The dreaded phone call.

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Mother.  I had to call.  I don't think she likes me a whole lot.  Of course, what woman likes men who aren't their kin?  Or... even are kin, often?

Still, her sons.  So, I called.  Told her I had a motorcycle, and that I planned to ride it, and let her sons ride it.  However, if she said no, it would be a no, and I would sort riding out on my own.  I suggested she probably doesn't think I am respectable, or respectful.  To her?  Something in there.  But, that, I actually am, in certain matters, and that this could be a red line.  If she said no, no it would be.

She... seemed satisficed that I had called.  And, while I don't think motorcycling is on her list of favored things for her sons to do, she solidly gave her blessing.

I gave her one more opportunity to rescind.  But she was sure that her allowance is given.  The hardest thing for a parent to do... let go, in spite of their own wishes?  But she did so very solidly.  If she seemed grateful for the call?  I think so.

Okay.  That is one of the more difficult phone calls I have made in some time.  I could have really not liked the answer.  And, yet, I would have abided it.  Only altering the decision if one of her sons bought a bike, then was interested in riding mine, as I rode theirs.  At that point, riding wouldn't be a Doom thing.

Oh, sure, her boys are of legal age.  But... I... wasn't going to cross that bridge blindly.  Done.  Do I feel better?  When I come down from the high, sure, maybe.  I'll... know more later.  Yes, I know the risks.  People die on these things.  Young, old, new rider, long time rider, it... doesn't matter.  Some completely mess themselves up.  Knew one guy, in the service, who was on some mechanical structure for six months, to get his legs and an arm back into near-wholes... if having only a quarter of his liver was the bigger part.  

And, I lost three of four friends who zipped around on riceburners.  The second rider back clipped a car at 120.  Two others followed him down.  The first one survived, if with severe... issues.  The rest not so much.  One of them had to be scooped up.  No bones and no suit.  If a suit won't do more then give them something to lift a body with at certain speeds.  So... yes, I know.  Then again, lost five friends in a car, with a designated driver... who was sober.  Sometimes... it just doesn't matter?

Youth, age, car, bike?  Wing..?  Meet prayer.  I'm telling you.  Though... gear.  We will be getting gear, before riding.  I won't allow more than slow work without it.  On that I will put my foot down.  Including for me.  Ugh.  As well, we won't be going off-road other than dirt roads.  And the bike isn't really able to go more than, say, 80 mph?  That'll still kill you, can.  So can fifteen, if someone hits you head-on.  But... this isn't a high-speed murdercycle.  And I expect civil driving.  Double ugh.  

I can't change the future.  Even should I see it.  I couldn't save my woman, child, or even self.  And... so it goes.