Don't fight against the lean.

“Don’t fight against the lean.”

I had accepted an offer for a ride to class on the back of motorcycle, from a guy named Hugh, I think.  Some incongruous name for our age and time.  I remember him as kinda awkward, but nice enough, and you got a sense that he was maybe a quietly cool guy, if you ended up hanging out together for any length of time…

I was 20, and hopping on the back of a motorcycle for the first time. 

I acted like it was no big deal.   Duh.

Hugh: skinny, longish blonde hair and horn rimmed glasses, had just showed up one day.  I’m sure the reality of it is a bit more detailed, but I have no idea of the origin story at this point in my life, so…. He just showed up one day.

And I hopped on the back of his bike, not very convincingly I expect, and we sped off. 

I had a death grip on the small handles, one on each side of the rear seat, should, say, you NOT want to hold onto the dude in front of you on the bike…

And then he took the first turn at speed, and we started tilting, and leaning, and I was quite sure we were going to lose the bike and get some nasty road rash, and…. We never did. 

I was just starting to relax a bit and enjoy the ride, a sunny spring day from one side of campus to the other, when we were at my destination.  I hopped off, again not convincingly, and thanked him for the ride.

“No problem.  But next time, don’t fight the lean.”

Hadn’t a fuckin’ clue what he was on about. 

“Explain.”

By not leaning into the turns as he was doing, I was making it harder for him to control the bike.    He went into a bit more detail, but….  I understood. 

Don’t fight against the lean. 

Got it.

By pure coincidence, I’ve never been on a bike since.

I remember he stayed at school that summer, as it was also the first summer I opted not to go home.  I don’t recall hanging out all that much.

One thing stands out…

I registered only that it was really fucking late, when my roommate let herself in.  And then I went back to sleep.

She was still out cold, when I got up to go to work.    We finally reconnected that evening.

She, basically, asked me to guess where she had been the night before. 

Uh…..  I had no idea.

Seems Hugh, if that was his name, had stopped by unexpectedly the afternoon before.  He was looking for me, because He had an extra ticket to Dylan, maybe the Dylan & The Dead tour(?).

Since I was not there, he asked my roommate to go instead.  And SHE….. her mom lived a few blocks away, so borrowed her nice car and they hauled ass to Indianapolis for the show.

But…but….but…..  fuck.    

But then I asked myself how he and I would have had to get ourselves the three hours south down I-69.

Oh, and back….

And I didn’t mind it as much. 

Don’t fight against the lean.  

I racked my brains, and I cannot remember a time I ever saw him, after that. 

Why the random nostalgic musings?  

Toward what possible profound conclusion are you taking the scenic route?

Whoa! Just…whoa.

Have we met?  I always take the fucking scenic route.

Honestly, random shit just pops in there.  Usually, initially, as words.   I’m sitting on a deck chair, in shorts and a heavy hoodie, looking at my yard and the night sky, and… POP!

“don’t fight against the lean.”

And that triggers the larger context, hopefully, or at least a desire to ponder upon it a bit to see what you can stir up. 

in this case, a random tale used to offer up a good piece of life advice, but in a non-assuming way that allows you, the reader, to apply meaning to it that works for YOU.
or not. 

And I just like the way it sounds.