Linda, it’s not me. It’s you. And also, it’s her—my motorcycle

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  Posted by EditorLulu Thu at 7:57 AM - Filed in Riding Tips & Safety - 481 views
  

  Dear Linda,

  It is with a heavy heart and a lighter wallet that I write this letter to you from the comforting embrace of my Harley. I’ve spent many sleepless nights (parked outside your house for the Wi-Fi signal) reflecting on our last fight, and I’ve come to a conclusion that you deserve to hear.

  Linda, it’s not me. It’s you. And also, it’s her—my motorcycle.

  I didn’t want it to come to this, but your insistence on things like “spending quality time” and “not storing engine parts in the bathtub” left me with no choice. You see, while you’re wonderful in many ways, there are things my bike gives me that you just... don’t.

  1. Unwavering Loyalty: My Harley never ghosted me for three days because I forgot our anniversary (which, by the way, was on a Wednesday—who celebrates love on a Wednesday?). She’s always there, ready to roar to life without passive-aggressive silence.
  2. Low Maintenance: Linda, you said you’re “low maintenance,” but all I hear is a constant need for brunches and boutique candles. My bike only asks for oil changes and the occasional polish.
  3. Open Roads, Not Open Arguments: Every ride with her is a journey of freedom. No questions about why I liked Cheryl’s post on Instagram. No fights about the toilet seat. Just the wind and the road.
  4. She Embraces My Hobbies: While you side-eyed my leather jacket collection and called my skull-shaped gear “immature,” my Harley proudly carries them like badges of honor.
  5. She’s Never Jealous: Linda, my bike doesn’t complain when I glance at a vintage Indian Scout or a souped-up Ducati. She knows where my heart—and my wallet—truly belong.

  I’m not saying it was all bad. I’ll cherish the memories: you scolding me for revving the engine during your yoga Zoom class, or that time you made me sell my favorite helmet for “couples’ therapy.” Those were the good days.

  But now, I must move forward (at 75 mph on the highway). Don’t think of this as a breakup. Think of it as an opportunity for you to find someone who loves candlelit dinners more than carburetors.

  Take care of yourself, Linda. And remember, you’ll always have a seat on the back... well, as long as you don’t complain about the exhaust fumes.

  Forever in the wind,
  Alan

  P.S. If you’re looking for closure, just listen for the sound of her engine. That’s the music of freedom.