One of my greatest pleasures in life is riding my motorcycle. At 53 years of age I am proud to lay claim to 45 years of biking.
My father taught me to drive a motorcycle when I was eight years old. I couldn’t reach the gear shift lever so he changed gears for me from the back seat of his 80cc Suzuki scooter. The adventurous ADHDer in me was up for a ride any time of any day.
These days I ride whenever I can. I ride with friends, but I’ll ride alone if no one else is going.
I like to look at bikes, talk about bikes, work on my bikes … they even spent the winter in the house with me. People who know I have ADHD nodded in acceptance about the inside bikes. Some said “Good for you!” Some thought keeping motorcycles in the house was a bit out there. I reminded them that they often thought that of me … “Oh, yeah … ” was usually their response.
I’m wandering, sorry …
This weekend, I ran away from home. I did not ride a bike. I didn’t even drive my pick-up
truck. I went with a friend, in a borrowed car, to the spring motorcycle show in the big city of Toronto. It was a two and a half hour drive from my place where my friend picked me up. Two and a half hours cooped up in a car with an ADHDer is a lot to ask of anyone, and we were both asking just that of the other one.
Wait a minute, did you say both of you?
That’s right, my friend and I are both ADHDers. I’m the anxious kind, she’s the laid back kind, a perfect match, right? We hit the road.
The conversation was lively, disjointed, funny and filled with such non-quotable comments like “…what was it I telling you about?” (from me) and “Was that our turn back there?” from her.
What we thought would be the most hilarious part of our trip was when she tried to turn in at a venue known for holding really big shows and I asked her where she was going. “To the show.” she replied, looking at me like I’d grown an extra head.
“It’s at Exhibition Place, not the International Centre.” I replied as my recently grown extra head disappeared with a pop in a hail of mutual laughter.
Role reversal therapy
“I’m not sure how to get there.” She confessed. I whipped out my GPS and punched in the address. “Who’s anxious and who’s laid back now?” I thought. We rolled on down the highway and found our way to the “Ex” with little trouble, though I must confess that she found her own way, often telling me which road was best. We made that GPS recalculate our route a couple dozen times without ever missing a turn we wanted to take.
Are you sure you’re both ADHDers?
Here’s something to prove we’re both members of the tribe, that we think alike: As we headed towards the “pay in advance” parking lot, we were wondering if we’d be able to find a place to park close to the building. As my friend was paying the $5 parking fee, the attendant looked at our car and asked “Do you have anything smaller?” It had been running through both our minds that the bikes would have been easy to park, but parking the borrowed car would still be easier then either of our pick-ups.
Why a parking lot cashier would care was beyond us though. We looked at each other confused and both of us leaned in to hear what the attendant had to say when my friend asked “What do you mean, ‘smaller’?”
“Smaller,” the young lady said, “smaller than a twenty?” We both laughed. Only two ADHDers could get the same thing wrong in the same way. This was going to be a fun show.
… And it was.