“Pick me up, pick me up, you are my Ducati, I’m all up on your frame…” – Ride, Ciara
Once upon a time I dated a dude who lived in a quaint townhouse in Union, NJ. We were introduced by a mutual acquaintance back in late March. This dude had a serious need for speed as he raced his 5-series BMW on occasion and rode around town on his cherry red Ducati with his biker friends. We made plans to meet up for a date on a random Monday afternoon and it was on that day that I experienced what it was like to ride a Ducati. It was THE single most exhilarating experience of my life! Here’s how it all went down.
Its probably best that I start off with telling you what a Ducati is huh? A Ducati is a high-end/luxury motorcycle if you will. It’s the Lamborghini of motorcycles. This Italian made bike is known for it’s power and speed – and is extremely respected on the road. Needless to say, I was very excited to ride one.
I wanted to be comfortable (and sexy – come on who doesn’t want to be sexy on such a sexy machine?) so I wore black leggings (not those cheap see thru joints that a lot of these birds are wearing in the streets, but the more structured and classy kind with side seams to add texture), a graphic tee, a distressed denim jacket, black leather Vince Camuto riding boots, and aviator glasses.
The game plan was to go to a restaurant about twenty minutes from his residence for brunch. I had no idea what to do once on the bike so we had a quick lesson on the townhouse grounds. “Lean when I lean and hold the center of the bike and/or my waist, never grab my jacket”, is what I was told. Grabbing his jacket would be dangerous as this would impact the way he controlled the bike. He leaned right, I leaned right. He leaned left, and I followed suit. Enough practice, off to eat.
I was under the impression that we would take the streets, but I was wrong. Imagine my surprise when we entered the ramp to go on the highway. There was no turning back, we were going around the roundabout to join traffic and I was in disbelief. I didn’t know what to expect so I just grabbed his waist (as I was previously instructed), held on for dear life, and enjoyed myself in the process.
We dipped in between lanes effortlessly and I enjoyed every minute of it. Riding on the back of a bike with a man that I was into is definitely in the running for one of the most romantic and sexy things I’ve ever been a part of. I watched him as he handled his Ducati like a bawse. He knew how to handle the powerful machine and it turned me on every friggin second of the ride.
While I was turned on first and foremost, my face was going through some thangs! My eyes teared up ridiculously (thank God I had shades on) and my nose ran like a leaky faucet. I am quite sure that I looked the opposite of sexy from the neck up on the back of that bike, but that didn’t matter. He couldn’t see me, his eyes were focused on the road ahead of us. My Senegalese twists blew in the wind and my adrenaline was on a thousand. I felt like I was flying. Speeding down the highway with the wind in your face without a care in the world going at speeds of 130 – 140 mph is an incredible rush, one that I highly recommend you experience at least once your life.
One of the most enjoyable moments of the ride was when he placed his left hand on my hands (as they were tightly gripped around his waist). That simple touch reassured me and let me know that he was thinking of me even though he couldn’t express it verbally). He did this a few times and each time I appreciated it that much more.
Finally, we exited the highway and took the main streets down to the establishment. When at red lights I noticed a certain respect from male drivers. They looked at us on the Ducati with intrigue and approval. I took note of the smiles and head nods from men as they admired the beauty that was the bike I was currently seated on.
After a lackluster brunch (I had a mediocre crabcake sandwich with sweet potato fries, he had red velvet pancakes with cream cheese frosting and syrup – entirely too sweet) we took the bike back to his place. He took it a lot easier on the way back as we’d just eaten, neither one of us wanted to vomit. We took the highway back home, but this time remained in the merging lane going no faster than 70 mph; we cruised.
Aftermath: My thighs hurt for about a day or so (keeping your legs cocked open while a powerful engine roars beneath your thighs can have that effect on you), I was incredibly turned on (for the aforementioned reasons), and I now have a need for speed (I want to ride again and soon).
The dude (who shall remain nameless) and I have gone out on several dates, but nothing of substance has really manifested. I’d rather not go into detail now because it’s really irrelevant. You win some, you lose some – right? However, as I write this experience I can’t help but feel that I should consider giving this dude another chance. If not for his company, for his Ducati.
Until next time friends!