“Bastard,” she swore softly as she returned the phone to its cradle.”Jim, you dumb-fuck, butt-ugly, slacker bastard.”
Nice time to back out on a ride, half-hour before they were to hit theroad. Fine. It was only 150 miles; she was going anyway. In reality, shepreferred to ride alone. Setting her own pace, taking the whole lane in acurve, stopping when and where she wanted to.
She stood in her small living room, dressed only in black silk boxersand a hot-pink and black zebra striped bra plaiting her red hair into along braid. As much as she loved the wind in her face, it wreaked holy hell onher hair. She pulled on Levis, a white pocket tee, her favorite engineerboots and a black turtleneck. Grabbing her Langlitz jacket on the way out,she was nearly to the door when she realized she hadn’t shut off hercomputer. She sprawled in the chair at the keyboard and logged on for alast-minute check of her e-mail.
There it was: “Hey Red Sonja, I’m riding up 97. Want to meethalfway? Let me know. Smokey.”
Too late now. She had serious doubts about meeting this guy anyway.What the hell had she been thinking? E-mail pen pal, what a joke. It justgoes to show how desperate someone can get when they live alone in themiddle of nowhere and work at home. She had been slumming through a few bikerWebsites and found a posting from a guy in Klamath Falls, forty miles west.They had been writing and chatting for three months, but the only personalinformation they had shared was scooter stuff. The remainder of theiralmost-daily correspondences had consisted of barbed witticisms and jadedobservations.
She had told him of her ’64 Duo Glide. He claimed to have a ’75Shovelhead and was saving for a new Low Rider. Both were heading north tothe Run for the Cascades, a small rally in central Oregon. She was goingfor lack of anything better to do. He was going to “finally meet Red Sonja,”his nickname for her after she let it spill that her hair was deep auburn andshe was near to 6 foot in her boots. What a geek. She envisioned him as abalding, short, chubby computer geek who still lived with his mother. Andwhat the hell kind of a name was Smokey? But he did have a wicked sense ofhumor and seemed to know his bikes, so despite her natural skepticism anddistrust of the human race in general, she had always looked forward to hise-mails.
Her responsible adult brain warred with her typically adolescentmindset. She really should just stay home. She had a manuscript to finishand an agent waiting impatiently. But what the hell, if you can’t get outand ride every few days to blow the cobs out of your brain, what good is itto have a bike? She logged off and shut down her computer, unplugging itagainst the threat of late summer thunderstorms. Time to go.
Once again, she was heading out the door. Her bike, “Bob,” was packedand ready. She had reservations at the Satellite Motel on the main drag inBend, a clean shirt, tool bag, a thermos of good coffee and plastic with plenty of credit left.
She kicked Bob to life with a minimum of sweat. He grumbled happily,the joyful popping of his exhaust echoing through the surrounding woods,bothering no one but the squirrels and blue jays. She jammed the helmet onher head and took off down her 2-mile-long driveway.
An hour later, by the time she hit Highway 97, she was feeling prettysassy, glad Jimbo had spared her his constant yakking and whining.Her mind was settled and she was feeling loose and tranquil from the happyvibrations rumbling up from the Panhead between her thighs. It was betterto ride alone; no one to interrupt the flow. She pulled into the Astro Gas. OldDanny sauntered out and handed her the premium nozzle. She carefullyfilled the tank, paid cash, gave him a wink and was back on the road in under five minutes.
The ride was excellent in that it was uneventful. It was sunny, traffic was light and the deer had decided to take the morning off. The miles ofdecent asphalt rolled between the thousands of acres of forest that lined the way, only the occasional domicile to break the pleasant monotony of millions ofponderosa pines. It wasn’t until she was nearing the small town ofChemult that a small glitch appeared in the form of a smoking Ford pickup. She had been cruising at an easy 65 and could easily smell it long beforeshe caught up with the ugly, multi-hued truck rattling along at a sedate55, burning a quart of oil per mile and belching black smoke.
“Jesus asshole, get some new rings,” she choked, waiting for a chanceto pass and sneering at the ‘Bullriders do it in eight seconds’ bumpersticker. “Can’t keep it up either, huh?”
With clear road ahead, she accelerated to pass. The asshole bullrideraccelerated to prevent her passing. She could see his grin in his sidemirror, a wad of Copenhagen swelling his lower lip like a bee sting victim.His two buddies were laughing insanely at the driver’s clever little jest.
“So you want to play it that way, dumb shit?” she said to herselfthrough clenched teeth. No problem. Bob had more than enough power toeasily pass the moron in the Ford. She rumbled past, flipped him off anddidn’t give another thought. She gulped in the clean air, ridding herlungs of the scorched-oil pollution. She took it to 70 and put distancebetween herself and the slack-jawed morons.
Stopping for gas in Chemult, she couldn’t help but notice thespankin’ new, purple pearl, Dyna Low Rider sitting at the pumps. She ran anappraising eye over the clean lines, glossy paint and rubber so new shecould almost smell it. Bob still outclassed it.
“Nice Duo. You heading up for the Cascade Run?”
She turned her head to check the source of the soft voice. Cropped dark hair, clean shaven, broad shoulders, narrow hips, piercing blueeyes in a well-tanned face. He looked like a cop.
“Yeah. This must be your Low Rider. Nice.”
“Just got it. This is kind of a shake-down ride.”
Her eyes were pulled from the near hypnotic gaze of those crystalblue eyes by the arrival of a familiar Ford pickup. Three lanky young men infelt cowboy hats and dinner-plate sized silver belt buckles spilled out. Aquick whispering conference and six greedy eyes raked over her long frame. Sherecognized the grin of the driver, who blew her a kiss and grabbed hiscrotch. Giggling, the three headed into the mini-mart.
“Friends of yours?” the Dyna rider asked, still in the sibilantvoice.
“Not hardly. Just a group of mental midgets I obviously insulted bypassing a few miles back.”
She paid the attendant for her gas and kicked the warm Bob easilyback to life.
“See you in Bend,” the blue-eyed rider smiled, climbing onto his ownbike.
“Yeah, whatever.”
She was happy to be back on the road, but in her desire to rid herself of the three vapid young cretins she hadn’t used the bathroom. Now a half-pot ofcoffee had filtered through her kidneys and the pressure on her bladder wasagonizingly accentuated by the normally pleasing vibrations from the bigV-twin. She knew a rest area was only a few miles up the road. She hatedstopping again, but knew if she didn’t Bob was gonna be irritated by herlack of control. Besides, she hadn’t brought an extra pair of jeans. She hadno choice.
Stepping back into the bright sunlight from the cool, dark recessesof the cinderblock bathroom, she sighed with the pleasure of relief. Her blisswas cut short when she saw three now-familiar goobs hanging around herbike. What the hell did she do to deserve this? Couldn’t a gal go out alonewithout worrying about being harassed at every turn? Apparently not. Sheglanced around the empty parking lot. The only vehicles were Bob, theoil-burning Ford and a pretty purple Dyna, but its rider was nowhere insight.
“Fuck this shit,” she mumbled under her breath and pushed past thefirst young jerk to get to Bob. ” ?Scuse me boys, that’s my bike.”
“Nice Harley, lady. Will you take me for a ride?” Brown eyesglittered avariciously from under the brim of the felt hat. A wide grin pulled the peach fuzz mustache thin.
“Sorry, no room,” she straddled the bike and started it up, hopingfor a quick escape, wishing she had backed into the parking spot.
Unfortunately, the young thugs were quicker. Rough hands grabbed thefront of her jacket, hauling her from the bike. “Too bad, cause we’re gonnaride you hard whether there’s room or not.”
She managed to reach down with her left hand and pull her oldhardwood police night stick from its leather sheath along the right front fork.She brought the stick down with a crack across the wrist of the imbecileYanking on her jacket. He let loose with a howl. When she switched her weapon to her right hand and snapped a shot across the side of his knee, the howl changedto a scream. Using the force of the rebound, she brought the baton across thebridge of his nose. The bone dissolved. He dropped like a rock.
“You bitch,” his buddy hissed at her as he lunged.
Again she went for the knee, catching him across the top of the kneecap with a satisfying crunch. She thrust the hardwood tip into his solarplexus, then caught him under the chin as he doubled over. Glass jaw. Hejoined his friend on the cement.
The third acne-faced youngster was having second thoughts aboutpulling this particular train and turned to run. He met with the solid fist of the blue-eyed Dyna rider.
“You OK?” he asked in the same unperturbed soft voice he hadgreeted her with at the gas station.
“Yeah sure. No problem,” she slid her nightstick back into thesheath, trying to hide her shaking hands.
“You gonna press charges?”
She looked at him, he even sounded like a cop. “No, I just want toget on the road.”
“OK.” He walked over to the idling truck, reached in and turned offthe engine, chucked the keys into the grass. Then he stopped at the rearfender, pulled a nice little hunting knife from his belt and handily slitthe back tire. “You don’t want them waking up pissed and coming after you, doyou?”
“I guess not.” She got on Bob, backed him up and put him in gear.”Thanks. I guess I’ll see you in Bend.”
She drove slowly out of the parking lot. She watched him in herrearview mirror mounting his bike and following. She didn’t need any one to ridewith, but he had watched out for her ass. She didn’t get too far up theroad before the shakes hit. She began trembling so hard she was afraid she wasgoing to ditch if she didn’t pull over. She angled off at a wide shadyspot, dropped the stand and staggered from the seat. Her stomach heaved. Sheclamped her jaw against the nausea, forcing her breakfast to remain whereit was. The rumble of the Dyna penetrated her turmoil. She didn’t turn,hating for a stranger to see her losing it like this.
A hand touched her shoulder. “Take it easy. You did good backthere. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone handle a baton quite like that.”
She took a deep breath to prevent a tell-tale tremor in her voice.”Thanks. It’s all in the wrist. My dad was a cop, it was his nightstick.”
“Why don’t you let me ride with you to Bend? I promise I won’t getin the way,” he teased. “I’d even buy you lunch if you let me.”
“Sure, why not? It looks like I need a keeper.”
He extended his hand, “I’m Dan.”
She took the gloved hand, “Call me…”
“Red. I know,” he grinned devilishly. “You can call me Smokey.”
