Memory Gland: Motorcycle in the rain.

When I was a little boy, we had a blue motorcycle.  Being the youngest, I got to ride in front, by my father's lap.  My father drove, and my mother rode in the back.  She would be side saddle when she was wearing a skirt.  Sometimes my two brothers would have to squeeze in the back seat.

Meanwhile, I got to see all the view.  I felt special.  Except sometimes the metal gas tank I was sitting on would get so hot and I would burn myself.  I got to hold on to the handle bars and pretend I was driving.  When we would approach a corner, my dad would alert me so I could beep the horn.  (We didn't have traffic lights, so people honked at intersections.)  And then I would cheer him on as we approached to overtake the other vehicles.  I was so proud.

There was a point in time when it seemed like every weekend, we would all cram ourselves into that two-wheeler and have an outing at the beach.  I remember us tying a nylon net full of ripe santol fruits on one handlebar, and a multi-colored striped plastic bag with other goodies on the other side.  I remember climbing on with excitement while the rest of the family was still hastening to get ready.

One day, my parents and I went to a party at another town.  When we left for home in the evening, it rained heavily all of a sudden.  It didn't let up, and the spark plug got wet.  The motorcycle stalled.  My dad pushed it for about a half a mile as we all walked home in the rain.

I distinctly remember my parents being cool about the situation.  That was the one and only time I could remember sort of playing in the rain together.  Generally, they were fairly successful and took themselves kind of seriously.

We washed up when we got home.  I think my brothers had dinner already prepared.  We all laughed about it.  It was a fun adventure.


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