Life after Black Friday

I didn't buy a single item the day after Thanksgiving. And the only thing I bought on Thanksgiving Day were two bags of ice from the corner gas station near my parent's house, solely because their ice maker wasn't working and they hadn't thought about buying ice trays.

The day AFTER Black Friday (Golden Saturday in my opinion), I went to the grocery store and bought food for the next week because I knew the Thanksgiving leftovers wouldn't last forever, but I only bought groceries -- no TVs or DVDs or charcoal grills or all other types of nonsense that "the prices are so good you just HAVE to buy them."

Isn't it amazing how we go shopping crazy over stuff we really don't need?

Isn't it amazing that every year we fall for the "Black Friday" con-job retailers subject us to.

Isn't it amazing we aren't smart enough to stand up and say "enough is enough."

And when I say WE, I really mean YOU, 'cause I don't do Black Friday. I'd rather pay $100 extra on Saturday than battle through Black Friday crowds on Friday.

So what is life like for me after Black Friday?

The same as before: Trying to make the perfect guacamole, the most delicious banana nut bread, practicing guitar, reading good books, mowing the lawn as little as possible, and riding my motorcycle as far as I can.

Me and 34

That cold weather hits and the only thing you need is a blanket, a fire, warm socks and hot coffee. But that's not what you end up with.

Leather, helmet, mittens, ski pants and 17 miles to work on two wheels is what greeted me this morning. Like it has for the past 10 winters. No heated gloves. No windshield. No electric vest. No avoiding it. No denying it. It's cold.

I was going to say I wouldn't have it any other way, but that's a lie. Sometimes a warm car is mighty enticing.

But that's not my life.

Today I ride.

How to live forever until you die

I have my own personal Fountain of Youth, and it's name is Honda Shadow 600.



When I'm sitting on the couch reading the newspaper or watching reruns of whatever came in the mail from Netflix this week, I feel old. When I'm sitting on the saddle of my bike watching the countryside zoom by, I feel young again.

When I see photographs of me that show my apparent bald spot, I feel much older than I should. When I see photographs of me on my bike, wearing a bald spot-covering helmet, I feel young again.

When I'm sitting behind the wheel of my 9-year-old sedan, heading off to Wal-Mart to pick up a loaf of bread, I feel old and decrepit. When my hands are gripping the handlebars of my Shadow, heading wherever I want to go, I feel as young and free as a child on his first bicycle.

When I'm pumping gas into that old sedan, I imagine the people around me thinking, "I'm never going to be so old that I have to drive something like that." When I'm pumping gas into my motorbike, I imagine the people around me thinking, "I want to be just like him. And when I save up some money, I'm getting a bike just like that."

People on motorcycles always look like they're on an adventure, heading to places others only dream of, having the time of their life.

Well, most of the time we are. And that's what will keep us young...

...up until we get splattered across the road by some stupid 18-wheeler.

But hey, that's life.