My grandma is a biker. I love saying that to people. She doesn’t ride a motorcycle, so I’m exaggerating a bit when I say it. She actually putts around on a Vespa. It’s painted blue and she coordinated her helmet and jacket so she looks stylish as she sails down the street. I’ve seen her pull into places like the library on her scooter, and watched the reaction of anyone who sees her pull off her helmet to reveal a head of grey hair.
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “biker.”
First 50 Words - Prompts for Writing Practice 
First 50 words on the topic? Like, a story? Or a comment on the story… Sorry my mind is weird and literal and confusionist… Sorry.
The biker heading uphill felt the coolness in the air. It was a welcomed respite. The extended branches of the tall trees on either side of the road offered shade from the unrelenting rays of the midday sun. He slowed down and noticed the natural beauty all around him. A divergent path appeared up ahead, and he decided to take a break at the fork before continuing with his exploratory journey.
nice to see you back Claire. missed your regular posts.
Thanks, pampapam2! Nice to be back.
Mom cautioned me against falling in love with a biker. She talked about the danger, the drinking, the swearing, the knife fights. She screamed whenever I put on the leather jacket. It’s too bad Mom never branched out, bikers really know how to ride the road and please a lady.
Biker, or scooter-er, more like it. Despite the bulky helmet, you feel the breeze on your face, and smell the blossoms in the air. You have an immediate kinship with other bikers on the road. You may want to show off, and sway -swerve a bit, make a figure -of -eight , and they give you wide berth. You are either a dangerous newcomer or a punk, both highly avoidable.
The scariest moment comes when you are speeding, blissfully unaware of the freshly built, and yet to be marked, speed breaker, and you fly in the sky , landing with a whomp and a curse, wobbling like a drunk, and saying hallelujahs in your wildly thumping heart.
I am a skeptic, free thinker and some say overall contrarian. While all my friends take their vacations on the moon or Mars I stay home on Earth visiting places they call day-trips. Going off planet just never appealed to me. Instead of jet cars and zip tubes to get around I travel the snails pace of 130 miles per hour on an electrified Harley. People say it is suicide dealing with such an ancient technology but for lack of a better word I am a biker.
Some say Marshall was born wearing a doo rag on his head. People didn’t come any more biker than his family. As a boy he dreamed of a cross country tour with his dad, he imagined the fun they’d have, the other bikers they’d meet and the grand tales they’d tell when they returned home.
Sadly, Marshall’s dad passed before his dream came to fruition. Many nights were spent sitting on his dad’s bike in the garage sobbing profusely; his mom found her comfort in a needle and was rarely seen or heard from.
He swore he would never crank the throttle on a bike again.