Yes, I was once verging on cool. Verging. Before I was married I lived in Brooklyn and owned my very own Honda Hawk 650 motorcycle. I loved it. My (now) husband rode and I got such a thrill from riding on the back of his bike, that I started to think about getting my own ride. I took a weekend intensive motorcycle safety course out in some abandoned airport in Brooklyn somewhere, passed with flying colors and proceeded to search out a motorcycle that fit me. After seeing a few that didn't float my boat, I found an Army/Navy guy who brought this bike back from Germany on the Navy boat. I bought it straight away.
I was young and inexperienced but I rode it in the country and in the crazy city (surprised I survived that looking back). I rode in groups and alone and had a sense of freedom I never had before. It also scared me to death because it was heavy and I was just a skinny thing. Luckily the two times I dropped it (in a parking spot-embarrassing!) I was able to pick it up. But barely. It was bloody heavy and there I was 100 pounds of girl in a big, heavy helmet and my leather jacket and boots pulling the hunk of metal off the stinky pavement.
I stopped riding when I started to try to conceive... for obvious reasons, but I miss riding solo sometimes. I'm almost certain I'll never ride again. I was spry, quick thinking and city savvy, and now I am a suburban slug driving an SUV in South Florida. Oh, right, I had kids. That is what happened.
I think I need to get some go-go boots, dye my hair and dip myself into the Fountain Of Youth.