Cypher’s Cycle

Razor snapped back to the reality of the moment. He looked up at thecracked orange paint and the flaming letters, which proclaimed CYPHER’SCYCLES.

The Panhead was still in the window whispering it’s unholy promises to whoever happened by. Ray took a deep breath and walked in.

The shop seemed to slump under its own weight. Damp boxes in the backseemed carefully designed to breed rats, cobwebs held mummified insectremains in an eternal embrace, and the air smelled of bad gas and urine.The shop’s owner stepped into the front room from whatever hellishcatacombs exist at the back of the building and smiled a shark’s grin.”Knew you’d be back,” he hissed. “I can always tell.”

Cypher licked his lips as Ray pulled out the wad of bills. A Cheshire catsmile washed across Ray’s face, “Go ahead and count it if you like.” Theshop owner counted the first two grand before Razor interrupted him onpurpose. “I’d like to see the paperwork now, if you don’t mind.”

Cypher tucked the bills in his back pocket as Ray knew he would and madehis troll-like way to the shop’s grimy office, “Be right back, makeyourself to home.”

Not only did Razor make himself to home; he reached around a dusty displaycase a nabbed a key ring adorned with a silver skull to go with his newbike. He patted the hidden pocket inside his vest, smiling at the fivehundred dead presidents he had just stiffed Cypher out of.

Rolling the chopper out into the sunlight caused a million tiny rainbowsto reflect in the metalflake paint and explode in Razor’s mind. Each onespoke to him saying, “I’ll be good to you Ray, we’re going to be greattogether.” Touching the bike’s tank was like running your hand over awoman’s ass. Ray couldn’t help but gasp as his body became aroused as ifthe scoot was a hot bitch. His hand touched the silver skull shifter andfrom his point of view he didn’t notice the ruby eyes glowing in response.He glanced at the odometer on the tiny chromed speedo between the apes.She only had 13 miles on her clock. Razor opened the tank to discover afull tank of gas before priming the bike. Flicking the ignition switch toon, Ray turned out the petal and came down with one smooth kick. Shecoughed and then…nothing.

Razor looked up to notice Cypher staring at him from the window of theshop. Suddenly behind Ray, the bike coughed again and then thunder eruptedfrom the fishtails and echoed off industrial buildings. Down the street, ajunkyard dog ran off with it’s tail between it’s legs. Ray turned aroundand stared at the bike, his mouth agape with wonder. It sat idlingsweetly, it’s steady loping rhythm saying, “let’s go, let’s go!” Razorlooked back at Cypher but the troll had disappeared from the window. Raysat down in the perfectly sculpted saddle. He felt invincible. As heclicked the bike into first with a solid “thunk” and blasted off towardsthe freeway, Louis Cypher placed a weathered CLOSED sign on his door andlocked it.

Much has been written about the love affair of man and machine and muchhas been speculated on about the strange feeling that overcomes a bikerwhen piloting his sled. It is as if a heart is beating within the bike’smetal breast and the machine is somehow alive; a vibrant beast chained toyour will, doing your bidding. Some liken the experience to that of beinga modern Minotaur , half-man, half-machine, and all the way alive! Youhave but to think your intent and the bike makes the move for you,incredibly fast, agile, and monstrous. All Razor knew was that he hadnever in all his 36 years of life on this planet felt more awake. Not evena double dose of his bro Buzzard’s best crank could beat this stone coldrush.

The Panhead became a blur in the afternoon traffic, slicing and splittinglanes like a meat ax through intestines. With every new mile on the bike’sodometer, Ray felt stronger and more awake; a screaming demon on thedevil’s own ride. He took the off ramp onto San Fernando Road in Burbankand headed to one of his favorite watering holes. He knew a few of hisbrothers would be hangin’ out, shooting pool, and eyein’ tail. The Panheadslowed in front of the Whisky Bend and Ray turned off the ignition. Thechromed jiffy stand seemed to spring out on its own in anticipation of itsmaster’s wishes. Razor grinned and leaned the bike over. He adjusted hisnarrow shades and listened to the hot motor tick, knowing that any bikerin the joint would be walking out any minute at the sound of the bikepulling up.

Sure enough, Red stepped to the door first, a pool cue in one hand and abeer in the other. Kane was right behind him. Both men’s faces went slackat the sight of the long chop. Puzzled wonder turned to warm smiles as thebros scampered out of the tavern and attacked Ray in a pirate sandwichbear hug.

“Holy shit, brother!” Kane laughed, “If this ain’t one fine piece ofiron!” The big man walked slowly around the bike admiring every custom inchof craftsmanship.

Red still had a hold of Ray’s cutoff. “Well, you said it was a righteousride. Guess you’ll want to lead the friggin’ pack now.” Pride bubbled upinside Ray like the nectar of the gods. He clicked a disc lock on thefront PM rotor and sauntered into the bar feeling bigger than life. Asmall voice tugged at the back of Razor’s mind. “Don’t be long,” it said.

Four hours later, a dozen more bikes lined the sidewalk in front of thetavern. Inside, Ray was rattling off the punch line of his favorite joke,”So the snake says to the poor dyin’ prospector, ‘you knew I was a snakewhen you brought me in here!'” Red laughed out loud in his best imitationof a drunk Viking. Kane sat a few stools down, shaking his head. He hadheard the story a few times too many.

“I say that new scoot of yours needs a shake down cruise, bro,” Kanerasped before downing another shot.

Red tried to focus on Razor with only partial success.”Abso-fuckin’-lutely!” he slurred. “But don’t you still have to staywithin the county lines to honor your parole?”

Ray took a long pull from his brew and gave the brothers his best dazzlingsmile. “The way I figure it, I’ve been a model parolee for ten gawd-damnedmonths. I wanna go for a ride and my P.O. can eat me!” Ray stood up fromhis stool and it fell over behind him. “In fact, I feel like a nice longride right now!”

The bar erupted in ragged approval as Ray sauntered out into the nightfeeling powerful and, well…evil. The Panhead sat like a faithful steed,ever patient and awaiting his pleasure. Razor was fumbling with the lock onthe front brake rotor when the bike’s headlight came on… all by itself.”What the…” he stammered, jumping into a drunken fighting stance. “Whothe fuck is fuckin’ with my bike?” he hollered. No one answered Ray backfrom the darkness. The only sound was raucous laughter from inside the barmixed with a George Jones tune on the juke box and the smack of pool ballshitting together. Ray stared hard at the bike. “Fuck it, let’s ride!” heyelled, not noticing in his intoxicated state that the bike starteditself.

The night was a wild black beast and Ray was its lord and master. He feltmore invincible than ever aboard the ruby Panhead. The pulse of the enginebecame his pulse, the thump of the pistons, the beating of his heart. Raytwisted the grip and the bike shot into the night, blasting down thesparse midnight freeway. The steady drone of the engine lured Razor into ahalf-waking, half-dreaming state. He imagined himself and the bike as onenocturnal predator, hunting some pathetic creature. A pathetic rabbit likeVickie to sink his fangs in. Razor imagined ripping out her throat anddrinking her hot blood. He imagined gutting her and howling at the fullmoon. He imagined dark red blood like the color of his Panhead, smeared onher lily white ass. “Vickie IS a rabbit”, he thought. “A pathetic littlebunny and I’m the big bad wolf!” Ray laughed above the roar of the pipes.”Little pig, little pig….let me in!” he screamed with laughter. “Or I’llhuff…and I’ll PUFF…” Suddenly a blur of white flew in front of Raylike a ghost in the night. His eyes focused on a dull white, rumpled ChevyNova that had wandered into his lane of traffic.

Rather than panic, Ray’s grin broadened into a vicious snarl, “Ahh, asheep!” he hissed.

The Panhead reacted before Ray could, dodging the car and gliding up nextto the driver’s side window.

Razor smiled sweetly at the young blonde woman inside. She lookedtragically hip with her too trendy haircut, her pathetic nose ring andshaved eyebrows. A cigarette dangled from her pouting mouth completing theeffect of total brain death. The girl looked over at Ray with stonedblandness, her features morphing into something like half interest beforesettling into mild annoyance. Ray could see her mouth the words, “Fuckoff!”, offering a wimpy up-raised middle finger to the biker.

At once the bike twisted under Razor’s hands without his command andslammed into the driver’s door. Sparks shot up from the crimson paint butthe bike seemed completely undamaged. The car’s door, on the other hand,looked like crumpled paper. “What the hell?” Ray managed as the bikeprepared for another lunge. He was able to pull his right leg out of theway half a second before the Pan smashed into the door again. “Shit!” hescreamed, “What is this?” The bike veered off again preparing to ram thecar once more.

The little lamb in the Nova tried to hold the wheel but the attack hadcome so suddenly that she had dropped her cigarette into her steamy littlecrotch. The burning sensation caused one hand to flail at her twat whilethe other fought for the wheel. The Panhead seemed to take advantage ofthe opening and lunged again as the ruby eyes on the chrome skull shifter glowed bright and the bike smashed into the car with rabid fury! Moresparks lit up the night and metal groaned! Still the Panhead came awaymiraculously impervious to the assault.