.
When I did have the husband and lived in London men used to walk past me washing the GS down at the garages behind the flats and say “blimey, I wish my wife would wash my bike.”
20 years on and people are still making the same mistake – riding motorcycles is something men do. Or dogs. But definitely not women.
transport of delight 