A Ride of Thanks

Draft#1 {10/01/07}

A Ride of Thanks
By Rayne D’Wire.


Dave grinned through the visor of a motorcycle helmet to his small group of friends as they sat on the front porch on a warm thanksgiving weekend.

“This is nothing, you should see my jacket” he spoke proudly to two other of his teenaged buds while pointing at a black and red leather jacket that hung over the porch railing.

“Autumn must be awesome for riding” said one of Dave’s friends.

“Oh yeah, you bet,” he answered. Just then, the screen door opened and a tall attractive woman stepped out. Strikingly beautiful, her pale complexion and slender figure expressed she’d only be a few years older than the three masculine high-school seniors congregating on the porch. She immediately surveyed the guests until her eyes fell on her younger brother, Dave, masked in an oversized motorcycle helmet.

“Jordana, Hi.” He said, secretly hoping she wouldn’t humiliate him. Without a word she walked towards him, and took the leather jacket off the railing. Lifting her helmet off Dave’s head, Jordana shot the teen a sour glance.

“How many times must you pretend to be a hot-shot to your friends? You do this every time I visit.”

“I was just having fun” he pleaded as Jordana stood in front of him, a look of intimidation worn effectively across her face. She pulled her long wavy auburn hair into a loose ponytail and zipped up her black and red leather jacket.

Jordana was unimpressed by the eyes she could still feel on her, as she walked away from the teens towards her deep red Dynaglide Harley Davidson. Men everywhere, of every age were always eyeing either her, or her bike. She couldn’t tell, nor did she care, what they were constantly gawking at. Jordana was used to the whistles, shouts and winks and tried to pay no attention to it. But even that proved difficult as testosterone and adrenalin enthused fellow bikers would try to either get a date or a bike race out of her.

Although she’d come to her hometown to visit family for the thanksgiving weekend, she got the urge to take a tour and update herself on the changing village. Riding in the autumn was her favorite anyway, always so pleasant and rewarding. Jordana had taken off down the country road, the motor of her bike sounding about as healthy as she felt while riding it.

At a safe cruise, Jordana admired the scenery. Even through her visor, the view was incredible and she felt at ease taking in the colors of fall. All of a sudden, a second motorcycle passed her swiftly on her left.
What the hell…how rude! Jordana thought. How dare some tough-guy speed past her, disrupting her peaceful ride along the countryside? And without even a warning, and no approaching vibrations.
Wait a second…that’s right…no sound.
Jordana was not a professional with the mechanical aspects of motorcycles, but she did know it was odd for one not to make any noise. And the one that passed, she knew was a Harley Davidson V-Rod Sportster, which aren’t normally a silent model. Jordana is a cautious rider and truly enjoyed her motorcycle and almost considered it a sport, and here was Mr. hot-shot trying to catch her attention by swerving in front of her. As Jordana wondered about the Sportster up ahead, the rider slowed to allow the distance between them to shorten. They were now side by side the stranger matching Jordana’s speed. She grunted to herself, she was not up for road games. Jordana’s hair waived behind her as she sped up to avoid any more association with the stealthy Sportster. Half paying attention to the country road before her and half paying attention to the Sportster, Jordana had never been so annoyed by someone she couldn’t seem to escape.

As if a decision made, the driver of the Sportster inched his way closer and closer to Jordana’s bike. They weren’t going very fast, but he was almost close enough to touch her. With darting eyes Jordana watched the road and the rider to her left, making her increasingly nervous.

“What the hell are you doing!?” she yelled over the sound of only her bike. She guessed that she couldn’t have been understood, but at least the vocal blast was expressing her discomfort. Never the less, the Sportster inched closer and closer. The rider, clad in much the same apparel: leather jacket, jeans and a helmet, reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card. Jordana was getting angry. All she could spare was quick glances in his direction and hopes that he didn’t get too close. With the card in his hand, still matching her speed, he inched his motorcycle closer to Jordana. She reminded herself to stay calm since even though this stranger was unwelcome, she didn’t want to risk any rapid
movements.
This guy is nuts!

The rider of the Sportster reached over and slowly and carefully, managed to tuck the small card in the pocket of Jordana’s jacket. She stiffened and tried to focus on the road, while the Sportster inched back now, giving Jordana space. Jordana had enough, she waited until the Sportster was a safely 5 feet away to her left, then she began to slow down. Jordana slowed and turned her bike in the direction they’d just come, leaving the Sportster to ride the road alone. At least this was safer. A few minutes of driving in the opposite direction pass and she made her way to the side of the road still very angry. Not even the pleasant color of autumn could calm her fury.

Once at a stop and finally alone, Jordana killed the engine, removed her helmet and reached into her pocket. The small card read:

Mile-High Harleys:
Robbie Mills, Parts Specialist,
Sales, consultations, advice.

Located downtown on front street

“That’s it!” Jordana exclaimed with bitterness, “I’ve got some advice for him!”. Determined, Jordana replaced her helmet securely, kick-started the Harley Dynaglide and maneuvered her bike towards downtown.

Minutes later, Jordana slowed to a stop in front of a mechanical garage with an attached showroom entitled “Mile-High Harleys”. She removed her helmet and unzipped her jacket a little. Her anger all the way downtown had made her quite hot. From the lot, Jordana looked at other motorcycles displayed inside.
No wonder he’s so egotistical on the roa…
Her thoughts were interrupted when an annoyingly familiar black Sportster entered the parking lot, the engine of which still made no noise. He slowed alongside Jordana, having recognized her red Dynaglide.

“What the hell were you doing out there!?” she yelled to the driver of the Sportster.

“That’s was immature, uncalled for, and most importantly dangerous!” she continued as the driver of the Sportster turned off the quiet engine. Jordana wanted to give him more than a piece of her mind. She wanted to slash his tires as punishment for an unforgivable display of utter lunacy while driving a motorcycle.

“Relax…” the driver said removing the jet-black safety helmet, “…I was trying to help you.”

Jordana was about to protest but the words caught in her throat. This tough-guy, she noticed, wasn’t a guy at all. Although with stunning androgynous features and short black hair, this woman was easily disguised even without the helmet. Flashbacks of anger towards a rude rider on the road, brought Jordana’s thoughts back to reality.

“What!?” Jordana said, crossing her arms over her chest and trying to focus on her point despite being instantly attracted to the woman now stepping towards her. “What do you mean help me…you could have hit me!”

“That’s mighty doubtful. Hi, my name’s Roberta, but everyone around here calls me Robbie.” She held out her hand but Jordana’s crossed arms didn’t move.

“Under other circumstances Robbie, I’d be very glad to meet you…today however I’m not so sure” Jordana said raising her eyebrow proving her uneasiness.

“I was trying to help you...” Robbie started, moving past Jordana to the other side of the red Dynaglide, “…Look, the thin metal license plate right above your tire has one bolt left holding it on.” Robbie showed Jordana that with the slightest touch, the metal plate could swivel up and down.

“If this falls, which it will any day, it would pierce your tire and while on the road…well…that is a hell of a lot more dangerous than anything even I can think of.”
Jordana loosened her grip on herself and bent down to see up close what Robbie was talking about. The left bolt was worn and rusted and just about ready to give way.
Oh shit…

At that moment, Jordana’s reserve had begun to crumble and the color from her face drained. Robbie, wise enough not to say anything just yet, simply stood as Jordana replayed countless deadly scenarios in her mind. She’d seen truck tires explode while driving and couldn’t even fathom the chaos if that happened to her motorcycle.
She was trying to help…while not trying to scare me.
Jordana stood, and faced Robbie her anger now distant and foreign. She felt relieved that she needn’t be mad at Robbie. It was difficult to dislike someone, especially someone Jordana seemed very much intrigued by.

“So on the road…that was you…” Jordana’s broken sentence prompted Robbie to raise her palms offering she say no more.

“Well I couldn’t very well start yelling at you now could I?”

“No, that would have been worse.” Jordana admitted while her eyes unwillingly began to mist.

“That’s what I thought, so I figured if I gave you my business card, you’d come find me”. Robbie was right. Jordana was speechless. She turned from Robbie and glared at her motorcycle. An accident had surely been prevented, and she owed it all to the Sportster rider that had taken a risk herself, when she didn’t have to.

“Well my name is Jordana, and what do I do now?” Jordana asked, knowing she dare not ride home.

“How about this, Jordana,” Robbie started, while removing her jacket, “I’ll have Tim fix it here, but under one condition”.

“And what might that be?” Jordana asked, crossing her arms again and feeling the color return to her cheeks.

“In the meantime while Tim’s working on your Dynaglide, I’d like to take you out for dinner.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, besides, you’re probably the only girl I know that would be comfortable riding with me on my bike and are currently dressed perfectly for it.” Robbie said. Jordana’s stare focused past Robbie, to her black Sportster.

“Hey, how come your motor is so quiet?”

“I have a silencer on the exhaust”

“Why?” Jordana asked, genuinely wanting to know.

“So that when you’re behind me, I’ll be able to hear you”

“And what, dare I ask, would I be saying to you?” Jordana asked sarcastically. She picked up her helmet and allowed Robbie to guide her towards the repair shop a few feet away.

“Oh, that’s up to you, but you could mention how happy you are to have met me.” Robbie replied with a grin. Jordana slipped her arm around Robbie as they walked.

“Deal.”