So this happened.
Stopped for fuel, I returned to my bike to find a woman of uncertain age (old enough to know better, which bears on this tale) in a summer frock inspecting the Triumph at close quarters.
Me: "Careful. That pipe is hot." On account of the aforementioned frock.
Her, brightly: "Oh, thanks... I guess it would be. So, where are you headed?"
Because a guy on a bike, bug splattered and riding alone must surely be "headed" somewhere. Fleeing the law, perhaps. Or a jealous lover. Or maybe just because of his vagabond soul. Anyway, the point is, this is not the kind of question a strange woman asks someone driving a Yaris.
Me: "I've been where I'm headed, I guess. Going home now."
Her, faintly crestfallen: "Oh... too bad. Well, ride safe."
I realize now I should have made up a more mysterious answer. Because you're never really riding alone, right? It turns out the escape fantasies of countless fellow humans are riding pillion. You can't step out of character for a second.
Every ride a lesson.
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