I just got a call from my son who is in Chattanooga TN. He and his wife and another couple are on a road trip on their Harleys. They are 800+ miles from home and from his tone of voice, they were tiring miles. They are having fun, however, and will do some sightseeing and then return to New Orleans and then to Texas.

I was invited. Here’s how that was supposed to work out. I fly to Houston and get on the back of his Harley in what is described as the best seat in the house. This is pure rumor. I ride the 800+ miles to Chattanooga with him and then get on another airplane and fly home to Portland ME. This is what he wants me to do and he says he loves me!

I begin to ask myself questions like: “Am I the only adult in the room?” I don’t know what two days on the back of a high end motorcycle is like but I do know what several hours on an airliner is like these days. I can concede the potential joy of the motorcycle thing – wind in my hair, vibration in my crotch – but air travel is a joke these days unless you are first class and someone else is paying the way. The last time I did that I felt as though I was in a giant animal trap. Just enough room to allow for normal breathing and praying that I don’t have to use the lavatory. I could feel like a human on a motorcycle but not on an airplane.

He said it looked like rain. It’s clear and warm here. I think both of us will have a good day.

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