dinner. Emotions warring between fear and excitement, she threw a leg over the bike before she could think about it too much. She had a bad habit of chickening out on things if she put too much thought on it. If she actually made it to her destination she would likely go into a shock induced coma, when she had time to think on what she had done to get there. But that could wait until, if , she got there. For now she was going to remain blissfully aloof. Settling herself down onto the leather seat, Amiel was shocked at just how comfortable it was, and the way it seemed to mold to fit her perfectly. Tandy seemed impressed too, or at least that’s how she interpreted his grunt.
“Gonna hold the bike up for ya now, honey. You just put your feet up on the pegs and tell me how it feels.” He stood the bike up straight and she placed her feet on the bars at the bottom that he indicated were the foot pegs. She leaned forward grabbing onto the handle bars, and again was struck by the fact that the bike seemed much more comfortable than she had first imagined it would.
“I rebuilt this bike a year ago. It’s a 1985 Yamaha Maxim 650. Pulled it from a scrap yard and modified it. I got the mind to start tinkerin’ and ended up modifyin’ it so it was fit for more of a smaller woman. Don’t know what I was thinkin’. Don’t get much business from the ladies, unless they are comin’ by to get accessories as gifts for their men. The ladies that do come through ain’t this small. Don’t get many little delicate things like you crazy enough to travel outside the walls.” Amiel gave him a half hearted frown, and he rewarded her with a chuckle.
“But I’ll be jiggered if this bike don’t fit like I made it just for you, honey.” She smiled brightly, happy to hear his words echoed her thoughts. “No such thing as coincidences,” he muttered to himself, running his fingers over his mustache in what was clearly his unconscious signal of deep thought.
Amiel found herself wondering if a man’s mustache could go bald from all that rubbing. Grunting, he took her over to his desk and slid the shiny new debit card through the machine for its very first purchase in her new adventure. Handing it back to her with the receipt, she felt all warm and gooey inside. She was now the proud owner of a ‘hog’. She frowned. Were they all called hogs, or was that just a Harley thing? Either way, it didn’t sound quite as cool coming from her as it would a real biker. She did a mental shrug, figuring that was something she’d just have to work on. She watched in confusion as Tandy wheeled her new bike up onto a flatbed truck.
“What are you doing?” Strapping it down tight, he hopped down from the truck and silently motioned her to follow him, not bothering to answer her question. Staring longingly at her new toy, she reluctantly followed him further into the shop. All along the wall were multiple helmets of different sizes, shapes, and colors. Several large racks held leather clothes of all assortments, along with any other equipment a person could imagine for riding a bike.
“Gotta get ya dressed lookin’ the part now. Safety, first. Of course, some people will argue that helmets will kill ya just as often as they will save ya.” She flinched. “But I say, pretty face like yours, y’all need one. Besides, motorcycle wind shields ain’t like a car’s, so unless ya wanna be getting bugs in your teeth, y’all should wear one anyways.” He winked at her and she laughed nervously.
“Which brings us to the first lesson of ridin’ a motorcycle. This ain’t no car. Cars hold ya in like a cocoon. Motorcycles ain’t got nothin’ for protectin’ ya and they don’t suffer no fools ridin’ ‘em. Ya wear your protection best ya can, and ride with your brain and instincts full flare or you’re courtin’ death, plain an’ simple.” She swallowed hard at the stern no nonsense look in his eyes and nodded. She unraveled the bun in
“Gonna hold the bike up for ya now, honey. You just put your feet up on the pegs and tell me how it feels.” He stood the bike up straight and she placed her feet on the bars at the bottom that he indicated were the foot pegs. She leaned forward grabbing onto the handle bars, and again was struck by the fact that the bike seemed much more comfortable than she had first imagined it would.
“I rebuilt this bike a year ago. It’s a 1985 Yamaha Maxim 650. Pulled it from a scrap yard and modified it. I got the mind to start tinkerin’ and ended up modifyin’ it so it was fit for more of a smaller woman. Don’t know what I was thinkin’. Don’t get much business from the ladies, unless they are comin’ by to get accessories as gifts for their men. The ladies that do come through ain’t this small. Don’t get many little delicate things like you crazy enough to travel outside the walls.” Amiel gave him a half hearted frown, and he rewarded her with a chuckle.
“But I’ll be jiggered if this bike don’t fit like I made it just for you, honey.” She smiled brightly, happy to hear his words echoed her thoughts. “No such thing as coincidences,” he muttered to himself, running his fingers over his mustache in what was clearly his unconscious signal of deep thought.
Amiel found herself wondering if a man’s mustache could go bald from all that rubbing. Grunting, he took her over to his desk and slid the shiny new debit card through the machine for its very first purchase in her new adventure. Handing it back to her with the receipt, she felt all warm and gooey inside. She was now the proud owner of a ‘hog’. She frowned. Were they all called hogs, or was that just a Harley thing? Either way, it didn’t sound quite as cool coming from her as it would a real biker. She did a mental shrug, figuring that was something she’d just have to work on. She watched in confusion as Tandy wheeled her new bike up onto a flatbed truck.
“What are you doing?” Strapping it down tight, he hopped down from the truck and silently motioned her to follow him, not bothering to answer her question. Staring longingly at her new toy, she reluctantly followed him further into the shop. All along the wall were multiple helmets of different sizes, shapes, and colors. Several large racks held leather clothes of all assortments, along with any other equipment a person could imagine for riding a bike.
“Gotta get ya dressed lookin’ the part now. Safety, first. Of course, some people will argue that helmets will kill ya just as often as they will save ya.” She flinched. “But I say, pretty face like yours, y’all need one. Besides, motorcycle wind shields ain’t like a car’s, so unless ya wanna be getting bugs in your teeth, y’all should wear one anyways.” He winked at her and she laughed nervously.
“Which brings us to the first lesson of ridin’ a motorcycle. This ain’t no car. Cars hold ya in like a cocoon. Motorcycles ain’t got nothin’ for protectin’ ya and they don’t suffer no fools ridin’ ‘em. Ya wear your protection best ya can, and ride with your brain and instincts full flare or you’re courtin’ death, plain an’ simple.” She swallowed hard at the stern no nonsense look in his eyes and nodded. She unraveled the bun in
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