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It was a fantastic weekend. Wow I love spring.

Needless to say, we went riding this weekend. In fact, we went riding on Friday night, we went riding on Saturday and we did a quick trip on Sunday. It was absolutely outstanding.

I’ll admit I was a little nervous getting back on my bike for the first time after months without riding. I was a little afraid I’d forget how, or at least enough to get myself into trouble. After all, going down a hill heading towards a red light you don’t want to suddenly think “how do I brake?”

I shouldn’t have worried. It really is like riding a bicycle — you don’t forget — except you don’t have to pedal.

Friday night was really funny. Steve was off on Friday so he spent much of the day running errands and working outside. It was enough to make Jake, who usually sleeps all day while we’re at work, really tired. When I got home from work, his eyes were sleepy and he looked like he’d like nothing better than a nap. We actually talked about possibly leaving him home to rest while we went for a ride.

But when Steve carried my bike jacket, chaps and boots downstairs, Jake appeared by my side while I was changing my clothes with a questioning look in his eyes. When I pulled out my riding gloves, Jake’s eyes lit up and he suddenly looked happy. Our RoadDog was ready to go, tired or not.

It was that way most of the weekend. We’d work outside for awhile and Jake would get tired “helping” us. But when the bikes came out of the garage, he was ready to go. We did leave him home on Saturday evening when we rode into Lunenburg for dinner and again on Sunday evening when we went into Bridgewater to meet up with some friends for an hour. He didn’t seem to mind too much on Saturday night, he was tired from riding all afternoon, but he wasn’t thrilled on Sunday.

It seems our RoadDog is ready for another riding season too.
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It was a weekend all about motorcycles and yet, somehow, we never got to ride them.

Steve and I headed to Halifax Saturday. Steve has a birthday coming up soon and I promised I’d buy him a “shiny bit” for his bike. He’s wanted a tachometer for awhile now. I almost bought him one for Christmas, but couldn’t figure out exactly which one to buy so I waited, so Saturday we were off to Freedom Cycle to get it. For anyone who cares, in the end he opted to get one made by Kawasaki. It should arrive in a couple of weeks so he’s all excited about that. My little Vulcan doesn’t even have a gas gauge, so a tachometer is way beyond anything I can get excited about, but I’m glad he’s happy.

I won’t tell you about the bike I saw and fell a little in love with while we were at Freedom Cycle. I’m trying hard not to think about it, so writing about it would probably not be a good idea. Let’s just say I have my eye on my next bike when it comes time to trade, which probably won’t be for another year.

Then we were off to the Biker Bash at Exhibition Park. Lots of bikes, gear and bikers. It really got us thinking about getting out on the road.

Jake spent Saturday sleeping (at least that’s what we assume he does when we’re not home), so he was keen to go outside with us on Sunday to get the bikes ready. I walked in to the shop and announced that I was going to go riding as soon as we had the bikes shined and the batteries in them. Steve agreed, Jake looked excited, we got started … and then it rained. So much for that idea. It just seemed like bad karma to start the riding season in the rain.

At least we got the bikes down off their jacks and ready for the road. Maybe we’ll get out one evening this week. If not, I’m definitely hoping for a sunny weekend. It’s time to try out our RoadDog’s new carrier.

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Do you know how you sometimes get a song stuck in your mind that keeps playing and playing and playing? Are you familiar with the theme song for the television show “Cops” that goes “Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do?…”

Let me explain.

This was a rather busy weekend in our little world since we not only celebrated Easter but also my parents’ birthdays (sorry Mom, you do still have one), which are four days apart on April 11 and 15. So Saturday evening found me at home in the kitchen baking and decorating a cake and colouring Easter eggs. (I really have no idea why two grown adults with no children in the house colour eggs, but it’s a tradition, probably a holdover from when the kids were younger, and Easter wouldn’t be the same without coloured eggs — and I happen to really like egg sandwiches.)

So I’m working away at one of the kitchen counters on this wonderful new recipe for a raspberry butter cream cake. I’ve carefully sliced through the layers of cake and put them back together with raspberry jam between them. I’ve whipped the raspberry flavoured frosting (after searching for raspberry liqueur and settling for blue raspberry martini mix — hey at least I’ll find another use for it). I’m now carefully spreading that frosting on the cake wondering if it will be too soft for the next decorating stage when I hear Steve behind me say something like “Honey, look.”

Just the tone of his voice should have been a warning. It was that sort of soft, amused tone that could only mean Jake was doing something irresistible. And knowing that Steve had moments earlier scooped the mixer beaters off the counter beside me, I should have put two and two together. At least I would have braced myself before I turned around … but I didn’t. I just turned.

And there was my dear husband hunkered down on the floor with our dear little RoadDog who was joyfully flapping his never-ending tongue around one of the mixer beaters licking frosting like there was no tomorrow (or like I might discover what my boys were up to and put a stop to it).

I took one horrified look, opened my mouth to say something and stopped. What possible good would it do. Steve is Steve and Jake is Jake and they both looked so pleased with themselves. So, as the song started playing in my head, I went to get the camera.

Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do? (Besides putting the beaters through the dishwasher — twice).
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What is it about a particular space that boosts male bonding?

I admit I have no idea how the male mind works. Every time I think I’ve figured out some part of it, something happens and I’m convinced yet again that I understand absolutely nothing about it.

Having never lived in a house that had a so-call “man room” complete with a big television, pool table and fully-stocked bar, or anything along those lines, the concept of Manland is a bit beyond me. And somehow I always associated male bonding rituals with men in t-shirts or football jerseys, beer in their hands, yelling at a television as if they could somehow influence what the teams were doing.

But I’ve discovered a different kind of male bonding right in our own home. Steve has gotten in the habit of taking Jake with him to the garage when he’s going out there, either to work at some sort of project or to clean the bikes. He’s even taken to referring to it as Manland. The message, it seems, is quite clear. I shouldn’t expect to join them without an invitation.

Now I’m quite certain Steve would have no objection if I decided to hang out in the garage for awhile, particularly since he’d know I’d get bored really quickly and be ready to either work outside in the yard or go back in the house. He certainly encourages me to clean my own bike, and rightfully so, although I’m never really sure I meet his exacting standards when I clean my little Vulcan. (That’s another thing I just don’t understand about men — cars can be filthy, but get a spot of dirt on the bike and it requires a complete cleaning from windscreen to taillight.)

I’m less certain, however, that Jake would welcome my intrusion. All Steve has to say these days is “Manland” and Jake is at the door ready to go outside to bond. Steve ties our RoadDog so he’s free to roam in and out of the garage as he wishes and he puts a foam pad on the driveway so it’s more comfortable for Jake to lie on than the crushed rock. Most of the time, Jake lies in the driveway or on the wooden ramp that we use to get the bikes in and out of the garage. He wanders around a bit and sniffs whatever might be interesting, and every now and again Steve tells me Jake makes his way into the garage to see what Steve is doing.

But as soon as I go anywhere near, Jake sits or stands up with a wary look in his eyes, as if to say “you’re a girl, what to you want?” His is another male mind I guess I’ll just never understand.
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