The thing that makes me happy today is thinking about my motorcycle: a 1972 Honda 350Four. I wish I had a better photo of it than this one of me and Michelle Citrin  heading to a gig in Guerneville on what turned out to be a pretty magical day. At that time we were both kind of creatively stuck. We rode up on the old small highway. We wove on windy roads that were all of a sudden friend not foe, and under Redwoods that seemed so much closer to me and my heart than from a car or even on foot. The night ended up including a woman in the audience randomly standing up and telling us she was a reincarnated Holocaust Survivor, gay men awkwardly trying to hit on the woman hosting the show, a midget dreamily slow dancing with another comic who's 6 feet tall, a random passerby telling Michelle gravely that her karaoke was pretty good but if she could could learn how to write songs she'd really have it made. Michelle will have her first musical on Broadway this year, Sleepless in Seattle. After a woman who sounded just like Harvey Fierstein read our palms we met a woman at about 3am who told us she was a prophet. At that point, I believed her. One thing melted into the other. It was all swooping and smooth and alive, just like the ride on the bike. The Prophet told us this was what she called a Blue Velvet Day.  

I wanted a motorcycle since I was a kid. I used to sneak into the boys section of the library at my school and in my small town and read books about mini bikes and motorcycles. We lived in a fairly rural area and the sand pits near our house were full of bikes and dune buggys. It was all very 70s.

In the early 2000's I took the only money I ever made from start-up stock and bought the bike. It sort of found me when I stopped by Charlie's Place in San Francisco. Vintage Hondas always catch my eye. One of the mechanics told me about a bike she'd just heard about. I found the jacket you see above in a a thrift store in The Haight. The photo was taken for my first cover shot for Where magazine. It never made it. It was considered too gay. It was too much for my Dad too who asked me as favour not to use it. But I love it. And I'm not alone. Its had a lot of press. It reminds me of my bike. Though I never used that much hairspray when I was riding it. 

After my accident in 2006 I couldn't ride and then I moved east when my wife went to medical school.

I left the bike in San Francisco, along with my heart. My friend needs to move it now and I'm hoping there's still a way to store it till I can get back and get on it. I miss driving through Marin and Sonoma county. I miss the warm sun and the golden fields and the windy roads and the freedom and getting the little wave I never knew existed between moto riders before I was one. I miss this time of feeling most myself.