No such thing as my last attempt for I refuse defeat. Not in my vocabulary.
I love motorbikes and the joy of riding it. A two-wheeler powered with diesel, way better than an ordinary bicycle.
A friend of mine took me up in the mountain to teach me how to ride a motorbike. Why the mountain? For one, it’s quiet and safe. The ground is mother earth instead of concrete pavement. Obstructions are trees instead of pedestrians. Oh, it was so much fun.
However, being small in stature, I can’t reach the ground when I hold up the motorbike in stationery. Minor problem. Just let myself fall, bike included on top of me.
I didn’t mind it at the time during my younger days. Scratch and bruises. I envisioned myself driving in the fast lane, free as a bird, hair was blown by the wind. I can feel my adrenaline pumping.
Reality set in, my friend realized it’s not a sport for me. What? Please don’t give up on me. He did.
Well, I shall return and this time with a vengeance and with full respect. In due time, I have to treat my body with respect. A three-wheeler.