My dear husband, Randy, decided he was tired of hearing me remind him that he wouldn't have gotten the 2005 Road King we have grown to love if it hadn't been for my pearly white 2000 Sportster 883XL Custom. Long story short (pardon the pun) -- I bought my gently used Sportster in 2003 as a college graduation gift to myself. When Randy and I met, we rode my "Mini-Pearl" together, but the bike was too small for both of us we sold it. This was followed by an upgrade to the Road King and our involvement with the Santa Maria HOG Chapter, which will forever remain one of our best socially-based decisions in history (plug, plug, plug).

Bugs taste nasty! Here's Molly sporting her H.O.G. patches.

So fast-forward to this thing called "trike." Not the stomach lining found in Menudo (tripe), not a term for a colloquialism (trite) but yes, I am saying it, and saying it loud, I LIKE TRIKE. For those of you unfamiliar with the term, it's TRI (for three wheels) + Bike. Say it with me TRYYYIIKKKKE. Very good. OK, say it without laughing. Stop it. I mean it, or I might punch you in the knees. OK, you snorted, stop laughing.

When one hears the term "trike," one often flashes back to the late 1960s/early 1970s when everyone had stringy hair and fringy chaps. Not me, I wasn't even born until the 70s, but I do remember an episode of "Happy Days" in which the bad guy fighting Fonzie showed up on his triked chopper (named Killer or Jocko or something equally as threatening), his giant raccoon tail hanging from an antenna, greasy hair glistening under his German war helmet (with one big spike sticking out the top, kind of like Schulze on Hogan's Heros) and wearing a jean jacket with cut off sleeves. Oh boy, I wanted to be Leather Tuscadero so badly, or her cousin Pinky, or some bad girl in leather that rode with the pack. Fonzie whooped his butt, but I still cheered for the grimy trike dude. Oh Fonzie, if you would only return my fan letters I promise to stop sleeping on your front lawn -- or send Chachi, I could kick Joni's can, that curly-haired wimp.

Back to reality: I am living in the 2000s about to start a relationship with a three-wheeled Road King. Though this bike may be an "easy rider" -- you gotta give me credit for finding a way to ride, and ride safely. After all, with my pygmy legs and Tyrannosaurus Rex length arms, I am lucky I can reach the shampoo and wash my hair. Some of the ladies who don't ride (yet) have thought about getting a trike. Don't roll your eyes; I know it because we have talked about it. Well, I am not ashamed to come forward and proudly state my position on the matter. When one asks me what I ride, I will confidently tell them, "I am driving a 2005 tryy -- ahem, I mean modified 2005 Road King."