‘His bike comes first – way ahead of me and the kids’

“It was a dream of both of us, a motorcycle. But when I got pregnant seven years ago, I was able to cancel my motorcycle lessons. Job drove off. Once the baby was old enough to spend the night, we fantasized about touring all weekends with me on the back.

But with his driver’s license in his pocket and a brand new baby richer, Job found driving a bit tricky. You are vulnerable, with so much horsepower between your legs and only a layer of leather between you and the asphalt.

Our second son was born. And when he started primary school last year, Job saw his chance. With the children under the tiles from eight thirty to three, a world full of freedoms unfolded before us. Opportunities for outings. And so: motorcycling.

Herman’s House

The local paper had an offer for a chopper. ‘A Harley-Davidson, cool!’ I shouted. That turned out not to be the case, but it was a look-a-like: black with lots of chrome, a high handlebar and a saddle that easily accommodated even expanded versions of the two of us.

Job’s offer was accepted without hesitation, and before our kids could say “tough,” our garage had been converted into Herman’s House. No joke, that’s what my husband calls his bike: Herman. His newest friend through thick and thin, and who has come first since purchase – way ahead of me and the kids.

Something has awakened in Job that I had not seen before, since Herman has been living with us. If I were the one who took complete care of the family for the past seven years, when it comes to the motorcycle Job almost gives his life. He tinkers and polishes and accelerates and polishes again: such a device takes a lot of time. More than in a family with two enthusiastic testosterone balls, I now know.

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Job chopt

It’s been a year now since the chopper became part of our lives, and I’m a great illusion poorer. The word ‘chopper’ is not derived from the sexy chop-chop-chop sound when you start the engine, but from the English word for ‘chopping’. Apparently you don’t buy such a thing primarily to tour it, but to literally chop it apart. I knew a lot.

So I’m alone along the line at football. And read bedtime stories on my own on the weekends. His mother hasn’t seen Job in months, and he isn’t always present at every dinner party. Job chops. Day and night. Old rock music from the speakers in the garage, beer – or two, or three – next to it.

We haven’t ridden once yet. I wonder if it was ever his intention. So I save hard for my own street fighter, and I’m halfway through my driving lessons. Will Job be able to stay with the kids in a few months while he’s cleaning? In the meantime I am making the most beautiful dyke routes in the Netherlands unsafe with a friend. ”

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