Last night at dinner, I was sitting around the table with Curtis and my neighbor from across the street, Karen. For some reason we were talking about how I wanted a motorcycle, however, the only thing in my way of me getting one was Curtis. He won't let me get a motorcycle because he thinks they are dangerous. Even after I tried convincing him that I don't want a rice rocket, he still wasn't (and isn't) keen on the idea. We've had this conversation in the past. What no one knows is that there is one stipulation to this "No Motorcycle" rule: If Curtis EVER attends Burning Man, I get a motorcycle. He has hinted in the past that he might be interested in going to Burning Man. I have been blunt in expressing my disgust for such an event. I'm not being close-minded here...I'm 33, about to be 34, and I don't like being smelly and dirty, and I don't like being around other people who are smelly and dirty. And I'm over the drug scene. I say, stay tuned. I have a sneaky suspicion that Curtis is going to try and sneak away to the desert one day and dance it up next to some big burning guy who's totally burnt. And I don't mean the one they torch. And he will come home to a motorcycle sitting in front of the house with a sign on it that says, "Enjoy this, Burner!".
If I could afford it, this would probably be it.
But a motorcycle is not what I am thinking is exciting - no - thrilling. As the conversation continued, we started talking more and more about motorcycles, and then about cars. I mentioned that I would love to learn how to race cars. Not NASCAR or Indy type racing. More like street racing or rally car racing. Something where you can race your own car for the thrill of it. Perhaps I was bitten by Herbie the Love Bug when I was a child because I always found it exciting - no - thrilling to watch car races, and even car chases (and who doesn't like a good chase scene (might I recommend the movie Ronin?). I don't find it dangerous unless you have no stinking clue as to what you are doing, which is exactly why I would want to get lessons to learn how to race. There's only one little problem I have...
Cindy.
and
Donna.
Cindy is a Honda Civic Hybrid that whips out a whopping 93 horsepower out of a 1.3 liter engine that is paired with an electric motor. Donna will come to me equipped with a gigantic 1.4 liter engine that packs a punch at 101 horsepower. To put this into some perspective, a tiny Honda Fit comes with a 1.5 liter engine and throws out 117 horsepower, while a Toyota Corolla throws out an incredible 134 horsepower out of a 1.8 liter engine. So there you have it. I want to get into car racing, however the two cars I own are about as fast as Comcast when you call to hook up service, or maybe the gas company when you call to reset the pilot light.
Beware these two serious, speed machines.
I shouldn't give up my hopes just yet. A while back, I had this great idea that I would start a club for those who had such cars as I do, and in that club, we would compete against each other. That sounds fair enough. I mean, after all, you don't send a 100 pound waif to wrestle against a 250 pound pant-load, do you? I could see it now...a bunch of Honda Civic Hybrids, gradually moving away from the start line when the light flag is dropped, wheezing around the race track as they try to break 60 miles an hour, only to end the race hours after it began with the entire crowd long-gone out of sheer boredom. Exciting - no - thrilling. No?
I've been driving a hybrid all week. LOVE IT
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