As a young man I was always shy around girls — I liked them fine, I just had no idea how to approach one. Mechanical things, on the other hand, I got along with great. Lawn mowers, the first skateboard on our street, a mini bike built out of an old ten-speed — all from around age ten and up. I didn't start dating until about seventeen, and I'm pretty sure the girl asked me out.
A year or so later, I started chopping my crashed Harley, and about nine months after that I was riding it again — a totally custom chopper that turned heads everywhere I took it. One of the best looks it ever got was on Commonwealth Street in Fullerton. I pulled up to a light where a few pedestrians were waiting to cross. One of them stood out: a lovely blonde, maybe eighteen. She looked over, stuck out her thumb, and asked for a ride.
I immediately diverted my eyes, turned three shades of red, and did an outstanding job of anticipating the coming green light.