Storytellers Series: Chicago E01

Eric Shropshire, Quadrant Motors

Maybe it’s my independent nature, however, I hate organized motorcycle rides. I’m a sport tourer, therefore, the lazy pace, the frequent stops, usually to liquor up (great idea on a motorcycle) and riders with varied experience really made them unappealing. Occasionally, I ride with a few friends who share a passion for a particular destination, however, for the most part I am a lone rider, using it as my Zen time to contemplate my life on long, fast rides on the open road.

Ironically, when I was a new rider, I learned to be a better rider on organized rides usually hosted by one of my mentor riding buddies. He invited me along with his friends and put up with my inexperience and slower pace. I owe him a lot, and those rides taught me to be a better rider.  Maybe this fact, and the realization that organized rides are more about socializing, (and trust me, I needed to be more social at the time) that I agreed to go on this particular “bike and party” ride. The other reason was that my friends Val and Rob, who I enjoy immensely, were going. I figured no matter how bad the ride was, they would be there to provide humor and colorful commentary along the way. It was also chance to promote my photography work. One problem: it was essentially a couple’s ride, and since my wife was really not into riding, I needed a date, but first a little back story about my eventual date…

I met Heather only a week earlier.  My assistant, Laura, pushed for us to attend a party hosted by a couple we had met a few months back. I had previously shot some cool pictures of the couple’s female half and she thought we should go.  I was unsure about my place at this particular party and whether I would fit in since it was going to be a younger crowd and truthfully, I am much better party host than an attendee.  Nonetheless, when we arrived and I felt more comfortable as there were other people I knew, some of which I had photograph over the years.  I was happy to be referred to as “The Photographer”, always nice to have a rep and it saved me from having to start awkward conversations with standard small talk. 

Standing in a group of otherwise uninteresting people was Heather, very curvy, voluptuous, and stylish; she wore a sexy black top and skirt which was more of tutu, a welcomed departure from the average shit donned other people. Overhearing a little of her conversation, she seemed engaging, and totally comfortable with herself. She was definitely seducing me with her large green eyes and face length wavy black hair, what a fabulous photos subject!  As I talked to Laura and some other friends, I could not stop glancing in her direction. At one point we spoke briefly, however, our respective situations prevented any deeper conversation.

Later my group went outside for some air and Heather was also there sitting at a table with her friends. Laura, noticing my “Heather observations”, goaded me to inject myself into Heather’s group, I did manage to introduced myself and got into a real conversation with her. She was both engaging and surprisingly candid. She knew about my photos which was a good start and she had just started dating one of the members of her group, you know the type, right?, a guy who seemed to be trying too hard to appear arty.  I found out that she was a medical researcher with a PhD in something impressive, also very well informed and more than a bit nerdy, and if you knew my wife, you’d understand that these are all complete turn-ons for me. After a too brief convo, we exchanged info and said we’d both be in touch for either pictures or coffee.  

Back to the ride…. I wanted a date because I was tired of being the odd man out at these kinds of things.  But whom could I take?  My assistant, Laura, would be the perfect safe choice, very outgoing, likes to ride, tolerates my crap, Robert and Val love her, and she would help me promote myself. Unfortunately, she was on vacation back in Canada with her family, a dark three weeks for me for sure. Other familiar riding partners were either busy, or being completely indecisive, very common riding partner woes. Women would often say “take me for a ride” and then bail of every opportunity.  Then Heather came to mind. I loved her mind and I thought we would have things to talk about but we barely knew each other.  This ride would be an all day thing and that could be awkward and weird first date. I had no idea if she even rode. After consulting Laura and my wife Tina about the issues of an all day first date on a motorcycle with someone I had just met, I decided to live on the edge and emailed her about going with me.  

Notice I did not call, thinking that a potential rejection was better left to the written word.  She replied the same day and said she would like to go but was not sure if time would permit and that she would let me know later in the week. Well cool, I thought, she had not said “no” so clearly there was interest.  A few days later she emailed me again with some questions: how long was the ride? did I know anyone else going? etc. I answered them, and we were a go! Fantastic. cool date cool date obtained!

Another small aside:
Riding with a passenger is kind of like a dance, especially on a very fast, sport touring motorcycle like I had.  You ride leaning forward a bit so you have to be in sync, almost like thinking with one mind.  Everything you do together or independently affects the handling, speed, and comfort of the bike. When it’s good it’s great, when it’s bad it is really bad, so finding a good riding partner is no small task, especially for an all-day ride. All these worries aside, I had a good feeling about Heather.  Perhaps I figured that any woman who was daring enough to wear a tutu to a party probably had the right attitude plus she was smart and attractive, So, at least there would be good conversation if it was bad ride….

On the Saturday morning of the ride, I arrived at her door 15 minutes late; fuck I hate being late; when I was a kid we arrived late for every school field trip!  Alas, the delay was due to that I had forgotten my sunglasses and had to return home for them; an essential riding item and they make me look cool. Rather than going to the door, I called her to tell her I had arrived. I panicked because she sounded so low key on the phone. I thought she was still asleep or worse had forgotten.  She said she’d be right down, which seem to occur almost immediately.  She was more curvy than I remembered wearing a red low-cut t-shirt, jeans and boots. Relief! Unlike many others I have ridden with, she had listened to the instructions and wore proper clothes.  I had brought a motorcycle jacket and a helmet for her to wear, and as I helped her dress and we made that dreaded, uncomfortable first date small talk. She mentioned that this was her second time on a motorcycle, fantastic! I was thinking this might be ugly, however, I was really happy to see her and I decided not to think about it.  A few simple riding instructions: don’t take your feet off the rear pegs until we stop, it’s ok the lean into me, if you need to stop tap me three times on the shoulder, etc. We mounted and were off.  Riding down Western Avenue I went easy and everything felt good.  As I took to the highway, I opened the bike up a bit to see how she reacted to the acceleration. Her legs squeezed my thighs for balance and it was apparent that the ride was going to be pleasant. The bike felt good, and most importantly, she felt relaxed and balanced behind me.

We made the short trip down I-290 to Villa Park to pick up my friends, Val and Rob.  They have become my “friends in crime”; both outgoing, uninhibited, usually the “life” of any event and ready for any adventure no matter how insane it was. Val was immediately enamored with Heather and was giving me those approving looks.  We all mounted up and took off to the meeting point.  Riding along, Val looked back at me from behind Robert, with a sexy smile that said I like this one, and Heather was exuding relaxed and comfortable energy at my back, a good sign for the day ahead.

The ride check-in was uneventful.  Typical set Harley riders, typically inappropriately dressed for riding; however, thankfully a few sport bikes. Those people at least wore helmets. We made the typical benign jokes and small talk. Heather mingled effortlessly, never straying too far away from me, often glancing at me with a small smile to indicate she was cool.  As usual I began to take a few pictures. As often happened, I had become the unofficial photographer.  When the ride started, it actually did not.  We only rode for a few minutes before stopping for lunch (what the fuck?), one of the four or five stops in an 80-mile ride.  The ride was already turning very annoying.  After lunch we starting the real ride and we began moving quickly on the open roads, now it was getting fun.  At every stop there were jokes about various non-family-friendly topics as well as conversations with Heather about the relative merits of dating and world events. There was even a non-scheduled stop at local strip club; apparently one of the women on the ride worked there. We joined the throngs of others bikers there. Fortunately, the seediness of the place was too much for most of us and we left quickly. It reminded me of why I hated strip clubs and organized rides at the same time.  It was just another reason to get back to the real point of it all, the ride itself. Other than occasionally backtracking for lost people, and then stopping to wait for them, this was not an unpleasant experience. Heather still felt great on the bike and the roads and views were pleasant.

At this point I need to say that motorcyclists live for those rare perfect rides, where things are in sync, the weather is right, the road is smooth and if you have one, your passenger is enhancing the experience. Despite the disorganization of this “planned journey”, including too many stops, and the bad strip club, this was one of those rides. Speeding though the Illinois countryside, Heather and I became a unit, she was never too far away, never too close or too upright for me.  She knew exactly when to lean into a turn, how not to lean too far forward into me and where to hold onto me.  As we rode, she was ever so lightly at my back, just enough to feel her body and her legs gently squeezing my hips at the right moments. Sometimes her arms were around me, but more often she had this way of placing her hands on the sides of the gas tank right below me for balance. It was like she intuitively sensed the right position that made the ride comfortable. Whether riding fast or slow she provided the ideal riding experience and was this perfect balance grace and intuition. A few times, I managed shut off everything around me except for her presence and our energy and let the rhythm of the ride take over me.  When we stopped along our ride route, I did not want her to get off fearing that ride dynamics would be broken, however, they never were and when it was time to get back on the road, the perfection continued as if we had never left the bike. At one point I considered not stopping and just riding on without the group, however, my age and experience told me just to savor the experience as it was and enjoy her on the bike as long as I possibly could. 

For more context, I should tell you about my bike at the time: The Kawasaki ZZR1200 was considered a super sport tourer and was designed for sustained high-speed travel on the German Autobahn. At the time, it was considered the third fastest vehicle on the planet. One magazine review quoted that the bike “could fatten your eyeballs into the back of your head”.  It has its quirks though, while modern it was a bit unrefined, like it occasionally peed on the carpet for no reason. It had a Jekyll and Hyde personality. While it had a lot of power, under 4000 rpm it was rather docile and controllable. Then there was this annoying engine vibration between 4000-5000 rpm that you wanted to avoid, even though it occurred when riding at legal US highway speeds, more evidence that this thing really did not belong in America. Once over 6000 rpm, however, everything smoothed out and the bike changed dramatically. It morphed into this howling monster with effortless rapid acceleration and poise. It was an intoxicatingly visceral experience and the bike never seemed to run out of the power even with a passenger onboard. I referred to it as the locomotive.

Later in the trip before the last stop, I decided I had to open the bike up and the rest of the group quickly disappeared behind us. Val and Rob said that they looked away for a few seconds and we had disappeared over the horizon and they figured we would not been seen again. None of this seem to faze Heather, in fact she seemed to enjoy it, squeezing a little harder and holder on a bit tighter but never using the dreaded three taps on my shoulder. Clearly, she was the adrenaline junky that I was and I became completely intoxicated with the her.  After a few miles, I decided to be good and slowdown figuring I had made the point that we were the badasses in the group.

The ride ended at one of the organizer’s homes, there were more pictures taken and food eaten, and I found myself wondering how to process all that that had happened as I was still on a high from the perfection of the ride.  As few couples took advantage of the hot tub and the pool, and the day slowly wound down, we had to the make the decision to stay longer and socialize at the after party or leave early and get back to the city, a good hour’s ride for us.  I wondered it the first date time limit was up, however, Heather wanted to stay, and we talked and enjoyed the night air. Ironically, I had sort of forgotten that I barely knew her as everything had gone so well. I showed off my photo portfolio to a few people who asked, mingled, and laughed and Heather became a social focal point, exchanging ideas and stories, which helped me relax. I was enjoying the naturalness of it all, a far too uncommon experience.

The night went by fast and was 1 am when we finally left. It was an unusually chilly, August night and I was worried she would be cold on the ride home, about 50 minutes on the highway.  I asked her if she wanted to wear the thermal shirt or the gloves I brought for her just in case, but she declined.  We dressed and mounted up as we had done all day and headed out into the night. As we cruised down I-88 at 90 mph, our riding sync returned almost immediately and we settled into our groove on the highway. A one point I looked down to see her hands on the sides of the tank again. Concerned, I covered them with my free hand for a few moments from time to time to shield them from the cold air. All these years later, it’s still hard to process that day.  While Heather and I have remained friends, we never rode again perhaps realizing the difficult nature of trying to repeat perfection. I can tell you that day and that ride had provided me more pleasure than I had had for a long while.  Sometimes you get lucky and have a riding experience that you know will stay with you forever, and it really does not matter what happens next.  Any rider knows, this is why we ride. 

As we rode I back I was not only enjoying her, but thanking my very patient and loving wife for allowing me to roam free from time to time. One motorcycle, the crisp night air, and Heather at my back, that evening there was no place else I would have rather have been.