Riders of the Wind

Bernard “Wolf’ Hodkins scratched his grizzled, gray beard and peered down into the depths of Snake Eye Canyon. A few pieces of rusting chrome resting on the bottom of the chasm glinted from the last rays of a fading sun. He sighed and looked over at his towering companion. “It’s hard to believe that it has been thirty years since Martha and Chris plunged to their death.”

Alfonso “Tiny” James touched the old man on his right shoulder. “Still blame yourself for what happened?

“It was my fault Tiny. If I hadn’t been so hell bent in chasing anything that wore skirts, it wouldn’t have happened. Chris would be alive, be like us, two respectable businessmen.”

Tiny hooted, his laughter was drowned out by a cold gust of wind that howled around the pair. The hulking, three hundred pound man pulled the edges of his black suit coat tighter. “Somehow I think that Chris would have preferred to go out in a blaze of glory. Just can’t picture him in a suit and tie every day and heading off to a nine to five gig.”

They stood in silence and gazed down into depths of the canyon. Wolf replayed the events of their last ride on the TV of his mind. It had been Chris’s idea to ride down to Mexico and get some good weed.

“One last, long ride boys before preacher gets married and has himself a passel of kids running underfoot.” Chris took one last deep drag of the almost finished joint. He flicked it to the ground and stomped on it with his size ten black boot.”

“Wolf struck Chris’s right shoulder with his tanned, ham like right hand. “Now what did you go and do that for. There was at least one good puff left, perhaps even two.”

“There’s plenty more in Mexico. Bags and bags full of it. Cheap to.” The tall biker’s face lit up with a huge grin. “You boys ain't chicken are you?”

Preacher frowned, “Can’t do it. As much as I would like to, just can’t do it. Millie would skin me alive if I left her to do all the wedding stuff. Skin me alive and spit me out naked as a jay bird.”

Loud haw, haws echoed between tall buildings.

“So your old lady has already got you tied to her apron string. You best let her know now who the man in the house is going to be.” Beams from the street light at the front of the alley glinted off of Tiny’s gold capped teeth.

“Well I’ll see about it,” the last thing Preacher wanted to do was upset Mille before the wedding. In all of his life he had never loved anyone like he loved her.

“If we do go, who’s going to be leader?”

“That’s just about the dumbest question you’ve ever asked Wolf,” Preacher snorted. “Who else but Chris can boss us? He’s the only one of us that’s got a level head on his shoulders.”

“Well if I’m going to lead you and I’m not saying I will,” Chris reached down with his left hand and scratched his crotch. He hawked up a green gob and spit it onto Wolf’s size 13 motorcycle boot. “You all got to agree to do as I tell you. That means you too Wolf. I don’t want to get in to no trouble because you won’t keep your pecker in your pants. No broads until we cross the border.”

Wolf flashed his trademark snaggle toothed grin. He pulled out a well used hanky, bent down and wiped off the offending goober.

Fifteen black leather clad bikers roared south as the early morning light from a half hidden sun splashed across the tarmac. Fifteen black, gleaming, polished Harleys were full of gas and ready for the long road.

“It had been a good ride,” Wolf shivered as another gust of cold, damp wind swirled around him and Tiny. “No not a good ride, a great one. A ride full of good times, bragging and… Well it was good until they rode into that one horse and buggy Texas town.” Wolf gritted his teeth and clenched his ham like hands. He struggled to remember the name of the place. He couldn’t dredge it up for the depths of his mind. “It doesn’t matter. There’s far too many years between then and now for a name to be important.”

If they hadn’t needed to stop for gas it wouldn’t have happened. If it hadn’t been for that girl in the mini skirt and boobs that made a man want to grab hold of them, it wouldn’t have happened. If he had of kept his mind off of his pecker’s needs it wouldn’t have happened. The old grizzled, worn by the passage of too many years, ex biker sighed. “Well all of the shouldn’ts, all of the regrets, all of the wishful thoughts won’t bring Chris back.” He let his mind drift back once more to that dust filled Texas town.

Chris knew the mini skirted girl was trouble with a capitol T the minute he set his coal black eyes on her scantily clad frame. “Damn,” he mumbled “This broad is asking for it.” He looked over at Wolf. The glint was in his eyes and there was a bulge in the crotch of his tight, black leather pants. “Damn it,” he muttered. “Wolf,” he roared. “Keep your pecker in your pants or I’ll cut it off.”

Wolf turned his grin onto Chris.

The red haired vixen sashayed right up to Wolf and stuck her thirty eight size chest in his face. A thousand devils danced in her big green eyes.

The bright red lips parted into a come and get me big boy smile. She drawled, “Where all did you come from, you tall, lanky drink of water. Say what’s that you got bulgin in your pants.”

Wolf was never one to turn down bait when it was dangled right in front of him. The excited biker drawled right back. “Why honey, its a little old present for you, just waitin to be unwrapped,”

The girl broke into a fit of giggles. It took her a few minutes to regain her composure. “You’re a bad one ain't you. Well you long drink of water I love the bad ones. My papa is always cussing and telling me I’m going to get into serious trouble.”

Wolf couldn’t tear his eyes away from her protruding chest. His fingers itched to grab hold and squeeze. “What do you tell your daddy, little darling?”

“Why Mr. Bad Boy, I tell him trouble is my middle name,” she laughed and winked.

Wolf took the wink to mean that she was offering free samples of her wares. He reached out with his big right mitt and grabbed hold of her ample left breast.”

Her ear splitting scream almost deafened the bikers. Wolf lashed out with his left fist. The girl thudded to the ground. Blood dribbled out of her mouth and covered her broken jaw.

The young gas jockey turned white, “Now you’ve gone and done it. You’ve kilt the mayor’s only child. This place will be swarming with cops.”

Fifteen bikers climbed onto their trusty steeds. Fifteen heavy boots kicked down hard. Fifteen black Choppers roared to life and raced away in a cloud of dust.

They stopped where a gravel road turned off the interstate.

A bullet riddled, black and white sign proclaimed it was fifteen miles to Tidewater, the best little town in Texas, population, fifteen hundred and one. Wolf shimmied up a telephone pole and cut the wires with his switch blade.

Chris Roared, “Tidewater, here we come.” Once more fifteen bikes roared. Fifteen bikers raced ahead of the gathering storm, kicking up clouds of dust from the gravel road.

Five abreast, fifteen strong, the black leather clad riders thundered down Tidewater’s Main street. The roar of their engines echoed between the buildings and rattled the store windows. Dust from thirty spinning wheels spurted up and hid the shaggy bearded men for a moment as they circled wide and raced back up main.

Thirty, tread bare tires threw up more chocking dust as fifteen machines screeched to a halt in front of Edward’s gas and garage. The garish, green neon sign, held by a rusty chain squeaked as the night wind gathered force. The words, “No job to big, no job to small, we fix them all,” glared through a layer of caked on grease and grime.

Tiny stepped down from his large black motorcycle and set the kick stand in place. “All what,” he mumbled to no one in particular. His size 14, worn at the heel, black leather boots ground pieces of broken glass into the oil soaked gravel in front of the one pump service station.

Chris ran greasy fingers through his windblown, shoulder length, blonde hair. “I hope bikes are one of the things they fix. “I don’t want to spend any more time in this one horse town than we need to. It’s not just a Texas blue Norther chasing us. Damn it, I hope they are not closed. Wolf, go and see if there’s any one about.”

Wolf grinned, his sharp canine like teeth glinted green in the neon glow.” If there isn’t, I’ll bust the door down, find the tools and fix my bike myself.”

“Damn it Wolf,” Chris growled, “I don’t want any more trouble. You’re the reason we had to come this way in the first place.”

“How was I supposed to know she was only fifteen and the mayor’s daughter to boot. She was sure dressed like a hooker and looked twenty.”

Chris let his anger fade away into the troubled pathways of his mind. “You didn’t have to break her jaw when she screamed. Half the troopers in the state will be chasing us. Our only hope is that they think we stayed on the interstate. We are only twenty miles from the border, so keep your pecker in your pants and behave.”

Chris Baker was the official leader on this their last run. Their gallant brotherhood was coming to an end. Chris intended to stay in Mexico, along with Curly, Tiny, Brock and Wolf.

Next week, the others would return back home and hopefully to normal lives. Most of them were looking forward to resuming their rolls, as fathers, as stockbrokers, as preachers, as butchers, as bakers and candlestick makers. Bikes would be sold and clothes stored in cedar lined trunks. All that would be left would be moth balled memories of one last great ride.

A grinning Wolf swaggered over towards the service station door and reached for the rusty knob. It swung open and almost took out two of his crooked teeth.

The gravel crunched underneath a pair of down at the heel loafers when a short, pimply faced youth, wearing a pair of blue, grease stained coveralls stepped onto the driveway. A faded logo over top his heart proclaimed his name to be Woody.

“What can I get you gents? Do you need gas? Want your oil checked, windshields washed?” Woody’s voice was high and nervous, with a slight stutter.

Chris growled, “Fill our Hogs with Ethel Woody and never mind the rest. Is there a mechanic on duty? Wolf had a bit of trouble with his Hog. It started missing and running on one cylinder about an hour ago, slowed us down to a crawl.”

Woody pushed his thin shoulders back and puffed out his scrawny chest. “Sorry mister, old Jeff went home half an hour ago. He won’t be back until nine in the morning. There’s a road house and tavern just at the north end of town. You can spend the night there.”

“A string of four letter words rushed out of Chris’s mouth. “Boy, you go as quick as you can and phone Jeff. I don’t mean tomorrow, or next week, I mean right now.”

“Wwwo wwon’t, Woody’s stutter grew worse. “Be, be, no point in phoning old Jeff, he gets crotchety and mean if you bother him once he gets to home.”

One block south of the black leather clad group, a tall man holding onto the leash of a small white poodle idled his way homeward. His thoughts were centered on a warm dinner, a couple of beers and the hope that his team would win to-nights football game. He had twenty hard earned dollars riding on the outcome.

The roar of bike engines and the activity around the garage caught his full attention.He wheeled around on his brown, polished shoes and dragging a whimpering dog behind him raced back the way he came.

Chris noticed the sudden movement out of the corner of his left eye. “Woody, you go and phone Jeff right now. You tell him, a real mean biker wants him down here. Tell him, if I have to go and get him, I’ll drag him here by the seat of his pants. Is there any other way into this burg, except the main street?”

“Nnno sssir,” Woody wasn’t use to doing anything fast. The icy fingers crawling up his spine and the short hairs standing up on the back of his scrawny neck put a bit of speed into his legs. He whirled around and raced back through the open door of the filling station.

“Tiny you and Curly, go back about four miles, if you see any headlights, hear any sirens, or even a dog bark, you burn rubber back here. Do you understand? Brock, you and the Preacher watch the road to the south.”

The four riders straddled their black steeds and thundered away to stand guard.

Sheriff Tom Billings sat at his old, oak, roll-top desk and watched the dust clouds dance as the wind grew stronger with every breath. He savored each lungful of the last cigarette in his pack, the last one ever. He had promised his twenty-two year-old daughter Martha that he would quit. He had promised before but this time he meant it.

His quiet reverie was interrupted by an out of breath Robert Thompson rushing through the doorway. The poor poodle, now a dust grey whined and barked as it was dragged into the jail office.

The old chair squeaked as Billings pushed it away from the desk and put his cowboy booted feet onto the worn floor boards.“What’s your hurry Robert? Got a skunk under your front porch again? If there is one, it will have to wait until tomorrow. I’m having dinner with Martha. She finishes her shift at seven.”

“It ain't no skunk Tom,” Robert gasped and sucked in another lungful of smoke filled air. He coughed twice and gagged once before he continued with his tirade, “Least ways not the four legged kind anyway.”

“What is it then?” Getting facts from Robert was like pulling teeth from a hen at times.

“There’s a bunch of bikers at Edwards place. Fifteen, maybe twenty and they’re a mean looking bunch. I don’t like the looks of them. I don’t like their looks one little bit. You ought to chase them out of town. I’ll help, if you’ll lend me a shot gun.”

“You old fool. I’m not going to give you a shot gun. You’re likely to shoot yourself, or shoot me. Have they broken any laws? They likely just want gas and maybe a meal. Come on, Robert,” the floor boards groaned in protest as sheriff Billings stood up on his long, lanky, blue jean clad legs. “I’ll give you a ride back. Just keep your mouth shut.”

Deep furrows were etched into Woody’s brow. He was scratching his head with a grimy right index finger when his pinched face appeared in the service station door way. He summoned his best western drawl and his courage. “Phones dead, never happened before in my remembrance. You fellers are plumb out of luck. Just have to wait until morning. Jeff comes in about eight.”

The sheriff’s car screeched to a stop and added more dust to the evening air. “Ought to oil the hinges,” Tom thought, as he pushed the heavy car door open. “You gents intend to spend the night here,” Billings was careful to keep his hand away from the colt 45 that hung low on his right side in a scuffed black leather holster.

“Not planning on it sheriff, but we got a Hog that needs fixing. If we can get a mechanic to fix it we’ll be on our way.” Chris felt the first twinges of panic building in his mind. Bad things were starting to pile up. First Wolf broke a girls jaw and now this hick town sheriff was putting his big noise into their business. “Any good places to eat?”

Billings returned the steady, steely eyed gaze with one of his own. “Pretty good food at the road house,” Woody, give that old fart Jeff a call. Tell him the sheriff said to get off his fat ass and haul it and the rest of him down here right now.”

“Already tried to, phones dead though.”

Little flash bulbs started going off in the sheriff’s mind. “You gents wouldn’t know anything about this, would you?”

“Not us sheriff, we are as innocent as newborn lambs,” Wolf grinned. “What’s the food like in the diner?”

“Why, it’s the…” Tom cut Robert off mid-sentence, “It’s the worst food in town. If you want good chow Sally’s road house is the place for you. Come on Woody, let’s go and drag Jeff away from his game. Robert, I’ll drop you and your mutt off at your place Robert.”

“Why did you tell them, the food is better at the road house,” Robert asked, as he settled into the front seat. “You know darn well the diner’s food is better.”

“Hell Robert, you weren’t born yesterday. Do you think I want that bunch ogling my Martha, or doing something worse? Martha doesn’t know about wild ones like that. I don’t want her to either. The sooner old Jeff gets the bike fixed, the sooner they’ll be gone.”

“Sorry Tom, I didn’t think.”

“That’s why I’ll do the thinking for both of us. Now, you just stay at home and let me handle this. Funny though, about all of the phones being dead, mighty funny. Once these bikers are gone I’ll drive up to Littlton and see if their phones are working.

Woody hollered from the back seat, “Why don’t you go now.”

Tom turned his steel grey eyes away from the roadway and glared at Woody’s image in the rear view mirror. “I don’t want a bunch of state cops getting all excited and riding rough shod over anyone in this town. I just want that gang out of town.”

Two occupants greeted the eyes of Chris, Wolf and the others as they entered the diner. A short, balding fat male sat at a table near the door, and a tall, stacked, pretty blonde haired girl stood behind the counter.

Wolf whistled, Wolf always whistled at anything wearing skirts, ugly or not.

The balding man placed his ham hock hands on the blue Formica topped table and pushed him-self upwards.

Wolf shoved him back down into his chair. “Where do you think you’re going Grand Paw? Just sit right there and keep us company. Blondie, bring my friends some beer and make it quick. I’ve got a lot of dust to wash out of my throat.”

“Martha,” was embroidered in large pink letters over top of the blond girl’s ample right breast. If anyone has ever been named wrong it was this tall, willowy, angel faced blonde. Her name should have been Chantal, Brittany or Sherry. This gorgeous creature was definitely not a Martha.

A quick gamin grin lit up her eyes and face, “Sorry, we’re not licensed. The only place that sells booze is Sally’s. Just go north to the end of town. Her place is on the left.” Wolf felt his neck growing warm as her summer, sky blue eyes bored into his blood shot brown ones.

Little fingers of jealousy tugged at Chris’s mind. “Wolf, you ride my Hog to Sally’s, get a couple cases of brew and hurry back. The rest of you Wind Riders sit down and mind your manners. Martha, I hope you will excuse their bad manners. They are not use to being around a lady, especially not one as lovely as you are.”

The lanky biker’s heart beat like a trip hammer and he wiped his sweaty palms on the road dusty black jeans as the smile on Martha’s face brightened the dingy dining room.

“Thank you for the compliment, I think. Would any of you like to start off with coffee? You’re in luck, cookie hasn’t gone home yet.”

Chris returned the infectious grin, “Coffee all around, Martha.”

His deep, sexy, bedroom voice awakened all kinds of new and wondrous feelings in the young woman’s heart and body.

The words, “Steaks, fries and all the side dishes you have.” Seeped through her naughty thoughts, she blushed as Chris added, “Now where’s this cookie of yours.”

Martha gulped and swallowed hard, “Sitting at the table near the door.” A million nervous butterflies fluttered inside her trim tummy and tried to escape their prison. Never in her short life had any man made her feel like this. She felt like she was a twelve a year old, giggling, gushing, blushing school girl. “You have me at a disadvantage sir. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“My name is Chris.” he tore his gaze away from the sexy frame of the girl and glared at the man in the booth. “Hey baldy, get back to your kitchen and get the steaks sizzling. Make them rare. Crab you go with him. I wouldn’t want baldy to sneak out the back way. Give him a hand with the eats.”

“Don’t be so mean. Martha turned off her million dollar smile and gave Chris a dirty look. “Tim you better do like he says,” Martha felt the anger rising. “We don’t want any trouble.”

“Sorry girl, I’m not used to being around polite company. Now Tim, run along like a good fellow and get those steaks on. Cook plenty of fries. Crab’s good at peeling potatoes.”

“Where are you folks from,” Martha forced her sudden anger back down to play tag with the butterflies that still fluttered around. “Not many strangers came through town. Not good looking ones.” Chris’s six foot, well muscled frame was topped by a movie actor’s face. The picture was completed by coal black eyes with fire in them and shoulder length, tangled blonde hair.

Martha fell under the spell of his boyish grin and dimples. “I could fall for this guy,” raced back and forth in her mind. “Fall real hard, likely wouldn’t do any good though. He’ll be gone faster than a Texas Norther.”

“Have you been here all your life?” Chris’s question broke her train of thought.

“All except for one year in New York City.”

“Modeling?”

Her butterflies decided to give her a break. “No, I was going to university there. I wanted to be a journalist, maybe someday a news anchor for a major network.”

“What Happened?”

“My mom died. I had to come home and look after my dad. I want to go back as soon as I can. I hate this town and its smallness. Nothing to do, but watch the cactus grow or go out on the desert and watch eagles riding the thermals. You still haven’t said who you are or where you’re from. Is it a secret?”

We call ourselves Wind Riders. We’re from here and there. Mostly there right now and Mexico is our destination.”

BANG, BANG, BANG.

Martha glided over to the door and opened it.

Wolf struggled to balance two cases of beer and pushed past her without making any excuse. “I could only carry two on your Hog Chris but Sally is on her way with more. She is one fine piece for being over forty. Her tits hardly sag at all and that ass of hers.”

“Wolf, watch your foul mouth, there’s a lady present.” If looks were daggers the uncouth Wind Rider would have had his ears pinned back.

“That’s all right Chris, I’ve heard worse. Wolf’s right about Sally though, she is a fine looking woman and a good friend of mine. She can get mean real fast. She’ll cut off Wolf’s balls faster than he can blink an eye, if he gets on her wrong side.”

A gust of rain filled wind followed Tom Billing’s stocky frame into the diner. He roared, “I thought you gents were going to Sally’s for chow. What are you doing here?” He fixed his angry stare first on one biker and then another. He stopped a foot away from Chris and Martha. “Jeff is over at the garage. Why don’t one of you fine fellows go and show him which bike is broke. The rest of you can ride up to the roadhouse and chow down. “Martha, you go home right now.”

The two cases of beer landed with a thud on the table top. Wolf’s size twelve boots clumped across the diner floor. “Nobody is going no place. Let’s all settle in, real friendly like.”

Tom inched his right hand towards the holster flap of his nickel plated colt forty-five.

“Just keep that hog leg in its holster sheriff and nobody will get hurt.”

Tom whirled around. Wolf stood four feet behind him with a big snaggle-toothed grin on his ugly mug and a thirty eight automatic in his hairy right hand. The business end was pointed at the lawman’s belt buckle.

Wolf snarled, “Unbuckle your gun belt and drop it onto the floor.” Kick it over to me.

A loud thud was followed a scraping sound as the sheriff obeyed the wild eyed biker’s order.

“Damn it Wolf, put that gun away before I come over and shove it into your mouth. I want you to apologize to this fine lawman. We don’t want any trouble sheriff. We’ll go up to the road house and as soon as Wolf’s Hog is fixed, we’ll be on our way. No hard feelings I hope.”

Another, stronger gust of wet wind rushed into the dinner behind an anxious looking Tiny and Curly.

“This can only be bad news, Chris thought, “Real bad news.”

“What is it Tiny?” Chris dreaded the answer he knew was coming.

Tiny’s voice was high and squeaky. “Heard sirens howling from the north, the pigs can’t be more than ten minutes behind us.”

Chris’s face turned chalk white. This was bad news. He took a deep breath to steady his shaken nerves. “Ok you Wind Riders, let’s get out of here. Martha, do you want to blow this burg or spend the rest of your life watching cactus grow? Come to Mexico with me, you’ll get enough stories to fill a dozen books.”

Tom Billings glared at his daughter and roared. “Martha you’re not going anywhere, except home with me.”

She gave her father her that, you’re not going to boss me around anymore look. “Dad, if you hadn’t opened your mouth I would have gone home but not now. Do you really want me to come with you Chris?”

Brock and preacher burst into the diner.

Preacher blurted out “There’s half a dozen cars, with their sirens screaming coming from the south Chris,” “The wind is picking up and it’s starting to rain.”

Chris took a deep breath, “Is there any other way out of this dump Martha, any other way at all?”

“The only other way out of here is Snake Eye Canyon, three miles to the west of here.

There’s a narrow point, not more than twenty-five feet across.

There use to be a bridge but most of it has fallen down. If you and your Wind Riders have the guts, you can jump the gorge.”

“Honey, you never met anyone with guts like we have, just show us the way. CRAB, get out here right now, leave your apron, bring cookie with you. Sorry sheriff, I have to tie and gag you.”

Chris walked over to the curtained windows and tore two lacy, blue curtains off the curtain rods. He reached down to the top of his right boot and pulled out a knife. Click, the knife opened with a quick flick of the biker's wrist. By the time he was finished cutting the curtain into strips Crab and cookie were back in the dining room. It took only a few seconds to secure cookie and the sheriff.

Fifteen rough garbed bikers and one blonde haired girl stormed out the diner door and raced across the street. In the distance, screaming sirens wailed over the howling of the wind. Chris growled “Wolf, you ride with Preacher, Martha, you ride with me. Which way do we go now, Martha?”

“South one block, turn right and then go straight. The way is clear but rough, it’s an old road. Once we are across the canyon there’s another old road, heading south to the border.”

The Hogs roared to life, tore south down main and then made a quick right. Their way was awash in the light of fourteen head lamps.

Just as they turned right, police cars from the north and south raced towards them. Martha tightened her arms around her new found love. She pressed her face and bosom against his black leather jacket.

Through the gathering darkness, through the encroaching Texas Norther Chris, Tiny, Brock and the rest of the Wind Riders roared along a muddy track. Rain pelted the faces of the dark clad rider’s and the girl. They eased their machines up to the edge of a gaping gorge. In the darkness it looked more than twenty five feet across.

Martha turned and looked behind her. Headlight beams flickered through the raindrops. The scream of sirens grew closer with her every rapid heartbeat.

Tiny shouted, “I’ll go first.

He rode his trusty stead back 100 feet towards the oncoming cars. Tiny turned and gunned his Hog. The speedometer needle reached 80 when he hit the edge of the canyon. The big biker and his Hog sailed out over the chasm and landed safely on the soft sand.

He called to his waiting companions, “Piece of cake. Come on you pansies, last one over buys the first round.”

Preacher and wolf went next. One by one the bikers made the leap. Martha and Chris were the only ones left on the east side of Snake Eye Canyon.

“Ready girl,” Chris reached around behind him with his right hand and gave her slender left shoulder a gentle pat.

Martha squeezed tighter and felt Chris’s heart beating underneath her tanned right hand.

The biker turned away from the gaping wound in the earth, rode back 200 feet. The bouncing headlights were less than 300 hundred yards away.

Chris circled again, once more facing the gorge. He gunned his machine. The way forward was brightly lit by the headlight of thirteen idling motorcycles that waited on the other side. He felt the strong wind pushing against his right side.

The Hog bounced and jounced over the rough ground. Eigty, 90, 100 mph, the cactus and sage on either side of the fast moving bike was a blur.

Chris, Martha and the big black motorcycle flew out over the chasm. Halfway across the gaping wound in the earth, a strong gust of rain laden wind caught the hurtling machine.

A loud “damn,” escaped Chris’s pursed lips as the bike twisted in the wind. The machine no longer headed towards the far side of the canyon and safety. It fell down, down into the dark abyss. The last thoughts of the Wind Rider were “That’s all she wrote.”

Fourteen white faced riders watched Chris, Martha and his faithful steed plunge to their doom. There were no screams, no sounds of panic or regret. A brief flash of fire was extinguished by the cold, drenching, downpour.

Tiny was dismayed, in shock and for a few brief seconds he was unable to move. “Let the dead, bury the dead,” he called over the roaring of the storm. “Last one in Mexico buys the first round and the first bag of weed.”

As one man they turned their bikes away from the canyon of death and roared away into the darkness.

Tiny reached out with his big mitt and tapped Wolf on the shoulder, jarring him back to the present. “Let’s get out of this place. It’s starting to give me the willies. For a moment I thought I heard Chris call out. Come love be one with us, a rider of the wind. Besides this cold and damp is making my arthritis act up.”

Wolf shrugged his huge shoulders and followed Tiny back to the big red SUV. The doors closed with a loud bang. “Reach into the glove box Tiny and pull out the bottle of whisky. Now that were here we should have at least one drink for Chris and Martha.”

Tiny took a big swig before handing the half empty bottle to his partner.

Wolf held it in his hand, “What you said about riders of the wind reminded me of that poem Preacher wrote after the accident. I don’t know if I can remember it all but here goes.

For the life of me I can’t remember the middle but I remember the end as clear as day.

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