I was riding a motorcycle on a highway that reminded me of California SF-SJ Bay Area Interstates. I could’ve been riding where I-280 goes into SF and splits off toward SFO. It looked oddly like that.
Weirdly, I was on the motorcycle, but ‘I’ was some distance back from it, on my feet, guiding and directing it. It (me on the cycle) was getting further away from me, forcing me to change lanes and strain to see myself. When I did those things, my motion caused my motorcycle to shift and change lanes. I was coming up on a split and didn’t want to miss my turn.
Somehow, I made it. I then stopped at a tee-intersection on some sort of shore. My wife (also on a motorcycle on one moment but then walking in jean and a shirt the next) joined me. As I spoke to her, asking her what she wanted to do, she crossed the street, heading toward the shore. I said, “I guess that’s what we’re doing,” and followed her.
Our neighbor was across the street. She briefly spoke with him. I didn’t, but went toward her as she walked away from him. Watching my neighbor, I thought he was being interviewed. My wife confirmed that when I asked her.
I heard my neighbor say, “I’m not from West Virginia, but when I heard they were going to the wishbone offense, I was sold.”
The dream sort of muddled apart after that, with a brief moment of my neighbor and I comparing motorcycle riding notes, and me mentioning how I was riding it from a distance.
Then it ended.