As the sun gave way to a black veil of rainclouds, so did the festive mood turn to despair.
The place looked strangely barren now without the glittering paint and shiny chrome from hundreds of Harleys that once surrounded the field. The liquor, food, and fun that fueled me all weekend were now taking their toll and my weary body ached for the comfort of home. The annual long-weekend field party would soon be just another chapter in a blurred storybook of memories.
My two riding partners, C.J. and Newf, were just as anxious to get home, so we opted for a straight run without the usual stops along the way. Before long, the clouds ruptured and poured raindrops on us the size of junebugs.
"Lord, thundering Jesus," roared Newf. "We get pissed on whenever we make this run."
"You're one to talk," I yelled back. "At least you got a windshield."
"This fall weather sucks for riding," I mumbled to myself.
We rode side-by-side for the next hour or so and the constant sting of ice-cold rain was the only thing keeping me awake. Familiar road signs ahead warned me that I'd soon head north to the country, while C.J. and Newf would go south to the city.
Minutes later I was on the northbound highway. The rain had changed to a misty drizzle and a blanket of fog hovered over the surrounding cornfields. I thought about how fast the time had gone since I moved away from the city. I felt relieved that me and Kelly, my aging pit bull, no longer worried about nosy neighbours, pesky kids and muzzled walks. He roamed the yard with a battle-scarred face and toothy grin as if he owned the place.
I could see my destination up ahead. I cruised down Main Street, shattering the sleepy silence with shotgun pipes echoing off the buildings. The hazy illumination of a neon sign poked through the fog a short distance away. "Good food and cold beer" boasted the sign at Scotty's Tavern.
That would really hit the spot, I thought to myself, as I steered the grimy Harley to a spot out front. After pulling my helmet and gloves off, I headed to the entrance.
It was quiet inside, but warm, dry, and kinda cosy. I bought a couple of Budweisers from a ragged-looking bartender and retreated to a corner booth. I was just into my second beer, and contemplating a bite to eat, when a tall, foxy brunette walked in. She strutted past me toward a payphone in the corner. After a brief conversation, she slammed down the phone, bought a drink from the bartender, and sat in the booth beside me.
Flowing chestnut-brown hair touched the pockets of her tight faded jeans. Large, shapely breasts pushed out her black turtle-neck sweater. She removed a short leather and fur-trimmed jacket and slid her tiny ass into the booth. She sipped her drink while scanning the perimeter of the bar.
As she looked my way, I nodded and asked her, "Everything all right?"
"No, not really," she said. "My car just broke down and the service station is closed until tomorrow."
"Well, I said, looking up from my now-finished beer, "I'm gonna have another beer and then I can look at it for you"
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Suzanne," she said. "But you can just call me Suzy."
"And yours?" she asked back.
"Jake," I replied, as I motioned the bartender for another beer - and a drink for her.
Suzy grabbed her drink and strutted over to a chair beside me. After a long swallow of her drink, she ran long, painted fingernails alongside her empty glass. Noticing a blank, destitute look on her face, I couldn't help but think she had more on her mind than car problems.
