Most of the time, the riding boots are stored in the hall closet along with other footwear, jackets, hats and gloves. The house looks less cluttered that way especially around the back door to the garage. The boots don’t always go in the closet. Sometimes, after returning from a motorcycle ride, I pull off my boots while seated at the kitchen table and set them next to the patio door where they are still out of the way but more accessible and at the ready for a quick jaunt or a longer adventure.
Today, however, I put on the boots, rode out for coffee and breakfast, returned home to take care of a mailing, rode to the post office and then grocery store, and never removed my boots. I wandered back and forth from the kitchen to my writing space with my boots still on, and pondering their comfort. A discussion was going on in my head.
“Why don’t you take off the boots?”
“I don’t know. I might want to go out on the motorcycle again.”
“Are all the errands done?”
“Yes. But, I might want to just go out.”
“Where you going?”
“I don’t know, just out on the motorcycle. It’s the freedom of the ride.”
“So, why don’t you take off your boots. You can put them back on if you go out.”
“Yeah, but I might be going in just a few minutes. I’ll leave them on for a while longer.”
And so went the discussion in my head—past the noon hour, past 1 p.m., past 2 p.m. and going on 3 p.m. Back and forth. Back and forth, until I had an idea.
“Brent, why don’t you take your boots off, take a picture of them, and then write something for the web site? Give it some life.”
“Okay. I can do that.” … The boots come off. Tripod set up with camera mounted. The camera shutter clicks. The laptop keyboard clicks away, and after a quick proof and edit. The publish button is keyed. And now, you are reading this, because I didn’t want to take my boots off.
See you on the highway … after I put my riding boots back on.
Brent
PS Where are my riding gloves?
I knew the National Historic Site was there, but I had never visited. And, I can’t explain why. But, with a day available for motorcycling, I decided it was time. Armed with my National Parks Passport, I headed to Dayton, Ohio, to the Wright Brothers Visitor’s Center to see where aviation as we know it all started.
D. Brent Miller 