Fifteen minutes later the Skuldmen were ready to roll out of the Texaco station; both man and machine were now full, ready to hit the road again.
“When we hit New York, we’ll stop for gas,” Jimmie said, over the rumble of the engine, just before they left the gas station to get back on the highway, “There’s a Mobil station in the median just inside the state line. I’ll call Lola from there.”
The small pack pulled out and hit the Wilbur Cross Parkway again. Ten minutes later they blasted through the Heroes tunnel, which was lit solely using low pressure sodium vapor lamps. Between the eerie orange glow the lamps gave off and the sound of the Harleys reverberating off the walls, the nearly quarter mile ride through the tunnel from end to end was exhilarating.
After an hour of riding a road well known for its scenic layout, uniquely styled signage, and architecturally elaborate overpasses, shifting and throttle control became a very familiar game that helped to pass the time. As they sped past the Welcome to New York State sign on the Hutchinson River Parkway at seventy miles per hour, Big Keith motioned to Jimmie, indicating their next stop was just ahead. Raising his left hand and pointing to the left side of the road as the exit lane appeared, the motorcycles slowed down together and pulled off into the service area in the middle of the road.
Chapter 32 Page 223: One Light Coming: A Biker’s Story (Book 3 in a series).
Published by Blockhead City Press © 2011
For my daughter in law’s birthday this year she didn’t want material goods of any kind. She wanted something different from each and every friend and family member: She wanted people to share something of themselves; a story, a picture…something that spoke to that person, something that was important.
To a Biker, nothing is more important than the road.
It’s why we do what we do, why we are who we are, it’s how we get to where we are going…and I don’t just mean in the geographic sense either.
Ever notice that when talking to others who live life on two wheels, when you mention an event, talk invariably comes around to: “How was the ride to get there?”
Like everything else in life, paths are chosen for different reasons.
Sometimes it’s the scenery,
Sometimes it’s expediency
Sometimes it’s the right way to do something.
But it’s always a conscious choice.
When you ride and make it part of your life, it’s all about the road traveled.
And like Robert Frost once said: I took the road less traveled.
He knew that it was all about seeing and experiencing something that few others have.
Riding is like that.
Such a small percentage of people ride the road less traveled.
And like my daughter in law, in her infinite wisdom,
She wanted us to take the road less traveled.
She wanted us to skip the retail excessses at the time of celebration and give something more important.
She wanted us to give a little of ourselves.
True Biker’s do that all the time.
True and good people do that all the time.
I live for…
Long, Smooth, Safe, Roads…
The rumble of the motor beneath me,
The vibration of the handlebars,
The wind at my back,
The sun on my face.
Mountain views in the fall,
The smell of a horse farm as I ride by,
The warmth of the air as I go past a lake in summertime,
The aroma of the sea as I ride along the coast.
Riding 150 miles just to sit at the counter of a small town diner.
Hot coffee, maybe a piece of banana cream pie.
Chat with the cook, make faces with the 6 year old boy who’s never seen a guy clad in leather before.
Being surrounded by the world, the solitude is comforting.
Long, Smooth, Safe, Roads…