Was milling around, doing my job. At the end of the day, when it was time to saddle up and put all the bikes away, I gingerly stepped out of the shop with a smile on my face, and the Texas sun bathing me in its glorious heat.
Little did I know that what was about to happen to me, what would take place next would change me.....forever.
You see, I have noticed over the years that my undergarments tend to wear a hole, in that special area. Even though I change out fresh ones daily and keep the stock rotated.
Perhaps its the low thread count of my boxer/briefs from Wal-Mart? Perhaps human sweat actually breaks down fabrics faster? Perhaps friction? Perhaps its my low hanging fruit?
Either way. It was not good, but I got used to it.
Then, for the first time in my life, my denim jeans suffered the same scrotal pothole fate that my junk-huggers do.
So as I strut towards the bikes, like John Travolta from Saturday Night Fever, with a whistle from my lips and a pep in my step, I put the keys in the ponies, completely unaware of the unique pain I am about to experience.
All the keys in place, ready to ride 'em in, head 'em up, ride 'em in Rawhide!
Not rawhide. Raw Taint.
Due to the now double exposure, my bare nether-region was exposed to the black, scalding hot leather that had just been baking in the Texas sun for the last 8 hours.
The temperature of the cowhide was somewhere between supernova and Satan's finger tip.
As I swung my leg over the first scoot, I plant my feet firmly, click the kill switch to "run", turn the key and hear the fuel pump prime. I thumb the starter and grin because the sound of the v-twin with cobra pipes is gratifying.
That would be my last moment of pleasure for the day.
In fact, the next moment would erase any previous memories of joy and happiness and replace them with visions of a nuclear apocalypse being started in a neutral territory on my body. A small strip of flesh not associated with either neighbor.
The twins were snug in their mildly supported nest, unawares of the happenings just below, and the rusty bullet hole was guarded by the cheeks of my Gluteus Maximus.
Nay, the full brunt of this cataclysmic event was placed on this terribly small, unimportant area of my body.
After firing the bike up I lowered my self onto the unforgiving seat manufactured in the 8th circle of hell and shipped directly under me.
In the first few seconds I felt nothing. I swung the kickstand up and lurched forward, slipping the clutch and twisting the throttle. Then just as I rolled forward and shifted my position, just a smidge, it happened.
I felt a blinding, searing hot hotness. Heat, fire, welder's torch, sweet Jesus it burns. What is happening down there, I don't, I can't, Please make it stop!
At this point I am still moving on the bike and cannot simply leap off and slap my taint to put out whatever obvious Forest Fire was going on.
I raise up off the seat, like I am about to rip a wheelie and ride off into the sunset....except I'm on a Vulcan 900 and just look like a tool, with an expression on my face that I imagine looked like someone had just killed my dog, burnt my house down, called me for jury duty and filed an IRS tax audit on me...
Turning the corner and coming to a stop I flicked the kickstand down and killed the engine. Getting off the bike I could feel the pain had soaked into my skin, into my flesh, and somehow into my soul.
I reached down to feel what had happened, half-expecting there to be a rattlesnake buried fangs deep in my Choda.
There was not.
But I was startled when I felt skin on skin contact between my Gooch and finger.
This is a contact usually reserved for a different time and situation.
Mystery solved! This agony I'm experiencing is nothing more than a wardrobe malfunction!!! Hooray! There really isn't a hoard of tiny miners using their pick-axes to excavate gold from my Grundle.
So after taking a few moments to recover from a brand new sensation of pain never before experienced, I put a towel down on each seat, still cautiously guarding that special place between the coin purse and balloon knot.
Anyone else have unusual wear and tear around that region?
I feel the most alive when I am close to death....
'01 Kawasaki ZR7-S (Naomi...Sold)
'07 Suzuki SV650 (Suzy...Sold)
'02 RC51 (Holly...RIP)
'02 CBR954RR (Elektra....Sold)
'11 ZX6R (Fiona...Sold)
'02 RC51 (Eleanor...My Baby)