Yearly Archives: 2009

Sexual Identity, Sexuality, and Sex

Posted on by

Let me share some of my thoughts on this subject, which include reflections from a fellow gay man who reviewed this post for me and shared great insights. I preface this post a statement that I have no professional, medical, or academic background on sex, sexuality, or sexual identity. My background is from these sources:

  • personal experience in living as an open gay man in a committed relationship
  • having loving, caring, and supportive family and friends who helped me along the way to become a well-adjusted and socially responsible man
  • knowing gay men who have shared their experiences and outlooks. Much of how we view ourselves is compared and contrasted with the viewpoints of others. Even the things we might flatly reject leave an impression on our outlooks.

I realize that if my family were not supportive during my “coming out” process, or if my friends abandoned me, or if I were in an environment at home, school, or work that was restrictive, demeaning, or socially isolated, then things would have turned out much differently. If, for example, my father were a James Dobson-esque closed-mind religious zealot filled with hate, or my mother a Regina Griggs-like ultraconservative bigot, then I probably would have become a nutcase suitable for long-term lockup.

I have stated in previous blog posts that I was born gay, but didn’t know it. I think that’s fairly true of most gay men. Males behave as they are expected to behave by society: that is, go out on dates with girls, have sex with women, talk and think about women sexually, and things of that nature. Men who possess feminine qualities, whether gay or straight, have a much more difficult time in society than the stereotypically butch male.

The problem is that a guy usually goes through puberty and is able to be sexually active before he comes to terms with his sexual identity. I don’t think I am any different from a lot of others — I experimented sexually (with females, males, myself, and fetish interests) long before I accepted the fact that I was gay.

When attempting to think of women sexually doesn’t work, as with me when I realized that I was looking more at the guys than the girls and discovered that my plumbing worked in a particular way… then a guy figures out he is gay and works through a whole lot of “attitude adjustments” both internally and with those around him. That process, often called “coming out” is, to me, a process of coming to terms with one’s sexual identity.

My family always loved me, even if they didn’t understand what “gay” meant. That love was the foundation that made my “coming out” process easier since it lead to my family’s support. Coming out wasn’t easy, and took many years. In many ways, given the closeness of my family, my coming out process couldn’t have occurred in any other way since my family’s love for me wasn’t contingent upon my compliance with a certain set of imposed rules and obligations.

It all boils down to the fact that yeah, I like guys. However, I have to say that sex is not the driving factor for my being gay. Sure, I enjoy sex like any other guy. But there’s more to my sexuality and my gay identity than sex. It’s how I look at and think about my partner. It has a lot to do with love.

Sex is about biology and mechanics. Sexual organs respond favorably in certain conditions whether or not the same or opposite sex pushes those buttons physically. Self-identification as gay, straight, or somewhere in between is more than just who one sexually responds to…it involves the total package of feelings and other issues that attracts us to each other as human beings.

I am so in love with my partner, that being intimate with him is one way that I can demonstrate to him that I love him. Intimacy is a private thing, but an important factor for an ongoing, long-term relationship. But it’s not all sex. There are other things that my partner knows about me that no one else knows. There are fundamental things that we agree on without even having to talk about it. That’s part of intimacy. It’s a deep, abiding bond that holds us together.

I like guys, but since I have been in a monogamous relationship for so long, I’m not interested in sex with anyone else. I might find some guy attractive – after all, just because I am monogamous doesn’t mean that I am blind. Straight guys who I see socially or at the office or around my community or with whom I interact on-line have nothing to fear by interacting with me as a gay guy — I’m not interested in having sex with them. I am interested in what they have to say as a person, and how we might share something together, like go on a motorcycle ride, craft testimony for a public hearing, repair something in an older person’s home, or talk about boots and leather. It is my commitment to my man that that prevents me from having sex with anyone else. It’s no different than any other couple who makes that vow and truly honors it.

In summary, to me, sex, sexuality, and sexual identity are different things. They are related, but not one and the same. I’ll always be more attracted to men than women, but I’ll only have sex with one guy. Does that make any sense?

Life is short: be who you are.

Thanks to “K” for his invaluable insights and ongoing friendship

When Do You Blog?

Posted on by

Someone asked me, “do you really get up at 4:00 in the morning to write a blog post every day?”

… no. I schedule my blog posts to appear each day at that time. I write my blog posts often days or weeks in advance. Currently, I have about 30 blog posts that are completed or mostly done in the queue, for publication once each day for days and weeks to come.

When do I write blog posts?

I write them at home, usually either in the very early morning before I go to work, or perhaps in the evening after dinner if I have time. I do not spend time blogging at work. Blogging is personal, and I don’t waste work time doing personal stuff.

How do I come up with ideas to blog about?

I have three sources:

  • What I see when I travel on public transit, on my Harley, or when I walk around the streets of DC where I work or my community where I live.
  • What I observe people look for when they search the Internet and end up on this blog.
  • Occasionally, what some people write to me about in an email message.

I avoid writing about things that are better suited elsewhere, such as about politics. I try to keep this blog focused on my passions for boots, leather, community, and my man. However, I have on occasion been known to wander off topic.

I never quite know where I will be when something strikes me to blog about. And being a rather old-fashioned type of guy, when I get such a thought and I am in a place that I can write (that is, not on my Harley), I will whip out a trusty small notepad and jot the idea down. Then later when I am at my computer, I pull the notepad out of my shirt pocket and compose the post. It’s that simple.

I am having a lot of fun with this blog, and appreciate your visits!

Irresistibly Arrestable

Posted on by

Here is how I was dressed last night while waiting for my partner to arrive home from work. I was wearing my clandestine uniform (that is, a uniform shirt unadorned with patches, as the agency I represented is not on any official log book), Duty Belt with “appropriate” gear, and motorcop uniform breeches tucked into tall Dehner Patrol Boots.

My partner has been irresistibly arrestable. The offense? Well, he committed many “arrestable offenses” over the last week when my brother was visiting. He put clean linens on his bed every day, did laundry for us both, did the grocery shopping so I could spend more time with my brother and our family, and carried out a whole host of other things to free up my time.

He smiled, he laughed, and he had great conversations with my brother on a variety of topics. He made my birthday and the week following a great treat, just by being the man he his — thoughtful, caring, kind, considerate, and quietly doing things that kept our household a warm and inviting place for my brother to enjoy.

His most egregious offense? He did everything he possibly could do to make me happy. To bring broad smiles to my face. To love me and care for me.

My man, my sweet wonderful man, was arrested last night. I charged him with being just too good, too wonderful, too kind… and then when he took his shirt off: just too darned studly!

Life is short: show those you love that you love them! Whew!

It’s All About the Boots Part 2: Biker Boots

Posted on by


I am an avid motorcyclist. I have been riding motorcycles regularly for 32 years. Currently, I have a Harley-Davidson Road King Classic, which I bought new last year (2008). I had the handlebars replaced so the bike fits me better. I also had the instrumentation changed to have a combined speedometer/tach. Otherwise, the bike is stock.

When it comes to boots for the bike, my three favourite pairs of biker boots are:

  • stock Chippewa Firefighter boots
  • custom tall Wesco Harness boots
  • stock Chippewa oil-tanned Engineer boots

Tall boots usually need to be made custom to fit my muscular calfs. However, tall Chippewa Engineer boots are made with a rather wide calf, so no further adjustment is necessary. (That’s good, since you can’t get them made custom, anyway.)

Wesco Boots are by far the most durable boots I have ever worn while motorcycling. The only challenge I have with them is that they are very heavy, and sometimes get hot out in the sun when riding all day on big Harley with an air-cooled engine. On those days, in particular, I prefer to wear my Chippewa Firefighter boots, which are durable and exceptionally comfortable.

Meanwhile, enjoy the video titled, “It’s All About the Boots Part 2: Biker Boots” to see these boots closer up and in action.


It’s All About the Boots Part 1: Patrol Boots

Posted on by

A couple weeks ago, I sent a message to subscribers of my YouTube Channel to say that I was going to have some free time during my past week’s “staycation” and asked for some suggestions for videos that I might create.

I received a few responses with rather odd video suggestions, but such suggestions were not unexpected from the boot fetish community. Sorry, fellas, you aren’t going to see me lick boots or do other things that are unhealthy. However, I received one reply from a fellow boot blogger who suggested that I keep the videos focused on the boots. He said, and I agree, “It’s All About the Boots.”

I got out six pairs of my favorite boots and created two videos. The first video features three of my favorite patrol boots:

  • Bal-Laced Dehner Boots
  • Wesco Motor Patrol Boots
  • Chippewa Hi-Shine Boots

By the way, I still really like my All American Blue Knight Patrol Boots but I blogged about them recently already so I chose some others to feature today.

I put the patrol boots that I picked out for the video on my feet, showed how to keep a good shine on them, and walked around a bit. Enjoy!

Sweaty Summer Work

Posted on by

Now that my twin brother has returned home (and I sure miss him), it is time to attack the long list of projects to do around the house.

One of the biggest projects for this summer is to control an erosion problem in our side yard. Rainwater coming out of the downspouts had eroded all of the topsoil in the little patch of grass that once was there, and the problem was growing worse.

On Friday morning at the crack of dawn, I rented a “mini-trencher” which is a machine that digs a trench. All well and good. The machine, however, weighed a ton and was quite a struggle to man-handle. In no time, however, a trench of some 12″ (30cm) deep and 100′ (30m) long was dug. My partner helped me get the machine back on my truck and I returned it… all before 9:00am. By then, however, the temperature had already climbed to 90°F (32°C) with 70% relative humidity.

Upon return from HomoDepot, the phone rang. It was AZ! I always enjoy speaking with my best friend. He gave me a good excuse to cool off while catching up.

But the work wouldn’t take care of itself. So I returned to the yard and used a shovel to prepare the trench to accept black plastic pipe that I connected to the downspouts and interconnected together with Y fittings. I had to be careful to avoid cutting underground utility pipes and wires which enter our house, so through what I thought was an ingenious method of using PVC plumber’s piping, I ran the new gutter drainage pipe above ground toward the back yard until I was sure I was clear of any underground natural gas pipe or wires. I then connected it to the black plastic pipe and buried it in the trench.

The underground piping runs to the far back of my property to drain into a stream. The earth covering the pipe will soon sprout new growth in the forest area, and come Autumn, I will sow grass seed in the smaller upper side yard area that should be lawn. (Spring: sod; Fall: seed).

This work took much of the day on Friday, and by 3pm, the temperature had reached 95°F (35°C) and 80% humidity. Yeeccchhhh… I called it “August ugly” though it is typical for this time of year in the DC area. (Wonder why Congress leaves for the whole month? This is why!)

I was just finishing up and smoothing over the dirt when a strong thunderstorm struck. After the storm dissipated, I couldn’t help but go out and check my work. I got my Chippewa Engineer Boots a little muddy (oops), but was assured that the new drainage system worked as intended.

I had been drinking water all day, and sweat like a (insert adjective). I sweat so much that I didn’t have to urinate, despite drinking at least 20 jugs of water (which I had chilled in the fridge the night before.) My partner brought me four clean shirts into which I changed throughout the day.

After completing the work, my partner peeled off my clothes and put them in the wash while I took a nice, cold shower. I felt quite refreshed. I lay down on our couch in the basement while my partner completed his work for the day (he telecommutes on Fridays). Before I knew it, I had fallen asleep. I enjoyed an hour’s nap… I’m such a lazy wuss.

My partner gently woke me and I prepared our evening meal — home-made Maryland crab cakes (using crab I picked from my “birthday bushel” that we enjoyed earlier in the week) and a light salad.

After dinner, the muscle soreness began to set in. In fact, all day on Saturday, I kept asking my partner, “did you get the license plate number of the truck that ran over me?” He would just hand me two more Excedrin and tell me, “no pain, no gain!” Such a caring soul he is (LOL!)

Oh well, it’s done, it works, and I am recovering. I am glad to have this major project scratched off that non-ending “honey-do” list!

Can Spirituality Be Inherited?

Posted on by

This is a philosophical question that I often ask myself, “could I have inherited my spiritual feelings from my mother’s distant parental lineage?”

Where I am coming from is that I grew up in a religiously divided household. My maternal grandfather was a Methodist missionary who went to Oklahoma to “save the heathens,” and married a full-blood Choctaw (Native American Indian). She converted to being Methodist, and that is the religion that my mother observed.

My father was Roman Catholic. He grew up in a strict Italian Catholic family. He was required to bring up his children Catholic in order to get permission to marry. However, by the time I came along, they sorta had forgotten that. My oldest nine siblings were baptized in the Catholic Church, and the other six of us are a mix (some are more observant of organized religion than others. For example, my twin brother eventually went through training and became Catholic. I was not baptized in any church, nor have an interest in doing so.)

I attended both Methodist and Catholic churches until my parents stopped forcing me to go. Growing up in a predominantly Jewish neighborhood, I also attended a number of Jewish religious services (Bar- and Bat-mitzvahs and weddings). I had always questioned what religious leaders said about certain things. Later in life, when I acknowledge that I am gay, I had a lot of trouble listening to the statements made by the Catholic Church about homosexuality.

I love my man. I am no less in the eyes of the God in organized religion because I love someone of the same sex. However, hearing all that negativity and being subjected to shunning by the UltraCatholic branch of my father’s family just drove me more away.

But that does not mean that I do not believe in a greater spirit. I truly think there is something bigger and more powerful out there that is guiding me. I can’t call this higher spirit, “God,” but I can refer to spiritual leadership.

As I was exploring my feelings of spirituality, I had some long discussions with some Choctaw Tribal Elders. I learned that how I think and feel about a Great Spirit is consistent with their form of Spirituality. I believe in the importance of maintaining harmony with nature and fellow humans. I believe a lot in the Light of the Sun, as the Choctaw do. What is odd to me, though, is that I was never directly exposed to any form of spiritual teachings from my mother’s People. I only knew my grandmother and some distant cousins. My grandmother had become an avowed Methodist before I was born.

I have been wondering for a long time, “can spirituality be inherited?” I think there is something to that, but I don’t know. Meanwhile, I will keep smiling, because I remember and continue to employ this quote by H. Jackson Brown, Jr.: Today, give a stranger one of your smiles. It might be the only sunshine he sees all day. Sunshine, be it from our nearest star or from light on another’s face, is clearly a major part of my spirituality.

Debunking My Own Myth

Posted on by

My brother outdid himself with his blog post here yesterday. Believe me, I am no saint. I have made many mistakes, and have much yet to learn.

If I were all what my brother makes me out to be, I would exhibit far more patience than I do, and I would be more open and accepting of things that other people do that drive me nuts. Those behaviours like yakking on a cell phone while driving or riding a motorcycle in sneakers should not make me so crazy, but they do. Thus, I am no saint.

But let me tell you, I think the world of my brother. He has worked so very hard to get where he is in life. Everything was harder for him, and he had to study very hard in school his whole life. He worked hard, far harder than I ever did in school, and it paid off. J struggled and studied and got tutoring and help from my family, me, and others. His good grades in school were an indication of what he can do when he sets his mind to it. Me? I was a sloucher and got straight A’s. Go figure. But J never resented that; he just told me, “atta boy!”

Don’t throw a ball my way or ask me any questions about sports. In our birthing process, J got every nucleic acid of DNA related to sports and I got none of it. J is naturally athletic. Graceful and talented, he went to college on a sports scholarship. He earned several honors while playing football in high school and college. Me? Someone always had to tell me what side of the field to look toward and say, “yay!” While I was always J’s number one cheerleader, I never liked sports and my disinterest in sports remains the same to this day.

My brother commented about how I handled a community meeting the other night. It wasn’t as raucous as he made it sound. Perhaps, though, I employed listening and response skills that I learned from my Mentor and friend, who served as an elected official for 17 years in the district of the county where I live, until her untimely death. Gosh, I still miss her lots. But by acting on what she taught me, perhaps that is how I carry on her vision and her teachings.

Ordinarily, riding my Harley 300 miles (500km) in one day as my brother and I did on Tuesday is not something I prefer to do. If it were anyone else other than my brother asking me to ride that far in one day, I would have politely declined. But it was J who asked. He never asks me for anything. How could I refuse? My brother has always been a man who carries out his plans and realizes dreams.

One thing about riding motorcycles with a twin is that we can intuitively tell when we need to stop and take a break. It may be after a half-hour or an hour, but frequent stops help stretch the ol’ muscles and relieve our saddle soreness.

We had a number of times when that “twin thing” happened. For example, when we were riding and looking for a place to stop, we both would head to the same gas station. We complete each other’s sentences. We think alike in many ways, yet we are different men.

My brother is more comfortable in khakis and sneakers when dressed casually. He looks great in a suit, which he wears to work every day. I’m more of the Wranglers and boots kinda guy, and I do not like how I look in a suit because it makes me so uncomfortable.

He does not credit himself adequately for his diplomatic skills. He employs tact and is gentle when he communicates with others. Perhaps that’s why my partner and my brother had so many long, intense conversations during this visit. My brother is the only one in our family who can engage my partner in conversation.

He is a very good husband to his wife, and a wonderful brother to all of us in the family. He doesn’t forget the dates of all of our birthdays — including the huge bunch of nieces, nephews, and “greats” that are in our large family. Again, where we are similar is that he remembers to send cards, as I do.

I was truly honored to have my brother choose to come spend a week with me for our birthday. He could have gone anywhere; taken his wife to a beautiful resort; or gone on an adventure to sate his wanderlust. But he chose to come stay with me. He chose to rent a Harley, and since he does not ride regularly, it took a lot of work for him to get comfortable riding again. But he did that for me. Further, he does not wear boots, but once more, for me, he wore a different pair of my motorcycle boots every day while visiting me to use while riding. Better yet, he kept them on while we were not riding. I think he looks great in boots; however, they are not his choice of regular footwear.

My brother has always been my soulmate and best friend, and always will be. He accepts me and loves me for who I am. It doesn’t matter to him that I am gay; what matters to him is that I am happy and leading a productive, fulfilling life. Happy I am with my wonderful partner, our home, my current employment, and living in a great community where my roots run deep.

I treasure him more than words can express. My buddy, my best friend, my brother. Smart, reliable, honest, friendly, and fun. What a great guy. I love you too, ‘bro, with all my heart.

Life is short: show those you love that you love them.

Enthusiasm for Life

Posted on by

Guest Blog by J (BHD’s twin brother)

What’s it like to know and observe someone whose boundless energy to enjoy life surrounds you? Let me tell you: it’s exhausting! But it is very fun!

My brother who goes by BHD or “Booted Harleydude” on this blog (and we call him lots of other names, too), is surrounded by people who think the world of him. I would like to claim that I am his number one cheerleader, but I will relinquish il numero uno to his partner who cares so deeply for him. I am so pleased that he is happy, which makes him joyful, playful, funny, and great to be around. This is why I came back to visit this week.

You see, I have a job which is interesting but very challenging. It sucks the energy out of me. I need these visits with my brother to recharge myself. I love my wife and she’s terrific. She is a wonderful partner in all respects. Her perspective on life, though, is from “old family Europe.” If I have to explain, you wouldn’t understand.

She is always very serious, and it takes a lot to make her laugh. That’s one of the reasons why I love my brother so much, because when he was Best Man at our wedding in Venice, Italy, he was the only one who was able to make my wife laugh — not once, not twice, but many times. She was in such a dither about the wedding, my brother intuitively realized that she needed to laugh which would help her (and me) lighten up. He did it by sharing amusing anecdotes about what he observed other people doing or saying. Because he looks so American, Italians speak freely in front of him because they do not think he can understand them, yet he speaks the language fluently. They said the craziest things, which he made even funnier when he relayed them to us.

I spent yesterday accompanying my brother on rounds he was making within the retirement community where our Mom lived. He baked two cakes very early in the morning before I awoke. One was for a friend who lives there, and just got home from the hospital. Another was for a friend of his who was feeling a bit lonely since her family never visits.

Then I became his helper when he had to fix a broken light switch for one of his “crew” (as he calls his elderly friends.) That repair was more complicated than either of us thought it would be, because the wiring was hard to reach and brittle. But it was not a problem for my brother: he kept at it persistently until it was fixed. No sooner than he finished there, he walked across the street to fix a drawer slider for another elderly friend. The drawer kept falling out every time she opened it. Not any more! (His toolbox is a cross between Mary Poppins’ and MacGyver’s bag — he has everything!)

These are the little things that my brother does for other people that I observe, and he keeps telling me that “it’s nothing.” Well, it IS something, big guy! Few others do things like that.

We had lunch with our Aunt, who at age 94 remains bright, cheerful, albeit quite forgetful. She is generally quiet, and doesn’t say much. That is, until my brother walks in the door. How she lights up! She smiles, laughs, and shares stories about our family that I enjoy hearing again. He encourages her to express herself, which helps her with her memory problems. What a caring soul my brother is.

We returned home and went for our last ride together (for this visit) on our motorcycles to return my rented Harley. We rode through the old neighborhood where we grew up along the way. My goodness, so much has changed. Funny though, several people waved at my brother as we rode by; he has held his connections to our home stomping grounds.

When we got home, his partner was just returning from work. My whirling-dervish brother greeted his partner and helped unpack his car with things he brought home from the market. Then, right before my eyes and in less than a half-hour, my brother prepared a splendid meal. He pulled out chicken breasts which had been magically marinading in the fridge and grilled them. He cut it up and put on salad rich with home-grown vegetables from his garden. What a light, delicious, and filling meal! He says he does this “all the time.” Gee, my wife and I have much to learn. We eat at restaurants more often than we should.

When I thought our day was over, my brother had changed clothes again and said that he had to go to a community meeting that he couldn’t get out of. He explained that factions were warring over a development project. I decided to go with him to watch him in his “community leader” role.

When we arrived, my brother greeted everyone by name. “No big deal,” he says, “these people are my neighbors.” My brother explained the situation clearly and succinctly. It impressed me how he remained calm in spite of some rather emotional outbursts by different parties. I think his response to emotions is to be even more calm. His voice grows quiet; his brow is quizzical but not angry; and he asks, rather than answers. By the end of the meeting, the different sides had resolved to work out their differences. That’s my brother: the mediator, friend, good neighbor, listener, and problem solver.

When we got home about 9, my brother and his partner went to bed. I can’t go to sleep that early. My brother, though, always has been the “early bird.” I stayed up to write this blog post and check my email. I told my wife in an email that I missed her, but am enjoying this trip very much because of what my brother does for my soul.

I am very blessed to have this energetic, bright, and POWERFUL soulmate, best friend, and brother rolled into one intelligent, thoughtful, caring and impressive man. Isn’t it great to call your brother your best friend? He always has been, and always will be.

Hold your friends close, and your family closer. At least, that’s what my brother always says! As I prepare to return back home to Europe, I will be fondly remembering this very special birthday week with a man I love, respect, and admire. I will always hold him very close in my heart. I love you, ‘bro!

500km to Cumberland and Back?

Posted on by

Yesterday morning my visiting twin brother, J, was up bright and early. Of course, I was up two hours before him, but for J to get up at 6:00am, I thought something was on his mind. It was. He came bounding into the kitchen with a bright idea: “Let’s go visit Shirley!”

Shirley? Man, I haven’t seen her in ages. Shirley was the first person to give J and me a “real” job, working at her store in the neighborhood shopping center. We were both 16 and wanted to do something productive during the summer and earn some spending money beyond what we got for mowing lawns. But nobody wanted to hire “kids,” nor two of us to boot. But we were bound and determined to get a job at the same place and work together. Shirley gave us a chance, and we will never forget it. We must have done something right, because she asked us back to work for her part-time throughout high school and during the summers. We both owe a lot to her for the faith she invested in us when we were teenagers.

We thought Shirley was “old.” I mean, she was 30!!! Ancient by a 16-year-old’s perspective–almost twice our age! But she took a gamble on hiring two neighborhood kids, and we proved to her that she could depend on us. She sold the store about 20 years ago and moved to Cumberland, Maryland, which (to me) is waaaaaaaaaay up there, far away. And J was dead-set on going to see her.

He said that he had called her yesterday, just to say hello. But one thing led to another… and he promised to visit. What better way to rack up miles on his rental Harley and enjoy some nice, warm sunny weather than to ride to see her?

J asked me, “can you get that GPS of yours to plot a non-highway route to get there?” I thought about it, and used mapping software, and soon enough had a route figured out that went via ferry across the Potomac River into Virginia, and up through the beautiful Shenandoah foothills. Here’s the route:
It took five hours, but we stopped a few times to stretch and drink water that we had brought with us. Even as comfortable as my Road King is and his Ultra, we both suffered from “Harley Butt” which is a common occurrence on long rides.

We got there in time for a nice long lunch at a restaurant with a beautiful view of the Cumberland Gap and the Potomac River. We had a lot of fun catching up with our dear friend. She is doing very well, enjoying life, and keeping busy. Unfortunately, the ride back was daunting, and I wanted to get home before our dinnertime and to avoid storms that were predicted for late afternoon.

After an all-too-brief visit, we remounted our iron steeds. Concerned that a five-hour return would be too long, J agreed that we should take the highway back. It’s shorter, quicker, and more direct. Though riding alongside big rigs at 70mph isn’t our cup-o-tea, we shifted into sixth gear, clicked on the cruise control, and put our boots up on the highway pegs. We stopped only once for gas on the way back. I am glad that we didn’t dawdle on the return, because we got back home just as the skies opened up with a deluge of a thunderstorm.

We had a lot of fun: two brothers out on the road on their Harleys, enjoying life, visiting with someone to whom we owe a debt of gratitude for having faith in us, and crafting the taller tail to regale to my partner over dinner last night. The hills were higher, the roads were narrower, and the snow was deeper (oops, not that!)… we just laughed and laughed. My partner just smiled. He told me as he held me in his arms as we were in bed that he was so happy that I am really enjoying my birthday “staycation” with J, and how pleased he was that J was staying with us and sharing such enthusiastic joy. Heck, that’s what life is all about!

Oh, why no pictures of J? He is dead serious about not having his image appear anywhere on the Internet. I understand; he has a sensitive job. But his legs in an old pair of my Banana Frye campus boots appear here. He asked to wear these boots, specifically, because it’s what we wore in high school, and he remembered them. He looked really cool in those Fryes!

Life is short: get out and ride, love your family and your friends with all you’ve got!