The day in question was one of those during a week of restlessness and male PMS that biker men seem to get periodically. The cure, of course, is to just take off somewhere on the bike -- let the wind and the road blow away the cobwebs. I was used to this. You can't be married to a biker and not accept this aspect of his personality. This time I was not even invited to go along, and that meant he needed to ride faster, harder and meaner than is possible or practical with the wife on the back. He’d be chasing the other sport bikes round corners, up hills and over roads that are really only meant for sport bikes. He’d push the bike that little bit further, lean over just that little bit more and take just one more chance on that corner that everyone warns you to be real careful in 'cause it’s been known to bite. Riding on the edge, pushing the limits, beating the odds -- need I say more?

I usually ride with him wherever he and the bike go, on all sorts of bikes and all shapes of seats, for hundreds of miles. We’ve had quite a few bikes pass through our stables, including a couple that were supposedly mine. Yes, I used to ride my own bike, until I came home from work one day and found he’d stripped mine down to parts and sold it off without asking me. Guess that should have been a warning of what was coming.

He left early on the green Triumph. We rode many, many miles together on that bike and had talked about buying something more comfortable for cruising two up. He had seriously talked about trading in the sport bike for something that could do hundreds of miles each day in comfort. He had complained about getting old and hurting more after each ride. I encouraged this talk. A really comfortable couch bike sounded just perfect after all the miles I had ridden on seats that were designed for looks, not comfort. Hey, I even thought he was beginning to think about his old lady's comfort!

I heard very little from him during the day - usually a phone call here or there to check in and reassure me that he is still alive, or maybe to reassure him that I had not gone out to find other distractions. But this day, there was little news. And even though he had said, "I won't be late, probably home by 5 p.m.," I knew better. So no worries when 5 came and he was not home. I knew that road must have been longer and more enticing and the bike just kept going. Finally, when it was dark and late, he appeared at the door looking a little sheepish. I never heard the bike ride in and that IS unusual -- because biker gals know the sound of their own man’s engine as it rides in, even if it sneaks in late at night. "Come and see, come and see," he said excitedly. There in the garage where the beautiful British racing bike once sat was a YELLOW DUCK. A brand new Ducati now sat in the garage - and he was so pleased with himself.

So why did it bother me that the green Triumph had turned into a yellow duck? Maybe it was because we had always shared the purchase of each bike, and I had felt part of the excitement. Or perhaps it was the comment he made -- that the guys he had ridden with told him that bringing home a brand new, no-miles yellow duck could be divorce material and he’d said "Oh no, I know my wife, she will support me 100 percent and be understanding." (Hrrmph - don't ever take us for granted guys!) Or maybe what was bothering me was that I was now going to ride on the back of this new bike with a less-than-inviting seat, or perhaps I was getting old and not so sure I was up to hundreds of miles bent over in that position, knowing I would be sore when we got off at our destination.

Now, I have never complained, and I know the rule - if you bitch, you walk home. I don't think he can ever say I have been anything less than supportive over the years as we have been through many different Harleys, a fancy show bike that won acclaim but was extremely uncomfortable for riding, several different Hondas and, of course, all the changes each bike went through once it arrived in our garage. Nothing ever stayed the way it was when purchased and the more radical it was, the better for the male ego. Or maybe it was that he is married to a British woman and had always been eager to tell people that everything he rode was British. Now I had been replaced with an Italian mistress. I definitely felt this sleek, sexy, canary yellow bike was the new mistress as he lovingly cleaned it, stroked its lines and put it to bed each night.

So would he feel the same if I went out one day in the family Jeep - the car that was our mainstay and did anything we asked of it - and returned with a sexy, two-seat Corvette and said, "Hey dear, look what I got?" The only way to find the answer would be to go out and do it and see what happens! But my practical female side says “Nah, it's not worth it.” Perhaps I already know the answer to the question and it wouldn't be quite so pretty. Or maybe I am just jealous of the male ability to be so totally impulsive and justify it as well. Well now we own a yellow duck and to me it will always be a yellow duck. Yes, I am jealous of it. Yes, it's sexy and beautiful. Yes, it's replaced me for a little while as the thrill of the ride and the attention it gets is still appealing to him. But I know I will still be here long after the excitement of the yellow duck wears off. And as the muscle aches and soreness from the long rides start to take their effect on him, I can quietly revel in the glory that I never leave his muscles sore; maybe weary and spent, but the smile I put on his face is better than the one the new mistress gives him!