first bike, first week, first bike week - the rest of the story
PandA
I bought my first bike in 2001, and chronicled that story here. See:
first week, first bike, first bike week.
I lost my job on Oct. 18th that year, and ended up selling that bike
in early 2002.
Bikeless, jobless, and nearly homeless (again!), I became severely
depressed. I was taking lots of medication, and seeing a psychiatrist
once a week. I had a 'plan', and I was all set to die so my wife could
get the insurance money and maybe find someone else that could
possibly make her happy. The plan was set, and I was going to drive
off the ramp on I-93 north out of Boston, and plunge to my death
below.
Then, a series of events came about that made that plan unfeasible. I
was denied continuation for the life insurance, and that confirmed me
as a 'total loser', and I was totally unable to provide for my family
at all. I still could not get a job, because I told the truth at job
interviews; "Why did you lose your job?" "I was fired for alleged
violence in the workplace." "OK, thanks. We'll call you." I waited for
the calls, but they never came. Also, the health insurance was
prohibitively expensive (can you say "COBRA"?), so my visits with the
psychiatrist ended. So did the medication, and I stopped taking it all
very abruptly. I accellerated my timetable, and aimed to meet my
demise much sooner than I originally planned. I slept for 3 days while
fighting the withdrawal of my medications. I believe it when people
say that anti-depressants made them suicidal. I lived through it. I
lost all will to live, and fight. I was resigned to just die. My wife
and I fought all the time, about money and about me not having a job.
I was hurtin' for certain.
She went to work, and I drove around for a while that night until it
was time for me to die. I headed for the SEX-way and headed north
through Boston. My thoughts were racing, and I was ready. As I came up
on that section of I-93, I saw flashing lights and discovered my
flight plan had been altered! I had to abort because I didn't want to
take anyone else with me. Having failed my last-ditch attempt, I
became even more depressed. I even managed to fail at suicide, fer
crissakes.
Then, I got a job ot the Post Office. It was about 10 hours a week, at
$10 per hour. I was suddenly making $100 per week! I gave it all to my
wife, but it wasn't enough. We were going to lose our home, and I was
constantly reminded that it was all my fault.
My lawyer called me. Since my union hadn't returned any of my calls in
the 18 months that I was fired, I had contacted and hired a lawyer.
Well, it seems that I was going to get my job back. Another 4 months
passed and he called me again to say they wanted to have a 'meeting'
with me at my old workplace. I went, and sat and listened to the
stories of how everyone felt so threatened that I was even still
breathing, but I said nothing. One woman, who had never met me, stated
that she didn't feel 'safe' around me. Well, I was led outside after
about an hour of this, and was told that I would be contacted. Another
2 months went by and I got another call from my lawyer. He said I'd be
going back to work and gave me a date. He said I would get a call from
the union. The date came and went, and still no call from my union. I
called my lawyer, and he made a few calls. Another week went by, and
finally I got a call from my job. They told me to report on a Monday,
so I did. I was brought into another meeting and threatened (again!)
by the union's business manager and (again!) by the chief steward. I
was given some papers to sign and was told it was conditional upon my
return to work. I was also told my return to work would be under
restrictions; I was not allowed to go on the night shift and get a 10%
shift differential and could not bid on other work for 18 months. It
felt good to have a job again, though. I was harassed almost daily by
some of the people in the office, and it continues to this day, nearly
4-1/2 years later.
No matter, I had my job back. No retroactive pay, or benefits. Since I
had used my 401k savings to avoid losing our home, I really was
starting from scratch. They treated those 18-plus months as time away.
No seniority accrued, and my start date was 'adjusted' to reflect my
loss of some seniority. No matter, I had my job back. We refinanced
our mortgage, and I bought a car. Things were looking up, finally. I
still had to deal with assholes at work, but I was able to leave them
there and go home to my wife and my best friend, my dog...
I started looking for another bike, kind of half-heartedly, until I
found the one that I had been dreaming about since before I got my
first bike. I bought a 2003 Yamaha Midnight Venture, and started
riding again. The open road, the flow of the bike on that road, and I
was relieved of all my worries and cares. I was undergoing intensive
"Cycle-therapy" and it was working. I was happy again, and able to
give to my family...
I enjoyed my grandchildren, and enjoyed riding the bike. I even got my
wife to go on a few short rides with me. We joined some alleged
'social organizations' with the intention of riding with friends, but
politics got in the way. One stellar organization promised camaraderie
and friendship, but was actually ruled by a despot, with help from
some bumbling feudal lords. I left that organization and joined
another, but the local chapter was entirely too political and there
was too much infighting there as well. I left that 'communist'
organization and rode alone for the most part, staying away from that
previously mentioned stellar organization and the 'red' group as well.
I found a group that touted themselves as an ungroup, but alas it was
more of a group than an ungroup. They had meetings and rules and way
too much organization. I just didn't ride with them anymore...
I also joined a couple of groups endemic to my particular bike, but
never found a niche with them.
Then, I re-found the NERds...
Some great people in that little ungroup. Went on a few nice rides
with them, and was starting to enjoy being with them a lot. Also found
other riding groups through their association on delphi forums, and
rode with a few of them as well. Then, something else happened...
I must digress for a moment here. My wife never stopped complaining
about 'that damned bike' because it cost too much to buy, and
maintain, and then there was always more expense whenever I went on a
'ride'. Still, she did manage to go with me on a few short rides. I
thought she was starting to enjoy it as much as I was. I was wrong. It
turns out that the motorcycle was the direct cause of, or would soon
be the direct cause of, the rest of our lives being spent in abject
poverty. I was blind to that fact because I was too busy enjoying the
spiritual enrichment of my "cycle-therapy". That feeling of peace and
serenity was broken, hard, one day...
My dog need a surgical procedure to remove a growth from his gums.
He's about 12 years old, and perhaps a bit senile, and certainly
arthritic. My wife had a new 'cause' to tout about, and it was that
the dog would cause us to live the rest of our lives in abject
poverty. She said he had to be 'put down', because well, it just made
good economic sense. I was aghast. My very heart and soul had been
pierced by a dagger so icy and cold that I could barely breathe. This
was from a woman that I loved, and that professed to also love me? My
mind was reeling, but I managed to maintain a calm and collected
presence about myself.
The day I was to take the dog to the vet to have him put to sleep, I
managed to convince my wife that we should talk to the vet, and listen
to what he had to say about my dog. The vet said the dog was certainly
arthritic, and possibly senile, but he still ahd a lot of life left
and to put him down would be a tragic misdeed. I explained the
situation to him and he agreed to lower the price for the procedure. I
too kthis info back to my wife. She agreed to let the dog live, but
stated that we must find a way to control costs and spending. I took
the dog to the vet, and he had his procedure, and also started taking
some medication to help control his arthritis. The dog is happy, but
he is still 'dumb as mud'. No matter, he is my best friend, and he
gets to live. It was shortly after the surgery that I made up my
mind.
I would sell my bike so my best friend could live. With the money from
the sale of my bike I could finance feeding the dog, his treatment
plan, and also have some 'extra' money to just give to my wife. Of
course, I told her none of this about how I felt, but I did tell her I
was selling the bike simply because "it was time".
She agreed quite readily that it was a good idea to sell the bike, but
she would not stand for seeing me be depressed because of it. And, she
added, we won't be buying another bike either. I assured her I would
not 'be depressed', and put the bike at the dealer on consignment. So,
there it sits...
Maybe someday I'll have another bike, and be able to once again
refresh my spirit with some "cycle-therapy", but until then I will
live vicariously through all of you. Whenever I see someone riding, I
will know that they are feeling what I once felt, and be sated.
For the rest of my dog's life, I will enjoy him and be his friend as
he has been mine. When I finally do lay him to rest I will strive to
always remember him, and what he meant to me. I will also remember
'the ride', and I will know that his life and mine were saved by a
motorcycle.