TERRORISM WITH FRIES

I am a law abiding citizen.

Perhaps to a fault.

I keep the speed limit, even when it's 25 mph in a residential area.

I use my turn signal even when I am turning into my driveway, which is off a dirt road, off another dirt road, off another dirt road, which is off a rural highway.


I am boring.

But the FBI must have a fairly thick file a file on me, because I order books on terrorism on-line for my husband.

I've purchased "Terrorism: Home Grown," "How To Build A Large Chemical Bomb In Your Basement," and the ever-popular "This Is How Your Socialist Government Is Corrupting Your Live And What To Do About It" - all for my husband's government security and anti-terrorism programs.

So as a normal American citizen, I do get that little knot sizing up in my stomach even when I have a completely clear conscience when I notice I am being followed by a police person.

So how about THIRTY-FIVE motorcycle cops - Pima County, AZ Bureau of Land Mngt, SWAT, Tucson and Border Patrol - who swing into the In-and-Out burger parking lot, dismount from their bikes, and then, ALL THIRTY-FIVE walk into the restaurant directly behind me?


In and Out has a pretty fast system, but I felt as if I was being looked at with radar eyes, the hot lamps blurring everything else in the room - they were gonna break me, and it didn't matter how hard I was, they were gonna find that clink and keep at me until I would scream in confession, "ALRIGHT! BOBBY MUNDZZEE WAS THERE! HE KILLED THAT GUY!!!"

Thanks goodness I got out with my burger and fries before I got to that point, and would have to admit that I don't know anyone named Bobby Mundzzee (good name, though, right?).

ABOLISH ATVs!

We all have our personal albeit unreasonable prejudices.

I hate peanuts - but I adore peanut butter (creamy - Jiff - particulary on toast).

I am certain that television is leading the downfall of western civilization - but I am also addicted to The Office, NCIS, Eli Stone, Castle and am embarrassed to but will admit I will watch ANY movie which I already have on DVD and/or VHS.

And I absolutely DETEST all-terrain vehicles.

However, I am fully aware of how much fun they are - I used to ride my brother's motorcycle on what in L.A. passed for dirt-bike paths (i.e. Arroyo Seco canyon and the still-in-development section of the Monterey Hills housing area).

Living out on dirt roads far enough off pavement to be are considered prime dirt-bike/ATV has cemented (no pun intended there) my abhorrence of all recreational vehicles because:

1) They raise the dust. Which is Southern Arizona is already totally unreasonable without any additional help - dusting twice a day would be required by any demanding homemaker (which, thankfully, I am not).

2) They frighten the animals - the 3,022,467 rabbits which inhabit my back yard alone, native birds (such as the Glided Flicker, the Black-Headed Grosbeck, and the Thrasher - which honestly are the correct names), and tarantulas, rattlesnakes...

AND (most importantly) HORSES.

Well, most horses.

Actually, some horses.

But not mine.

Sally has is utterly fearless ... except of being seperated from Najale.

And Najale has no trepidation about anything at all... except the crinkling of feed bags, which throw him into an entire panic.

So tonight, as I was letting the horses graze on the neighbor's mowed lawns (keeps their mowing efforts down) right at twilight, when an ATV came thundering down the road right next to us, I felt completely and entirely justified in feeling the utmost rage.

Until the couple riding the ATV, upon spotting the horses and myself, politely, courteously and immediately SLOWED down, crawled past taking special care not to startle the horses, and even called out, "What beautiful horses you have!"

Rats.

Now I have to remove the bumper sticker, don't I?

EASY RIDER

There are some things that you just don't do after turning 50.


Your bones are becoming 'brittle' (which used to be a cool kinda chocolate and nut candy deal that you spread out on a heavily buttered pan). 'Cracked pelvis' actually means something now.


You know more about fiber, irregularity and prunes than you ever wanted to, and worse yet, now you NEED to know it.

A regiment of daily aspirin is undertaken (doesn't that sound like it should be some kind of contact sport for the geriatric crowd - on horseback with armor). Your muscles now sag instead of bouncing back.


And, as my dad used to say, you read the obituaries just to be certain yours has not been published yet.


In other words, you ain't a youngster no more.


Sure, somethings you can get away with - in the Southwest where I live, our motorcycle 'gangs' are entirely grey-haired couples with flesh bulging out of the leather vests. Convertibles, which actually are sensible vehicles out here, are a standard for the mid-life crisis crowd.


But how many 'mature' individuals do you know that have gone sky-diving for the first time? Learn to pole vault? Walk barefoot over glowing coals? (although now I would love to do that - remind me to tell you about it sometime)


However, I am seriously considering getting a motorcycle to ride. At age 53.


My brother got a little tiny two-stroke Honda when I was 12, and of course taught me to ride it as soon as he could. And since I was 5'10" already, never got stopped or questioned and could ride it anywhere.... when I could talk my brother out of it and would promise to fill up the tank before I brought it home.


And it was a blast. Literally. Wind whipping through my hair (only sissies wore helmets back then), the asphalt disappearing under the wheels of the motorcycle.


Okay, okay, let's not call it a motorcycle. It was a bicycle with at least the concept of an engine on it. And to buzz up to the movie theatre or down to my best friend's house, it was just great.


Fast forward to this past year.

When gasoline prices began to hit the $3.00 for a gallon, the distance between us and the vaguest suggestion of civilized life (i.e. a store that sold something besides gasoline and highly caffeinated sodas) suddenly became to look costly.



About then I began to seriously consider going back to a motorcycle simply to save some money on cash. And I do admit, I like the idea of feeling the wind in my hair again... although I would wear a helmet each and every time I got on that bike.


Somehow, this is the only image that comes to mind.


And I'm not sure if its gonna work.