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A man has plotted his course through life; what happens when fate takes the wheel? |
The Biker, The Troll, The Magic Mountain-02 – (1,489) * * * * Eileen was the reason for my brief nocturnal trips to the bluff overlooking the Mississippi valley, on moonlit nights, and the celebration of life that we toasted in those days. We had discovered what she called “Magic Mountain” on a road trip shortly after she entered high school. I’d just purchased my bike as a gift to myself, celebrating my first year of college, and she had pestered me relentlessly for rides. It’s not really a mountain of course, but it is a pretty high bluff along the Mississippi River Valley along Wisconsin’s western border. We’d discovered it on one of what she called our expeditions along remote trails through densely wooded areas. It was just a break in the brush alongside the road, and for a moment I was just going to keep on trucking down the road, but Eileen squealed in my ear to get my attention, while pointing back down the road that we were on. Returning to the break, I parked the bike up off the road a few yards, and she and I began the long trek to the top of the bluff. Eventually we reached the top, where we discovered a long-abandoned lookout, cleared at one time, with a panoramic view of the valley, and an absolutely breathtaking scene of the Mississippi River, snaking its way slowly to the Gulf of Mexico. As it turned out, there was enough of a pathway to the top to allow my bike to carefully navigate the little turns and bumps for a complete ride to the top. The last time Eileen and I had taken this trip was just after her graduation from high school, just before leaving for college. Our parents had been divorced for many years, and as the ‘grown up’ in our home she relied on me for the adult advice on life’s stuff. That last time, we ended up there well into the evening, and we discovered that the moonlit illumination of our retreat was as close to magical as anywhere could get. She was 18 years old now, and I’d brought a bottle of fine Merlot to share with her before she left for school the following weekend. We’d toasted our times together, and made one of those adolescent oaths to commemorate this evening whenever we had an opportunity. As we raised our glasses, there came from somewhere very nearby a piercing, drawn out howl, seeming to last forever, raising the hair on the back of my neck. Eileen however, merely took it as an omen for her continued good luck, and began walking towards the howl. She didn’t have far to walk it seemed, as a northern timber wolf, rare in these areas had taken this place and this moment to howl it’s lament to the full moon. I watched carefully as my sister neared the dark shape at the edge of the clearing, frantically wondering what I could use as a weapon in case she were attacked. Surprisingly, she wasn’t, and even managed to stroke the coat of the beast while it eyed her suspiciously. It then allowed her to walk back to me, unharmed, as if to proclaim that this was truly the spot where magic was possible. Once she left for college, I only saw her on holidays with the rest of the family, but if there was a full moon and clear skies on those days, we’d revisit the lookout and toast our continued good fortune with a bottle of fine Merlot. * * * * Tonight was one of those perfect nights, but this time I wouldn’t be alone, and a stranger named Lenore would be with me. She was an imposition on my ritual of course, but I couldn’t think of a polite way of getting rid of her at the moment. I thought however, I could discourage her from ever trying this little trick again. While I was wandering through my memory banks, Lenore had quite patiently waited for me to finish and get on with our . . . trip. Again, I was wondering why she was still hanging around, as there were always other choices to shuffling her ass back on home. But then, I was just being an asshole, I admitted. A quick glance at her revealed that she’d mastered the dress-out quite well, as she’d donned the leather jacket and pot helmet already, and was just waiting for me to fire up the hog. Readjusting my load, the bedroll and saddlebags, I hopped on the bike, and assisted Lenore as she climbed on behind me. She had a small handbag with her that she relinquished to me for safekeeping—in the saddlebag, and we were ready to rumble, as it were. Feeling her mold her body against mine, nestling her face against my neck, and sliding her arms up to secure herself to my chest, I was suddenly filled with a sense that this night was going to turn out more different for me than I’d have expected when I came to this party tonight. Even the moon was taking on a rather portentous aspect, causing my heartbeat to quicken in anticipation. Oddly enough, I no longer felt as in-control of this evening’s events as I did when this evening began, but I was determined to make the best of it despite the presence of my unexpected rider. As time had gone on however, familiarity with the trip goaded me into more and more reckless trips through the winding pathway to the top. Testosterone overload I guessed. Eileen came to refer to the trip as her personal thrill ride, and I tried to spice it up a bit each time we ascended the bluff to the top of “Magic Mountain.” Now a stranger named Lenore was about to take that same trip to the top of Magic Mountain with me, and I was already beginning to feel a strangeness in this night that was very hard to define. Why am I actually allowing this? I’d never taken anyone else on my bike other than Eileen—not even our baby brother—Jeremy. Lenore had begun scratching her fingernails across my chest, probably to remind me that she was now ready to go, so I tied on my leather skullcap, pulled out of the parking lot to the highway, and aimed us towards my magic mountain. It was just past dusk, and the moon was bathing the highway in a cool, sterile glow, challenging the piercing searchlight of my headlight. I kept our ride low-key and laid-back on the way to the turn-off, trying to get a feel for how my passenger managed the balance of the bike’s ride. The last thing I needed was a complete klutz, dragging me into the wrong kind of balance needed to make the turns we were about to endure. To my surprise, she became virtually invisible on our ride, and as much as I tried to catch her unawares on sudden changes in direction I could feel no resistance to my moves. It was as though she had entered my body and become one with me. Eerie, I thought. Eileen had ridden with me countless times, and I’d never felt this level of control before, but the real test of her coordination was yet to come, I thought. It didn’t take long to get to the trail winding up to the top of the bluff, and again, my passenger hung on, but she’d changed the position of her hands. Slowly her hands had slid from my chest to lock around my waist, although she now maintained her own center of gravity so that she could move independently of me if I did something to disturb the balance of the ride. I was beginning to re-evaluate my assessment of her uhm…peculiar qualities. At the base of the bluff, I stopped my bike, and aimed it at an almost indiscernible break in the brush alongside the road. Leaning back to warn her that this might be a little bumpy and unpredictable, I felt her respond by tightening her grip just a bit around my midsection. I just couldn’t wait to crank this baby up, and take my rocket to the moon! This Harley was just an ordinary bike, for a Harley, but it sure as hell wasn’t meant to be a dirt bike. I had to be very careful in navigating my way to the top with a vintage 1981 Super Glide. Heavy, loud and unforgiving, it was the ultimate test of my ability to keep a smoking monster on a track that it wasn’t built for. It was also my best friend these past few years, transporting me out of harm’s way when things went to shit. Ms. Lenore was in for the ride of her life! * * * * H - |