Last year I wrote a post about the fact that Hubby won a Harley-Davidson motorcycle and gave it to me. My niece said I "had a horseshoe up my butt" and everyone else said how lucky we were.
Yesterday in the last 10 miles of the century ride, my cell phone rang. I ignored it, because Katydid prefers that I not try to steer, shift gears, manage the brakes, and talk on my cell phone all at the same time. Apparently she has no sense of adventure. I let the call go to voice mail. Then it rang again. And again.
At that point in the ride, I was NOT in my happy place. I finally checked my phone and didn't recognize the number. I assumed it was one of my virtual school students, and I was already composing an email in my mind, informing them that I am not on duty 24/7, that weekends are mine to enjoy without being pestered with their questions about assignments that were due last week, yada yada yada, blah blah blah.
However, being the dedicated teacher I am (ahem), I DID check my voice mail just as soon as I got off the bike.
The unknown number was a gentleman whose name I didn't recognize, informing me that I had won this:
This was the raffle prize for a motorcycle ride called "Ride to Survive," benefiting our local Rape Crisis Center. The lady who is project coordinator for the center is herself a victim of rape, and she has a powerful, powerful story that she willingly shares with many groups, including the students at our school. One of the board members is a woman who is a social worker for our county, and she is just amazing at what she does.
Hubby, Weesa, and I have done this ride a number of times. It's an awesome sight, seeing those double lines of motorcycles snaking through the countryside and blowing through red lights and stop signs in little towns because we are police-escorted.
This year I couldn't make the ride because I chose to ride my BICYCLE 108 miles (109 if you believe my bicycle computer, but you shouldn't). I still bought raffle tickets, however. Almost at the last minute. I believe in the cause, I support the center, and I didn't want to let my friend down.
The motorcycle is a vintage Triumph, made in 1973. It doesn't even have an electric start; you have to kick-start it. As the project coordinator told me, it's not even a comfortable bike. She said she sat on it, and it hurt her "private parts." Keep in mind I had just finished a 108-mile bicycle ride.
This makes four motorcycles we have in a home with two motorcycle riders. It's ridiculous.
And it's embarrassing.
It's embarrassing enough to be lucky ONCE. When it happens TWICE in the space of about sixteen months, it's almost shameful. It's not right. The world is off kilter.
People are either genuinely happy for you, or they pretend to be happy for you while they secretly hate your guts. Some people call you names, as if you won TWO MOTORCYCLES on purpose.
If I could design that kind of luck, believe me, I would have won the lottery long ago.
Another of life's questions: Why do I feel guilty about winning something?