Passenger
by Titus Gee
I took a passenger out for a ride, not long ago.
It had been a while.
The bike feels heavier with a girl on the back, somehow more substantial, but it felt right as well.
Different, but right.
It’s easier to ride alone, leaning back against nothing — letting the bike find its own line on the road.
Riding double takes more thought. You gotta know what you’re doing ahead of time. Learn to lean together.
The bike felt unwieldy in the corners, and I had to lead in to every change of direction, telegraphing the shift back to her. Too quick a swerve and the extra weight would take us down. Too slow and we’d drift into oncoming traffic.
Stopping took longer.
I had to put the brakes on early and gently to keep from skidding.
Plus, I worried more. If I crash by myself I bear all the blame, all the pain and the bills.
If I crash us both . . .
But despite the extra stress and subtleties, the ride was strikingly sublime. Maybe because riding double is the only way to really show someone the wonder I feel on the road.
Sometimes I ride out with other bikers, but really we each take our own path, cutting the corners and tasting the wind at different points along the way. It’s not the same.
Riding with a passenger, feeling the same six-inch strip of road round every curve and over every bump kindles something between us that can’t be found in any other way — something mysterious, unspoken, and maybe kind of magical.
Also, it’s a lot warmer.
Dedicated to all my married friends, and those soon to be…
