1983, Pushing the front end of the big Shovelhead down the coastal highway of the outer banks of North Carolina, thinking about the year on Okinawa. I was Scrimping and saving to purchase the 1980 FXE. The time spent as a barracks rat was worth every second. While everyone else was in the bars and whorehouses having their fun, I was toughing it out it making payments to the military sales rep. The moon shinning on the breakers as they rolled to shore, a ribbon of asphalt passing beneath me. While Watching the shrimp boats working the coastline I wondered if they could hear the roar of my two-inch shotgun pipes.
The last six months had been tough. I lost a lot of good friends in Beirut. Fucking Mike was gone; had to figure out how to get his bike back home. He was a real brother and a good Marine, short timer, damn near a double-digit midget. The whole squad enjoyed giving him shit when we came in from the poss. We were on top of a four-story building, had taken everything inside of it and shoved all the crap against the windows. After that, we cut a hole in the ceiling and built a bunker on the roof around it. The only building that was taller than us was the Holiday Inn. It was out of B – 40-rocket range but we took a lot of sniper fire from there. Our snipers crawled up, and we got to lay a round and watch the show. The fucking twelve-hour watches were tough and filled with a lot of tension, but we always had a smile for Mike knowing he would be home soon. I reminded him how I made him the platoon house mouse, so he would arrive back in the states in one piece. Then I asked him if he had to repel out of his cot this morning. He would tell me to get my lifer ass out of his area of operations and we would both laugh.
Doing the ID's on the bodies after digging them out was really hard on everyone. Mike's tattoo gave him away. I still remember him coming up to me after he shipped into Europe. We pulled into port in Liverpool and were given liberty. I stayed onboard with a couple of other guys to watch over every one's gear and help load supplies onboard. Mike had too much to drink, along with the other guys, and they all got tattoos. I didn't think much of it, all of us had tattoos, so the pieces could be identified.
I could see that he was pissed off, so I asked him what was up. He told me how he promised his mother that he wouldn't get one while he was in. I asked him to let me see it. The parrot he picked took up one shoulder and the tail feathers ran down his chest. There was no way to hide that one from mom.
“Fuck me,” I said, ” I hope I don't have to face her.” He was my riding partner for the last two years in the service. His death wasn't going to be easy to swallow or live with.
They shipped us back to the states quick, after we were relieved by the eighth Marines. When I got back to base, I knew the little woman would have the bike and a cold beer waiting. After making sure my guys had all they're gear stowed and linen drawn, I called the house but didn't get an answer, so I caught a ride to my place from a friend headed that direction. When we pulled up too the three bedroom trailer my bike looked like it hadn't been touched in six months, and my poor pooch looked like the only food she had eaten lately was what she could rummage on her own.
I opened the door and let my buddy D.Q in, I still had a pack and sea bag to haul in after Toby, my dog, got done jumping all over me. At least someone was glad to see me. I threw some food in her bowl and looked the place over. There was about a quarter inch of dust covering everything. I asked D.Q to see if there were any cold ones in the fridge and he found two. We sat in the living room drinking in silence. It was nice to be home and Toby was happy to see me, but I didn’t like the way things were shaping up around me. D.Q finished his beer quick and made tracks. He didn't want to be around when the old lady showed up.
I caught a shower and put on some real clothes. Had to start in on the bike, and it was going to take awhile. I had to do an oil change and reconnect the battery after I took it off the charger. There appeared to be about six months worth of grime and rust to clean off of the old scooter. I checked out the Bendix carb I had installed before I left. Toby was lying on the front porch content to watch. I'd say something to her and she would thump her tail which drew a smile out of me.
The old lady and her daughter pulled up. Peanut jumped out of the passenger door ran up to me sitting in front of my bike and gave me a hug. She was in kindergarten, but she said they were going to move her into first grade. I guess all those nights we spent reading her books together had paid off. Her mom didn’t seem quite as happy to see me and said we needed to talk. We left Toby and peanut outside to play and stepped inside.
I asked her for the checkbook and gave her the truck so she could get Peanut to school. Seems the guy she was messing with told her stories about Marines and foreign ports. I was a pissed off jarhead, but with a kid on the way it was a done deal.
Peanut wanted to stay with Toby and me but at the time, I really needed to go for a ride. I told her that I catch see her later, which I knew would never happen. They left, I went back to work on the bike and Toby pulled up a piece of the front porch again. She must have been watching my bike the whole time I was gone. I did notice one of her famous holes dug beside it when I unlocked it and rolled it back to the porch.
It was dark when I finished up and I was ready for a cold one. Figured I would take RT.24 down to the coast there were a few bars. If I timed it right I could ride over the Emerald Isle Bridge when the moon was right in front of it. It gave me the feeling that if I held my throttle wide open the angled bridge would launch me straight into the moon. I didn't see anyone I knew in any of the bars or out on the streets. The word must have reached the streets. That was OK with me, I didn’t want a lot of company that night. I just wanted to run the last six months down in my head and figure out where to go from next. The locals at the bars didn't like Marines and damn sure didn't like Marines who rode. I received the usual bad looks and poor service in the watering holes, but no one fucked with me. I sat starring into my beer lost in my own thoughts. It wasn't much of a night, and when they rang the bell for last call I figured it was time to ride.
The glide under me felt as familiar as the m-16 I humped around the last few months in the desert. I was just letting things fall in place as I rolled down the road. I’d set the glide up going into the corners then let the bike find its own lines rumbling through them. I hung a left onto Rt. 12 and speed shifted through the gears, and we hit the bridge running. I rolled the throttle open as we made the climb to the top. The moon was right on time. The view from the top was terrific, as usual, and I backed off a little on the down side letting the cylinders oil down. The new thirty-eight millimeter carb was working nice. This was the first time I had the opportunity to open her up. I rolled it on, half way down the backside, feeling the joints in the concrete compressing the rear shocks.
I hit the asphalt and screamed around two cages, like they were standing still, before I slowed old Freddy slowed back down. We hit some sand, that had blown across the road. Eyes wide-open, stomach mussels tensed, not moving a thing, the front end was loaded, and I thought we were going down.
We spun over the sand fast enough that the front end didn't wash out, and I figured that I had enough excitement for one day. I headed to Atlantic Beach then over to I – 70. Popped out on to 70 and let Freddy roll out again. We were getting down the road nicely. I was looking at the stars wondering if Mike and the guys were with me. I guess there's some things I'll never know till I get there. Puttin' close to home, I backed off and let the cylinders oil again, holding a steady 65 mph. As I jammed by one of the local law enforcers sitting on the shoulder the tension returned to my body. I didn't have to look into the mirrors to tell the blue lights were lit so I broke it down and hit the shoulder. The man came walking up lighting my chrome up with his flashlight as I dug out my wallet.
It was officer King. I had completely forgotten about him during the events of the last few months. We did the routine; he ran the tags and license, as if he didn't know me, and I waited. He walked back from his cruiser and informed me he thought my pipes were a too loud. He checked for baffles by sliding his nightstick into the two-inch shotgun pipes. I told him the baffles were past the first bend to no avail, and he wrote the ticket to go along with the other ones that he had written me over the years. After he was satisfied that justice had been served we parted ways, and I headed home. When I rolled into the front yard Toby came out from under the trailer tail wagging. I shut the motor off and sat in the front yard listening to the crickets and tree frogs. While scratching Toby behind her ears and looking at the darkened mobile home.
–Art Parry
