I Want A Fine Lady!Posted: March 31, 2011
I just came across a site I had stumbled upon months ago and had thankfully forgotten all about, until now. I don’t even remember how I happened to end up there. I was looking for something, but it damn sure wasn’t for racing leathers. I have two sets. Dainese. The black two-piece Dominia and the white one-piece Yu Lady. I need another race suit like Mr. Slow needs elbow sliders! I could unload the Dominia, since it’s way too big anyway… the thing retails for 1.005,-€ and that is before S&H, upgrades and customization. I would have to sell the Yu Lady, too. No! I love that suit; even though it is too short in the torso and just a tiny bit more room for the caboose wouldn’t hurt either. Now we know why they put those feel-good stretch panels everywhere. Those are for women to squeeze into the smaller sizes. 😉 It’s also too wide across the waist and I have ample room in the chest (and that’s the real reason I wear my chest protector, it endows with two extra cup sizes.)
Why must I be such an incorrigible gear whore?!? I don’t have this particular donna problema with my street clothes. Hell no, I still have shit hanging in my closet from the last millennium and I still wear some of it, too. I don’t keep up with fashion. I don’t wear designer clothes. So why in the heck do I need a new best-I-can-afford getup every year when it comes to motorcycle gear?!?
Is it vanity or personal safety? Maybe it’s both. Hell, I ride in my race leathers on the street, when I expect it to get a little “spirited”. Not unusual for European standards, but in the US people look at you funny, well they do around where I live anyway. But this is Georgia, a lot of riders around here don’t believe in gear. Helmet, boots, gloves. That’s about it; and those are listed in order of priority. The lid comes off as soon as the state line is crossed into South Carolina, cruiser riders are especially guilty of that last one. Do what you please, but it’s not for me. I can’t even make a decent u-turn without my gloves on my hands; the controls feel alien and I’m lacking a big chunk of confidence. I do better when I can trust my machine and my gear. But that’s just me. Am I weird? Maybe. But I do what it takes to keep my riding skill and confidence at its best, so when (not if) the shit hits the fan, I have a better chance of getting myself out of it with nothing more but a colorful story to tell. But that is a topic for a different article altogether.
I won’t be able to sleep tonight, I’ll be tossing and turning trying to figure out how I could manage to get my butt squeezed into some luxurious kangaroo hide. I would look so unassumingly gorgeous sitting on the grid straddling an equally beautiful S1000RR dressed in her candy red, metallic black, and pearlescent white Pirate skirts. Sparkles! Too bad that we’ll be gridded in the way back looking at everyone else’s tail pipes instead…
Fortunately I am tapped due to the upcoming race. I can’t be tempted (just yet).
Of course, Miss Busa gets options… Must. Have. Upgrades.
I amused myself at Gimoto’s site for a few hours, playing fashion designer. When I finally was bored enough to leave, I noticed a little Union Jack flag in the top right corner, next to Italy’s colors. DOH! Ah hell, my Italian needed a little refresher anyway. Because it’s just not very classy when all you have the vocabulary for is to tell Valentino Rossi what and where he can stick it, in his native language. Just not cool. Not that I would. Tell VR where to stick it, I mean. I would probably say something else, like…
“Mamma Mia! Guarda che bel culo che appende fuori quella moto.”
Merda! Damn Gryo Butt-Cam! I’ll be quiet now.
Mmmm… somebody call Il Dottore.
…cosa succede alla curva tre, soggiorni alla curva tre.