Motorcycle Ridin' and the Girl with Gastroparesis

I have grown up riding motorcycles. The story goes that, when I was just a mere two weeks old, my dad loaded me up on his motorcycle and took me around our cul-de-sac. He said I was fascinated with the chrome gas cap and drooled. I just say that I was adorable. Anyway, I grew up going on street rides and dual sport rides my entire life with my dad. We were even featured in the Press Enterprise (our local newspaper) once because, at that time (1992-ish) there really weren't many father-daughter duos doing dual sport rides. I was famous, in my own mind, for a microsecond.

On Martin Luther King, Jr.  Day (January 19, 2015) I decided to go ahead and get on the back of the motorcycle with my
dad to go on a ride. We decided to go to Palomar Mountain Observatory since I had never been and would take the Suzuki, a touring bike. I figured that this would be a more comfortable bike for me since it has s backrest, saddlebags, and designed for cruising. 

I was wrong. 

About twenty minutes into the ride I felt completely tortured. It felt as though my insides were rattled into my chest and swollen to about ten times their actual size--of course they weren't. Alfred, my gastric neurostimulator, didn't seem impressed with the ride either, as I SWEAR the left side of the bike rattled more than the whole thing. By the time we got to the observatory, I was done. Stick a fork in me, done. But we still had to drive home. 

Drat. 

I'm pretty sure we took the long way home, but as I didn't have the foggiest idea of how to get home or where we were, I was at the mercy of the whole experience. We got stuck behind slow people who did not know how to drive in pseudo-mountains and then again behind people who did not know how to drive in the desert. Thankfully, we passed these people. VROOM! By the time we got home I couldn't walk--imagine a wisened old cowboy--and I'm pretty sure my stomach, liver, kidneys, and spleen were all a mass of gelatinous goo. 

The take away...

Gastroparesis, post gastric neurostimulator implantation, and motorcycle riding DO NOT mix! I will be visiting fun places from the comfy seat of a vehicle of some kind from now on...sorry, Dad! This Motorcycling Daughter just cannot handle it anymore! 

        Palomar Mountain Observatory