Biker Fiction

Ice Cream

The screen door slammed behind me as I ran down the steps into the front yard. I picked up my bicycle, clamped my lucky chicken foot to the handlebars and headed down the street. Riding slowly along the shoulder of the road I scanned the tall grass for soda pop and beer bottles as I headed for the beach. The warm summer sun felt good as I peddled past the fields scattered with cows as they watched me ride by. and past the cemetery where I would stop and read the headstones. One in particular always interested me, It was for a girl and by the dates on it she was about my age when she died. (Angela)

I didn't understand death, but every time I went by the cemetery I would stop and visit that one grave for a few minutes.

School was out, finally it was summer. Summers were special, a time to relax, I'd count the days until that last day, the day I could take my gym shoes home, the day summer vacation began. I wore an eye patch because of an accident so I had to look extra hard but when I saw the sunlight glistening off a bottle I would stop to pick it up and quickly scan the area for others. If I saw a snake or some other interesting creature I would watch until it disappeared. If I was lucky I'd find a thirty-two ounce coke bottle worth twenty five cents. When I calculated that I had collected enough bottles I headed to the store. The last half mile of the ride was down hill all the way to the general store on the beach, so I just enjoyed the ride, my loot clacking in the pillow case hanging from the handlebars. the wind in my face.

I wedged my bike between the ice house and the phone booth and walked along the worn wooden porch. I stopped to look at the smiling freckle face kid on the metal sign that was used as a pull handle for the door. The screen door creaked in agony as I pulled on it and walked in and the bottles clacking in the bag alerted the store owner I was there. He smiled and reached for the the sack as I tried to hoist it up on the counter. We set the bottles in a row; three beer bottles, two coke bottles and the mother load a thirty two ounce. I pulled in 10 cents each for the beer bottles, a nickle for each coke bottle and a quarter for the big one, WOW sixty-five cents, I can buy anything I want! I loaded up; I grabbed an ice-cream sandwich, two foot long sticks of sour apple bubble gum, and a bottle of Mountain Dew because I liked the picture of the Hillbilly on it.

I sat on the end of the wooden porch watching the boats floating in the bay, sipping on my Mountain Dew and trying to decide which end of my ice cream sandwich I should eat first, should I save the strawberry for last and eat the chocolate end first or start with my favorite and let myself down easy with the chocolate so I don't crash to hard when it's all gone. Summer was about freedom; freedom from school and teachers. freedom from people telling me what to do. freedom to choose whether to climb a tree or ride my bike or which end of my ice cream to eat first.

Sitting there munching on my ice cream watching the bugs under my feet going about their business, I kicked at the dirt with my newly emancipated gym shoes. Black Converse high tops, I got a new pair every year for school and now they were free. Free to run, jump and play free to go anywhere they want to take me. somewhere between the chocolate and the vanilla I heard a sound, a rumble way off in the distance, a roar like I had never heard before coming from up on the hill.

the roar grew louder and I stood up, I looked around, what could it be? I reached for my bike just in case I need to make a run for it. Then I see, coming over the top of the hill like a giant snake slithering toward me, I can feel the vibrations in my chest as it drew closer, motorcycles, more motorcycles than I had ever seen before. Two at a time side by side one after another I watched and felt the thunder inside me, my heart pounding in sync with each bike that stopped at the stop sign next to the phone booth.

As each bike rode off I marveled at the music each one played as the rider accelerated through the gears. They were loud and powerful, The riders looked like pirates so I kind of felt like one of them with my eye patch. I noticed almost every rider had a patch on his back, a skull with wings, I had never seen such a thing before. I had no idea what it meant or who they were but I liked it! That sound of the bikes would forever play in my head. It sounded like freedom.

Cold Hard Footsteps.

The school bus roared out of site as I walked toward home, the walk of shame, again, kicked off the bus before it even left our street, a common occurrence that would plague me throughout my entire school bus riding life. The usual what did you do, and the I didn't do nothing dialogue ensued while I stood at the TV and turned the knob through the three channels looking for something to watch while my parents got ready for work.

It's getting cold, picked up the pace.
How our shoes make hard noises in this place.

A guy can only stand so much Payton Place and What's My Line, If I stayed home I would stay in my room all day playing my drums, or I would work on my bike. I started customizing my bikes after seeing all the cool choppers on the beach. Complete tear-downs, custom paint, pin-striping, sissy bars, custom seats, ape-hangers and my world famous extended front ends. it was trial and error working with whatever I could salvage but it was fun.

I was fortunate enough to have working parents so I got to spend a lot of quality time at the dump. During the summer or if I had the misfortune of getting kicked off the bus or out of school, if I made it there at all. My parents would drop me off at the dump until they came home. I'd spend the day searching for good junk or killing rats. Sometimes I would find something I could use on my bikes.

When my parents showed up I'd be standing next to my pile of treasure, load up and head home. A couple of lawnmower wheels for my brother for a go cart, a box of paper dolls for my sisters and a few bike parts was a nice haul. I would take any bike parts I could find and store them in a ditch out in the pasture behind our house for future use. when I collected enough parts I would build a bicycle and sell it to one of the neighbors for five dollars. not a bad business for a kid.

I got suspended from public school for tossing a guy in the urinal because he stole my lunch. Subsequently I was sent to a private school because it was supposed to be good for me, can't get in much trouble here, shit school is a twenty five mile bus ride down the mountain into town and it's a Catholic school, what the hell is a Catholic I say. Never mind that what the hell is a Nun?

When I got off the bus with my black pants and blue shirt uniform I scanned the black top waste land of a parking lot. No swings, no teeter totter, no monkey bars. Shit I'm thinking to myself my parents made good on their threats to send me to the boy's home. They thought I was a bad kid, I was just standing up for myself, I never backed down from anybody.

Sitting in class one day, the ghostly figure rushed by me and I hear her say, what are you looking at? A busted bottle the kid next to the window says, whack! I hear the ruler hit the side of the kids head. What are you looking at the Nun repeats. A busted bottle he says again this time a little louder, Whack! again the ruler connects with the kids skull. We don't use slang here it is a broken bottle she demands as she glides back to the front of the class room.

My turn came when a priest was teaching about Columbus and him being a great Catholic and something about discovering America. When he finished he said a prayer then walked over to me with an evil look on his face. What religion are you? he asked. Shit! this guy can see my soul, I don't know what religion I am, I didn't know I had one. You didn't do the sign of the cross, What religion are you? he demanded. Holy crap this guy is going to zap me with lightning or something if I don't answer him, think of something fast, I might not live through this if I don't say something. I GOT IT! I heard my mother say something about being a Protestant once, yea, that will get this guy off my back. Protestant I shot back at him, WHACK! lights out.

Oh by the way, the Catholics and Protestants are shooting and bombing the shit out of each other in Ireland, my parents tell me when I got home and told them what had happened at school. Great you send me off to war and I don't even know what side I'm on! Turns out Mom was Protestant and Dad was Catholic and they thought it would be good for me to go to a nice school. After my enlightening experience with religion I decided that I didn't want anything to do with it, not if it meant shooting and bombing and whacking little kids upside the head.

Almost every day after school I rode my bike around the neighborhood until the bears came out. Just before dark the bears would come out of the forest and knock over a few trash cans looking for food. I felt more at ease sitting on my bike twenty feet from a bear than I did sitting in class.

Every day before class we had to attend Mass. The Priest would stand up there in a fancy robe, mumble some foreign language, swig some wine and give every one a wafer. Sometimes someone would faint from standing too long and crack their Mellon on the floor but other than that I was totally lost in there. One day we were told a classmate's mother had died, she backed up into the rear prop of a helicopter and we were going to walk into town for the service. Single file down the road we followed our Nun like a bunch of ducklings. I followed the kids in front of me up the stairs and into the church and then I watched as each one went up to what looked like a drinking fountain. I stopped looked around confused, I just walked across town and now I can't find the button on the drinking fountain, WHACK! it was Holy water. I tried to walk away, WHACK! I didn't do the sign.

I begged my parents to send me to the public school. I just about had enough of this religion shit, I needed a plan. At least I knew some of the kids there and I wouldn't have to wear a uniform. I figured it out, when we march to the gym for mass I could duck out of line when we pass the bathrooms and I'll hide there until they march back. It worked for a while until I got tired of standing at the urinal pretending to be taking a piss for an hour just in case someone walked in.

I figured out that during Mass everyone in the building would be in there. I was free to roam the halls until it was over then I would go back into the bathroom until my class marched by and fall back in line just like in the Wizard of OZ. Then it happened. I was roaming the halls listening to the echos of Latin bouncing off the marble walls waiting for the Que to duck back into my hideout when suddenly I heard footsteps, cold hard footsteps, they were between me and my safe-haven and they were coming toward me. I searched frantically for a place to hide. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide just a long cold empty corridor of marble and they were almost to the corner. If they see me I'll be whipped for sure I thought to myself, or even worse, Run! My slippery polished leather dress shoes could barely get any traction on the waxed marble floor as I sprinted down the hall. Faster and faster I ran as the sound of the footsteps of doom steadily echoed behind me. I see a table against the wall with a table cloth hanging to the floor, it's my only chance.

I dove like a baseball player trying to to score the winning run. Crashing to the ground sliding across the floor under the table I was safe. Soon after I came to rest the footsteps stopped. I sat under the table listening. my heart pounding, trying not to breath to hard. silence, stone cold silence. No footsteps, no Latin, I made it but I had to get back to the bathroom fast before they came out of Mass. I have got to make a run for it. I reached under the table cloth and threw it up and sprang out from under the table. They say time actually slows down when you discover you just made a fatal mistake. There was no light as I flipped up the table cloth, no marble, just dark. Instead of emerging into an empty corridor I was stopped dead in my tracks. I had just flipped up a Nuns Habit and dove face first into her crotch. My cheek slid down her leg as I tried to melt into the marble floor but she picked me up by the ear and marched me down the hall. Those cold hard footsteps.

Down the hall she drug me, on my tiptoes I tried to keep up, trying to keep my ear attached to my head. all I could see was her pointy black shoes kicking out from under her Habit as we marched along. Through one door then another, down several flights of stairs, there was no more marble, no stained glass, no golden statues. It's getting cold, picked up the pace
how our shoes make hard noises in this place.

There is an underworld in religion, so dark, so deep, so sinister that it is beyond belief. On the surface in all its glory it portrays an image of paradise. Marble and stained glass reflecting off golden candlesticks and trinkets. Kind whispers guide you toward the promise land. Meticulously scripted routines and choreographed ceremonies indoctrinating the masses to follow and obey. programing your own individual desires to strive to be perfect. Once you enter this world, there is a price to pay. They make you believe the choice is yours but it is they who decide your fate. A promise of living forever in Heaven or the threat of spending eternity in hell. Either way you are going to pay the price. (continued)

“What you are now, we once were; what we are now, you shall be.”

ODYSSEUS

SIRENS ALBUM A brand new life

I used music to escape the harsh reality of the world around me. My drums and guitars were my vehicle to travel to far away places.

Fallen

The world got more complex and confusing every day. And each day I felt more isolated and different from the people around me. Rather than conform to their ways or try to fit in, The harder they tried to break me the more I pulled away, I just couldn't get into church and being religious.

I didn't like to eat lunch at school mostly because the stench of cafeteria food made me want to vomit and if I brought my lunch I would always have to fight someone that was trying to steal it. To escape I would go into town to the bakery and buy some doughnuts during lunch hour. I'd walk through town keeping a sharp eye out for two men I was warned about by the locals, Joe Gussia a homeless man that would beg for anything you had and Chacunga Pete a taxi driver that drove an old Checker cab up and down Main Street. Pete was the interesting one, they said if you fell asleep in his taxi he would get furious and crack your head with a hammer. Across the street from the bakery the Chevrolet dealer had the coolest car I had ever seen, a blue 1968 Corvette, I went in and I got as small poster from the brochure rack and put it up on my bedroom wall. Someday I'm going to have one just like that I promised.

Next to the school was a huge old mine building that had been boarded up years ago when the copper ran out. Sometimes I would go in there just to hang out and be alone. There is something about going into an old historical building that no one else has set foot in for decades. The eerie quietness, the dust almost an inch thick, coveralls and safety glasses placed into lockers where men went home from work one day and never returned. The feeling of being isolated from the rest of the world behind the crumbling brick and mortar walls was comforting. I would climb the rusty catwalks that rose several stories into the air and sit beside the huge conveyor belts that have been silenced forever and eat lunch. In the stillness, the peace and quiet.

Lost Forever

I had a reoccurring dream while I was growing up. Always the same dream, I was a young adult, but I had a wife, we lived in a small stone house in the woods. I am standing near the doorway and she would be standing in the kitchen. I could see her face and she would turn and smile, her sheer yellow dress almost touching the ground and her long blonde hair falling off her shoulders. I would always try to say something but nothing would come out. I never knew her name or mine in the dream for that matter but I knew it was our house and she was my wife a long time ago.

I always looked for the house. I was always out in the woods camping or hiking but I didn't know where to look or if it really even did exist.

I was riding my bike down by the lake one day, I didn't go there often. But that day I just wanted to go somewhere different. Down that long dusty road I just had a feeling. I needed to stop and look around. I parked my bike and headed out through the woods. I wandered searching for that stone house I had seen so many times in my dreams.
It was there, empty, abandoned, the doors and windows gone and the roof rotted and caved in under the weight of the heavy winter snow. I stood there in the doorway just as I did in the dream but she wasn't there. I expected her to be there but she wasn't. I was sad, but I was not disappointed. I was at home.

Let's Ride

The morning sun pierced the curtain like a dagger, dust dancing like fireflies in the beam of light. first one eye then the other I tried to focus on the ceiling. My head was pounding and I tried to rub the sleep off my face. I reached across the bed, my hand fell onto an empty pillow. She must have gotten up already I thought, how does she do it. she has always been an early riser. I could smell bacon frying, I need food. Slowly I sat up so my head wouldn't fall off and balanced myself on the edge of the bed. I turned to double check that she was already up then took a deep breath as if the aroma would cure my hangover.

I steadied myself against the wall and opened the door. the sound of sizzling bacon filled the hallway it sounded like applause, hundreds of invisible hands clapping at my great achievement of getting out of bed. Like a zombie I made my way across the hall to the bathroom. I splashed cold water on my face and tried to brush the stench off my teeth, took a hand full of aspirin and opened the door.

Suddenly the house was quiet and dim, I could no longer hear the bacon sizzling nor could I smell it. I crept carefully down the hall partly because I was still a little unstable and partly because I wasn't sure what I'd find at the other end. I turned the corner to the kitchen, nothing, no one. I wondered where she might have gone, but I just heard and smelled her cooking breakfast. My eyes searched the room. No bacon, no pan on the stove, the sink was half full of dirty dishes, no sign that she was even in here recently.

I rushed outside she was nowhere in sight. I looked up the path, the sun glistening through the leaves, that tree I thought I ran as fast as I could knowing I'd find her beneath the tree she loved so much. When I caught up to her she was still standing under the tree arms raised and smiling. I held her and kissed her, I didn't ever want to let her go.

As we sat beneath the tree I heard the faint sound of a Harley coming up the road. the rider came up the driveway and gave a quick twist of the throttle and shut the bike off. He smiled and leaned back against the bare stones of the wall and drew in a huge breath, then laughed out loud, he came over and gave me a tap on the foot with his boot, "Let's ride", were the only word he spoke.

The crisp fall air bit into my cheeks as we rode through a rainbow of trees with their leaves beginning to turn. I took the point with him slightly behind me over my shoulder as we headed to work. It won't be long I thought before the snow came, before we would be putting our bikes way for the winter. I didn't like riding in a cage I'd much rather ride, I wished it would never end.

At the mine we changed at our lockers and put on our equipment. The mine has been here for over one hundred years. Just like any other day we headed for the elevator that would take us hundreds of feet below the surface. We didn't talk, no one talked on the elevator. That was your time, between the creaking of the steel cable and the squeaking of dry bearings you try and rationalize why you are doing this and try to make your peace in case you never come up again. when we reached the bottom we adjusted our lanterns and made our way down the narrow passages. when I reached the Hole as it was called a shiver went up my spine. The Hole was a fisher in the solid rock that they discovered while digging this passage. A miner went in it in the early 1900's. and they never recovered his body. they tried to fill it in but it seemed to be bottomless so now it's just the Hole.

Just as I reached my station the sirens went off. I made my way back up the passage to where a small crowd of miners had gathered. "The Hole" they were saying, in whispers of panic, someone had gone into the Hole. It was a slow process but eventually the creaky elevator had gotten us all back to the top. The rescue crew went down, Every one stood around wondering who it was that went down the Hole.

It was late before I decided to leave. The confusion and Chaos were getting to me and there was really nothing I could do. Mine was the only bike in the parking lot, the red and blue lights bouncing off its chrome. The sirens faded as I rode away. I didn't want to go home yet, I needed to clear my head so I headed in the opposite direction. I thought I would take the long way around the lake this time. The road wound its way through the thick forest following the contour of the lake. At times I could see the emergency lights breaking through the trees up on the mountain overlooking the lake. Red and blue mixed with moonlight bobbing on the waves was a constant reminder of what was behind me as I rode.

I saw a crusty sign for a roadhouse and pulled in for a beer, I sat unnoticed for an hour or so watching the locals as I sipped my beer. I got back on my bike and road until I came across another bar. There is a certain detachment a sense of freedom when you walk into a place where nobody knows you. a feeling of independence and loneliness at the same time.

I don't know exactly how many dives I visited that night or how much time I spent in them, I wasn't keeping track but the sky was getting lighter the further I rode. I pulled off the shoulder and threw down the kickstand and sat there for a few moments looking at the lake. The lights up on the mountain had since faded the sirens were long gone, it was quiet, stone cold dead silent. I got off the bike and began to walk around stretching the kinks out of my legs. I studied the beauty surrounding me, the lake, the trees, the sky. I wished it would never end.

I wanted to enjoy every moment of that morning. Life is so short I wanted to savor every minute. I looked around, the wide spot where I had pulled over seemed to be an old driveway at one time. Over grown by brush and grass It must have lead somewhere so I decided to take a ride up it and look around. Winding through the woods the path all but disappeared but I felt comfortable, familiar. In the distance I could see the remains of an old structure. I rode up the driveway and gave a quick twist of the throttle and shut the bike off. I stood silently for a few moments and listened. I listened intently as the birds and the trees told their story then continued toward the front steps. It was an old stone house given up to the elements decades ago. The doors and windows were gone and the roof had given in to the harsh snowy winters long ago. The remains of an old rusty Indian half buried in the mud.

I stood inside the doorway and closed my eyes, listening to the wind rustling through the trees and the birds. Took a deep breath of the cool mountain air and never felt more at ease, I smiled and leaned back against the bare stones of the wall and drew in a huge breath, the wind through the trees sounded so much like bacon sizzling that I could almost smell it. I laughed out loud. Whats so funny? I heard an angelic voice say.

Startled that I wasn't there alone I opened my eyes. She stood in front of me smiling, I couldn't speak. She kissed me on the cheek and said how was your night? I just shrugged my shoulders. I wish you Didn't have to work the night shift, I get so lonely here by myself she pouted. I tried to speak but nothing would come out. Sit down, eat, she said as she set a plate of bacon and eggs on the table.

Would you chop some fire wood for me before you lay down? her soft voice drifted across the room. The nights are getting colder and I don't want to run out. I nodded in agreement, she was so pretty I would gladly do anything she asked. I watched her thin figure glide back and forth across the old kitchen, she knew just when to open the cast iron door on the stove and poke at the flames. I held a long strip of thick bacon in front of my face, that smell I never wanted to forget it.

As I stacked the last of the wood on the porch she was standing in the doorway wiping her hands on her apron. Lets take a walk she said and reached for my hand. As we walked through the woods she smiled and laughed. I was as happy as she was. Oh look she said excitedly and ran up the path ahead of me as if she was chasing some unseen object. She stopped under a huge tree raised her hands and looked up and yelled back at me It's beautiful! I raised my hand above my head and waved back in agreement, but I wasn't referring to the tree. She stood there arms raised toward the heavens, the morning sun behind her lighting up her bright yellow dress and long silky blonde hair floating on the breeze. She looked like an angel. Come she said motioning for me to follow her, It's so beautiful here!

When I caught up to her she was still standing under the tree arms raised and smiling. I held her and kissed her, I didn't ever want to let her go. Silently we walked down the path back to the house holding onto each other as if we were trying to become one. You must be exhausted she said as we stepped into the house and led me to the bedroom. She slipped off the yellow dress and laid down next to me. Her smooth pale skin next to mine felt so right and as I buried my face into her hair, It smelled of bacon. She whispered I will Love you Forever, I held onto her as tight as I could and fell asleep, I was home.

The morning sun pierced the curtain like a dagger, dust dancing like fireflies in the beam of light. first one eye then the other I tried to focus on the ceiling . My head was pounding and I tried to rub the sleep off my face. I reached across the bed, my hand fell onto an empty pillow. She must have gotten up already I thought, how does she do it. she has always been an early riser. I could smell bacon frying, I need food. Slowly I sat up so my head wouldn't fall off and balanced myself on the edge of the bed. I turned to double check that she was already up then took a deep breath as if the aroma would cure my hangover.

I steadied myself against the wall and opened the door. the sound of sizzling bacon filled the hallway it sounded like applause, hundreds of invisible hands clapping at my great achievement of getting out of bed . Like a zombie I made my way across the hall to the bathroom. I splashed cold water on my face and tried to brush the stench off my teeth, took a hand full of aspirin and opened the door.

Suddenly the house was quiet and dim, I could no longer hear the bacon sizzling nor could I smell it. I crept carefully down the hall partly because I was still a little unstable and partly because I wasn't sure what I'd find at the other end. I turned the corner to the kitchen, nothing, no one. I wondered where she might have gone, but I just heard and smelled her cooking breakfast. My eyes searched the room. No pan, no bacon on the stove, the sink was half full of dirty dishes, no sign that she was even in here recently.

I rushed outside she was nowhere in sight. I looked up the path, the sun glistening through the leaves, that tree I thought I ran as fast as I could knowing I'd find her beneath the tree she loved so much.

I did, she was there, a cross shaped headstone covered in moss. I sat against the tree trying to focus on the cross, a boot taped my foot, "Let's Ride".

The Wanderer

They say High School is the best time of your life, I beg to differ. I did the best I could do with what I had. During high School I worked at a burger joint for a short time then I worked as a ranch hand taking care of race horses. I loved cowboy-in and ranch work it was hard and dirty work but I loved working with the horses. The guys I hung out with all rode bikes of of one kind or another, but our big thing was our hot-rods. I had several bikes but I discovered that I could buy old cars all day long for just a couple of hundred bucks. My car of choice was a 1955 Chevy 2dr hard top although I never forgot about that Corvette I saw at the dealer back in '68.

The Lords- We all had different jobs while going to school but we loved our bikes and hot-rods.

We didn't play sports or participate in any groups at school but on Friday nights we would cruise central and unofficially represent our school by racing against other rodders from other schools. Challenges were offered and if accepted the representing schools and spectators would meet at a designated place in the desert. the winners would get bragging rights for the next week.

The 1973 movie American Graffiti captured what a typical Friday night was like on Central.

I left the ranch and started working in a bowling alley as a mechanic. I became a certified pinsetter mechanic and the youngest master mechanic in the nation for the largest independent chain in the country. I also started doing paint and body work on cars and bikes in the early '70s and started my first shop called Chopper Garage.

Probably one of the funniest things I did with that old Chevy was completely out of sight and had nothing to do with speed. The radio worked but I rarely ever actually turned it on. Instead I would turn it on just enough for the light to come on for looks, then hidden in the glove box I had an eight track player that would come on when I started the car. Because eight tracks were on a continuous loop you never had to flip the tape over or rewind it. I kept the soundtrack to "American Graffiti" in it all the time so like in the movie the Wolf man Jack Show was always playing. everyone that rode in that car always asked what radio station I was listening to, and I'd answer "It's the Wolf man Jack Show" Ha ha "Have a Popsicle".

By mid '70s I got into customizing Harley Davidson motorcycles and started Sinner Cycles. I specialized in custom paint and graphics and developed a technique for making decals for gas tanks.

My first Harley was a 1966 FL Pan/Shovel. I rode into town one day to have lunch with a friend and was sitting on my bike eating lunch when she walked out. it was her, the girl from the stone cabin, the one in my dreams so many years ago.

My friend introduced us because they worked together, but I was speechless. when she left I told him that I was going to marry her, a few years later I did.

Last Race

By Waldo

Word spread around school that Wanderer had been challenged. It was the last game of the year, they would all be graduating soon and it will all be over.

Not many people new him personally but the Wanderer was well known for representing the school down at the strip.

Pretender walked into the garage leaned up against the old Chevy and lit a Marlborough. Uncapping your headers? Yup a voice said from under the car. You going to race tonight? he asked. Yup, the voice repeated.

I was there last Saturday, said Pretender, we sat on Central all night. I never saw anyone put up a challenge. Something came up said Wanderer as he rolled on his creeper from under the car.

You don't have to do this, your on top, insisted Pretender. Why wouldn't I? it's the last day, my last chance said Wanderer as he wiped off the chrome wrench in his hand.

Who is it? The Nova from Moon Valley, The Cuda from Shadow Mountain? Pretender prodded. Nope answered Wanderer.

Listen, says Wanderer, soon it all ends. In a few weeks we wake up and it's all over. no more classes, no more hanging out, no more Jocks. It all goes away. All those races, all those Victories, they mean nothing if I don't finish it tonight.

What if you get beat, then what? Pretender expressing his concern. You're undefeated, you're the king. If I get beat then I'll know I tried, If I don't try then I'm already beat says wanderer.

I guess I see your point pretender gives in, running his hand over curves of the Chevy. I guess I was beat from day one, I never even tried. I wanted it, But You actually did it. Maybe all I wanted was a hero. Shit you're a hero to the whole damn school.

I never wanted that. That's Jock stuff. Wanderers voice drifts off. I just wanted to do what I love. I was never good at sports. When I came here I didn't fit in, Just like every other place I have lived. I didn't grow up here, I don't have friends I've known my entire life, I don't have relatives living down the street. but the first time I took a challenge and won I felt like somebody.

I'm your friend insisted Pretender. And the Lords we're all your friends. And your dating The prettiest girl in school you're a legend. I know assured Wanderer, but that's my point. It all ends tonight, none of us knows what will happen tomorrow or next week or a year from now. If I don't race tonight I'll be forgotten forever.

Wanderer slid into the drivers seat and turned the key. The Chevy thundered to life, the fenders rocking as if they were in an earthquake as the engine loped from the radical cam. He reached out and gave Pretender a pat on the shoulder, I'll see ya there as he back out of the garage.

The roar of the engine smoothed out as he sped down the highway. A short stop at a gas station and he was rolling again. The lights of the football field were still glowing when he pulled up to the school. He parked in his usual spot and waited, soon Angela came out and got in. As soon as their eyes met he had to kiss her, she always had that power over him.

They rolled into the regular gathering spot where everyone met after a game. The same burger joint that he once worked at. Their team won so everyone was joyful and happy. Wanderer didn't really like hanging out there but his girlfriend was a Cheerleader and he couldn't deny her popularity. She would get out and mingle for a few minutes with the others while he waited. The she would return and the rest of the evening was theirs.

This time she didn't return alone. With her were all of the other Cheerleaders and some of the football team. She opened his door and took his hand Come here she said as followed her to the crowd. The girls huddled next to him as the team stepped forward. Wanderer! the Quarterback barked at him. We all worked as a team to win this championship, But you represented us, alone. We won a trophy for the school so we all took up a collection and decided that you deserve something for representing all of us. And they presented Wanderer a black leather jacket with the schools letter on it.

Wanderer slid into the Chevy next to her. Did you do this? he asked. We all did she said, It was my idea for the letter I hope you like it. Their eyes met, he had to kiss her. Someday I'm going to marry you, he said. But right now I have to win a race, I have to earn that jacket he told her as they headed toward the desert.

There were already cars lined up along the shoulders of the road when they arrived. As she got out he handed her the jacket. Hold this for me he said, for good luck. She kissed him and joined the crowd. Wanderer sat for a moment his car loping like a beating heart. He watched her as she joined her friends. he thought how selfish he was to keep her coming back to his world when she truly belonged in hers. Someday he hoped they both could live in the same world.

He idled the Chevy to the line watching the rear view mirror, revving the engine to please the crowd. They were all there to see him race, to defend his title and the schools honor, he knew that. And they showed their appreciation by giving him the jacket. But it's over now he thought, to late to turn back now, they were all counting on him. He carefully watched the mirror, the crowd kept looking up the road, waiting for the challenger to show.

A glow in the distance was getting closer, soon they could hear the wail of sirens as the lights drew closer. Everyone froze as the line of police cars closed in on the group. as the lead car skidded to a stop behind Wanderers Chevy he popped the clutch. With smoke rolling off his tires he took off, the cruisers peeled out in pursuit. Wanderer watched in his mirror as he pulled away.

The crowd stared into the darkness as they watched his tail lights fade off into the distance. Flashing lights losing ground.

End of an Era

It was the end of an era, what was once a fairly tight group of friends was drifting apart. We were different, Unique, the outcasts from the usual cliques and clubs in school. Sports or getting wasted wasn't our thing, we were hot-rodders, motorcycle riders, and motor-heads. Uncapped headers on a 327, or drag pipes on a Shovel head was more our style. The school gave us the nic name "the Lords" although we never saw ourselves as a club. We did however communicate with each other by CB radio in our cars and gave ourselves handles we took from old songs such as Pretender, Wanderer, etc.

Sheena will be missed forever.

When it was over some went into the military, couples broke up, others married, some cruised the strip until it was outlawed, some died and some just disappeared. No one ever saw the Wanderer again.

Someday Never Comes

Tribute to my friends that served, The men and women who died, and the ones who never returned

Vietnam

Legend of the Wanderer

There's a legend of a 55
that echos through this town.
A legend of a fateful race
the rumors still abound

A crowd gathered in the field
next to the black two lane
They all came out to watch
their hero race again

There was everything to lose
and nothing left to gain.
He was the King, He was on top
he could leave here just the same

It was the end of senior year
there would be no more school
It was the end of an era
the end of being cool

He built it out of passion
a car that can't be beat
Now he represents a class
for which he has no seat

Who was he supposed to race
who would he have to beat
On this night of summer
out in the desert heat

He pulled that Chevy to the line
from where the race would start
The loping of the full race cam
was like a beating heart

Staged and waiting on the line
something felt it wasn't right
the challenger of that final race
never showed that summer night

Instead lights and sirens blazing
came screaming down that road
Someone must have called them
but we will never know

The lights kept getting brighter
the sirens were too much
Then the crowd cheered their king
as the Chevy popped his clutch

They new the race had begun
The king put on a show
He left their cop cars in the dust
Their cruisers were too slow

Off into the dead of night
his tail lights disappeared
Flashing lights behind him
his fate is what they feared

No one ever saw him
or heard from him again
The King had given up his crown
so someone else could reign

But if you listen late at night
a distant sound you'll hear
That Chevy tearing up the town
going through each gear

By Waldo

ODYSSEUS-Sirens A brand new life

I was doing alright, Seemed like a lot longer but ten years after I first saw that car in the show room I finally bought one
I was rewiring a '39 ford with a Flathead motor when I looked up, Parked across the street was a blue 1968 Corvette just like the one I saw in the dealer showroom when I was a kid. I promised myself back then that I would have one just like it someday. So I bought it

THE COWBOY WAY

Rally Transport

In 1979 I bought my first truck, a 1968 Kenworth COE. We traveled all over the country delivering produce from the farms out west to the warehouses in the east. returning home after a few trips to ride our Harley. Trucking was a lot of fun in those days and became very popular with all the movies and TV shows glorifying it although none of them were even close to being accurate. My personal favorite was White line fever starring Jan Michael Vincent. It was as close to reality as I've seen minus the goofy chase scenes and I remember a lot of the places it was filmed at. Trucking lost most of its charm when the government deregulated the industry and greed from both the government and big companies sucked the life out of it.

"Courage is being scared to death - and saddling up anyway."

For more than thirty years I have balanced between trucking and the bike shops, whatever the economy suits the best.

When we met I realized that Alison was the lady in the stone house that haunted me for all those years. We always felt that we were always meant to be together. Even when we first met we both had a feeling that we had a long history together.

Although we have been married for over thirty years, we always celebrate two important dates, our anniversary May 29 and a random date that we thought we should have gotten married, September 7, we call our universary. We really don't know why.

We still own our first Harley and all the memories that go with it. We have had several new bikes through the years but we love that old '66 as much as ever. We are passing it down to our son Travis.

We have always been a Harley family and to keep the bloodline pure we also have a bike for our daughter Stephanie's husband Tim.

Somehow I found the time to go to college.

Our trucking company keeps the money flowing when the motorcycle business slows down.

Rally Transport

I set up a paint and body shop called The Chopper Garage in high school. After graduating my wife and I opened Sinner Cycles, a Harley customizing shop. We combined the two and soon we were Sinner Cycles Chopper Garage. several years later we opened a full service shop called Aces and Eights Cycles.

the Hodad

Anyone that has ever owned a small business knows what it is like to hire a complete loser. The Hodad came to me with a sob story about trying to feed his family and how he was such a great mechanic. I always try to help someone out when I can so I gave him an opportunity to do piece work for me. I would pay him a fair wage for whatever he did on a flat rate.

Apparently he couldn't understand the concept of flat rate and always took twice as long to fix something than it should have. I kind of felt sorry for the guy because he was kind of slow in the head. he was well into his thirties but after observing him for some time I concluded he the mental capacity of about a fourteen year old, based on his actions and engaging him in conversation. I never really detected a whole lot of intelligence from him and I found out why. Massive amounts of drugs and alcohol had destroyed a lot of brain cells. (continued)

With over thirty years experience