Back In The Fucking Saddle

Oh God. A beautiful thing happened today. Even though I probably pissed off most of the people who care about me. Not intentionally. Just… inevitably.

I decided to take Aurora up and down the street a couple of times.

And holy shit.

Imagine not having the use of your legs for two months, and then suddenly being able to walk again. That’s what it felt like. Like a piece of me woke up. Like my mind snapped back into alignment after being shattered into fragments. My body is still stiff from not moving. Still hurting in places that are slow to heal. There are lingering medical issues that haven’t gotten the memo yet.

But goddamnit, I’m pushing this recovery over the finish line one inch at a time.

And this ride? This marked the beginning of the end of my healing.

I rode more than I’m letting on. I rode all over town. I rode to lunch with a friend. I rode through downtown. My hands remembered exactly what to do, clutch, throttle, braking, no problem. That muscle memory never left. But my body told the truth anyway.

I wasn’t as aggressive. I wasn’t razor sharp. I wasn’t flowing with traffic the way I normally do. My stiffness showed up in my riding. It felt a little like trying to dance after forgetting how to move your hips, the bike and I were speaking the same language, but with a thick accent.

Jerky. Stiff. Awkward.

And that’s okay. Because fuck, I rode. For a long, long time.

I got a little nervous in traffic, but it wasn’t flashbacks. That memory is gone. What I felt was something else, an unease. A heightened awareness. My body knowing what it’s been through even if my mind doesn’t hold the footage. I gave cars more space. I rode slower. Not out of fear, but out of respect.

Not trauma. Wisdom.

Today, healing kicked into overdrive.

I’m home now and I feel whole. I’ve had a hell of a time sleeping lately, partly because of my knee, partly because my soul has been restless without riding. Tonight, that restlessness is gone. I feel complete.

And damn… I’m exhausted.

Still, my thoughts keep drifting back to my bike. I’ll probably dream about her. That pull never shuts up. That struggle is real.

I stopped by the Harley shop in Santa Fe during my ride. I hadn’t been there since before the accident. I used to go often. I told them what happened to me, how close I came, how lucky I am to still be here. They listened. They cared. It mattered.

Then I wandered the showroom. And holy fuck: Two brand-new black Road King Specials.

I can’t even pretend to entertain buying one yet. I still have insurance bullshit to deal with. Loans to close. Reality to honor. But I’d be lying if I said my heart didn’t jump.

Fall of 2026. That’s when it happens.

For now? I ogle. I drool. And I ride what I’ve got , grateful, stubborn, and very much alive.