And he thinks I don’t listen when he talks

I really dropped the ball this weekend. I feel just awful about it. On Friday I had a half day at Bank of No Forks so I took my computer to my favorite eatery that also has glorious sandwiches and wifi so I could work on the book due on May 14. I sat against the back wall because it freaks me out that people might be able to read over my shoulder. Of course they can’t but I’m always certain there’s someone behind me with Superman vision who is silently judging my work. But enough about my psychosis.

by Holly Carlyle Photography

I was positioned so I could see the entire restaurant and I would periodically look up at the crowd. One guy caught my attention. He was a good-looking man in his late fifties or early sixties. He was fit and very big – way over six feet. Dressed head to toe in gray BMW motorcycle gear – a textile shirt and pants, and boots, he carried a helmet and some square thing that went over his shoulders. He sat at the table about ten feet in front of me and at an angle so I could really only see his profile.

I watched him while I wrote and he ate his glorious sandwich. I was pretty sure I knew who he was, and it was later when I discussed the event with my husband that I have become convinced that I watched Neil Peart, the drummer from Rush and writer of glorious travelogues, take a break from riding and nibble a late lunch.

Here’s where I dropped the ball. I did not go up and say hi. Upon further dissection of the event, I think my reticence was because, at the time, I wasn’t 100% sure it was him. The crazy thing is, if I was certain, I would have said something, but because I wasn’t sure I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of a total stranger. I didn’t have my posse with me so I was a lone wolf, so to speak. I’m much less obnoxious when I’m alone. No, that’s not true. I’m probably always obnoxious on some level. I’m much less brave when I’m alone. Isn’t that always the case?

Anyway, I know that Neil rides a BMW touring bike, that he travels practically everywhere on it, and that he likes to eat in yummy restaurants. He is six feet, four inches and handsome in a rugged way. My Honey, the rabid Rush fan, has told me way more than any woman who isn’t married to Neil needs to know about the man. Well, he didn’t tell me he was handsome; that’s something I made my own determination about.

I apologized profusely to my husband for not quietly and politely asking for an autograph from the man whose band inspired My Honey to be the fabulous musician he is today. I really regret that I didn’t get the opportunity to tell Neil that his writing is outstanding, as that is what I admire the most. Mr. Peart, if you were actually around this weekend, drop me a comment so I know I wasn’t crazy. Your writing is fabulous. You play the drums pretty good, too.