CHAPTER FOURTEEN - The Pick Up

A mile down the quite beach road south of Bullfeathers, I pulled into The Brookwood Motel. It's the only place on the beach in Murrells Inlet and it's perfect for bikers. Clean cheap rooms with space to pull your bike right up to your ground-floor room. Sitting on the front porch of the office were a young couple, having a drink and watching the traffic ride by. I switched off the engine, threw it over on the stand, and got off the bike, walking over to the office.

"You the owners?

"Sure are, looking for a room?" The 30-something blond stood up and headed into the office as I just nodded. Nice looking lady, too, as opposed to the elderly guy who took my money last time I was here. The guy she was with on the porch was wearing an old Harley T-shirt, but had his arm all bandaged up and his foot in a cast. He didn't get up.

"Took a spill, did ya?" I said from the open doorway, holding the screen door open while I got a grunt and a nod from the dude.

"Bastard in a cage rear-ended me at a light, then had the balls to back up, pull around leaving me lying on the pavement, and took off. Never saw the fucker again." He sat upright in his chair, obviously in pain, and not particularly fond of reliving the scene again, so I shook my own head once or twice and continued into the office, muttering an off-handed "Bastard" as I closed the door behind me.

The lady and I spoke for a few minutes about the accident, and how they came to be the new managers of the motel. She got me squared away in a room next to Lances and I grabbed a couple beers out of the tour-pak and went back to sit with her husband on the porch. I eventually unpacked my bike and lay down on the double bed, after adjusting the air-conditioner. I stared at the ceiling for a couple of minutes allowing the last hour or so sink in. Seems everywhere I go, life just sucks for somebody. I rolled over to grab the cell phone and called home. I had to tell someone else about the bad news. Kim hadn't met Lance before but she knew the impact this news was having on me. I often talk about lost opportunities and not wanting to wait until we're too old to enjoy retirement. We both enjoy taking adventuresome trips now while we're younger, spending retirement money while we can make the most of it.

We talked long enough to determine that each of us was fine, the kids were OK and life was just fine back home. Kind of made me feel a little guilty, actually. Business is good, kids doing well in school, no major problems. A long pause on the conversation just punctuated the difference between our lives and Lance's.

After I hung up, I took a shower, and changed into some clean clothes. It was turning dark, and I was hungry. Locking the motel room door, I turned and once again admired the look of Ol' Huck leaning over on it's stand out the front door of my room. It never fails to give me a great, free feeling - my Harley and me out riding the countryside. I rode back out to the beach road, snaked back to the Highway to stock up on some late night snacks, some drinks and some OJ for the morning.

I generally ignore most stares and head-turns by other folks as I pull into a place like this convenience store. In this case, though, the little red convertible with two blondes in it - you're gonna think I'm making this up - honked at me. I turned my head in their direction as I was leaning the bike over on it's stand, and smiled. I'm of an age and marital status that two pretty girls in a red convertible is for general eye-candy amusement only. Pretty girls are still, and always will be, enjoyable to look at.

"Evenin' ladies." It's my typical greeting, and I expected that's about all the verbal exchange would amount to.

"Nice bike!" Yeah, well, that's an original statement. In fact 'Nice bike' seems to be about 50% of the comments I hear out there. I know it's not that distinctive as bikes go. Big, maybe, but the numbers of 'Nice Bikes' out there far surpass the classic lines of Ol' Huck.

"Thanks." It's my standard reply and generally the end of this kind of conversation on the road. But the girls had other plans, and pursued the chit-chat.

"THAT looks like it'd be a fun bike to ride!" Hehehe. age and marital status aside, I enjoy talking to pretty ladies more than looking at them, and this comment just begs for the next standard reply to a comment like that.

"Well, just hop on" I said looking at the one in the passenger seat who made the comment. It didn't take her a second to smile, and reach in the back for her purse. Hey! I never thought she'd take me up on it! These no-helmet states sure make it easy to pick up passengers!

With a squeal that a stuck pig would be proud of, the 20-something large-breasted, giggling girl in hot-pants and tube top, climbs over the still-closed door and jiggles over to me and Huck. Two steps short, she looks at the bike and stops, looks down, and scrunches up her face.

Yup - she don't ride much does she? I lean over to lay down the passenger footrests, and her face brightens up with understanding, steps up with her left platform-shoed foot, grabs my shoulders (which I instinctively tense up to my version of 'rock-hard' to impress her) and she swings her other legs over the tourpak and plops down with a squeaking sound that only leather on skin can make, wiggles her butt into position, and takes hold of both shoulders.

Looks like my morning breakfast snacks'll have to be gotten some other time. To the driver I said, "Follow me, I have a buddy up the road who has an even nicer bike, and I KNOW he needs someone to take his mind off his problems."

Now, mind you, my first thought right now goes along the lines of 'Please don't have a wreck with some strange blonde on the back of your bike', but in the long run, those chances are slim, and Kim knows all that is likely to happen here is a ride. Still, anybody married for 25 years thinks about stuff like that.

With a combination of carefulness and excess speed, I give her a little taste of wind and acceleration on the short ride back to Bullfeathers. I chuckle to myself as I feel her twist around to smile and wave at her girlfriend behind us. I know by now she's seen my license tag "MUTHUH", and wonder how she feels about her friend just hopping on like that, but after-all this IS Myrtle Beach and bikers are through here all day, every day. By now the local girls know we're just a bunch of nice guys looking to have a little fun, right?

I pulled back into Bullfeathers about an hour after I left it. Lance's Pan wasn't in the lot. Well... so much for the ride the other blonde was promised.

"Your buddy pulled out about 5 minutes after you left." said Carm from the balcony deck, her eyes darting between me and my new friend. She leaned over the railing under the huge oak tree that grew up out of the middle of the deck. "Seems like he had some stuff on his mind, huh?" She was fishing for some details, and I wasn't too interested in getting into them right now.

"Yeah, some bad shit happening right now." And let it go at that. I turned to my passenger and asked, "What's your name, honey?"

"Brandy."

"Well, Brandy, this here is Carm", pointing at my old friend leaning over the rail, "And Carm, this is Brandy, we met about 3 minutes ago." That was my clue to her not to ask any more questions about her or who she was, cause I damned sure didn't know. "Tell the nice lady what you'd like to drink, Brandy." I winked to Carm as I got off the bike, not even paying attention to Brandy's answer.

Brandy's friend was out of her car and walking over to us by then, added her beer to the order, and introduced herself as Julie. We climbed the steps to the deck. As the gentleman that I am, I allowed them to get in front and climb ahead of me. There's no mistake that southern tradition stems from only one fact, and that is: ladies butts are a preferred view over the weathered, cracked and warped wooden steps.

"Looks like Lance has gone off for a ride already. Let's wait a few minutes; see if he comes back." I was really hoping for something to cheer him up. Seems to me Brandy and Julie might fill the bill. Carm came with the beer, followed by my old buddy Tom, the bar owner. Tom and I have only known each other a couple years now...and only through the few short rides I've made down this way. This is the first one I've made recently that wasn't during a Bike Week Rally, so I had hoped he's have more time to sit and shoot the crap with me.

We shake hands like old buds who've seen each other a few days before, not the 7 months since my last ride here. Tom's cool... no need to slap backs and show everybody else in the bar what good buds we are. We're friends and enjoy each other's company, but a strong handshake and welcoming words is all it takes here. Besides, I think Carm made him aware of some deep shit going down between me and Lance, so he rightfully read my mood and just come out to talk. Well, that and my pulling in with two cute blondes, too, I suppose.

"Lance told me to mention he'd be right back - wanted to stretch his bike a bit and clear his mind." And then a little more seriously, "You guys all right? Cops looking for ya or something?"

Great - make the girls feel better about their decision to go riding with strangers, why doncha, Tom? "No - nothing like that. Lance has got some medical problems and has a few decisions to make is all."

So Tom and I and the girls sat in the dark on the front deck, drinking beer and catching up on our stories. The girls added their giggles and flirtatious comments at the appropriate times, but excused themselves after two beers. Lance hadn't come back yet, and I wasn't making an overt offer to ride 'em around town on the bike. Would have been fun to ride 'em around on the bikes if Lance was here, but I had no fantasy that this was gonna go anywhere, so made no objection to their leaving, besides telling them to stop on back later.

Tom and I watched them leave, waved and smiled and shook our heads with a heavy sigh as they pulled out of the parking lot. "I have a daughter not much younger than that" I said, referring to how young they were.

Two beers later, Lance pulls in, his gleaming green '53 FLH kicking up a cloud of dust as he slid to a halt. I've been looking for another '53 Panhead ever since I first saw his. 1953 is my birth year and I've always wanted a bike born in the same year as me. With a little more bounce in his step, he takes the steps two at a time, and slaps down a 2002 DeLorme U.S. Atlas and a small bag from CVS drugstore containing 2 yellow highlighters.

"You're gonna tell me what you know about this country, and plan me out a trip that'll take in all the neat shit." His eyes were bright and excited. Noticing Tom again sitting at our table, he leans over and says to him, "You wanna go on a road trip? ... somebody's gotta keep an eye on me."

I saw him glance back in my direction. That comment wasn't for Tom, and we both knew it. A slow smile crept across my face and I reached forward, set my Budweiser on the table, grabbed a marker and looked directly at him.

"First stop'll be Daytona, huh?"

"You said you were planning a spring trip to Colorado", Lance said, "Why don't we just combine the trips into one... take in the Rally and the keys and head west?"

I must have scrunched up my face at that one. In fact, I was thinking how I could pull that off. Usually, I can't get away for more than two weeks at a time, leaving the business like that.

"Tell ya what" he says, sounding more serious than I've ever seen him, "I need someone I can trust to go on this trip with me. Someone who understands my need for this road trip. Somebody who can pick up the bike if I ever get to the point where I drop it. Take this trip, we'll stop in at the places you need to be on the way, I'll cover the entire expenses, gas, beer, rooms... everything included. When it's over - whether it is out there on the road", nodding in the general direction of west, "or back here at home... Petey's yours."

I looked at his bike 15 feet away and back at him... then did that again. "You're shittin' me? No way I'm gonna ride with you out west in exchange for your bike - that's sick!" Maybe in a few days I'd feel different, but right now, that just didn't sound right. "I may go with you in any case, but damned sure not 'cause of that!"

"Listen dude, My old lady's gone, folks are gone, no kids - who'm I gonna leave it to? You want a '53 bad, I'm about to have no more need for it. It's yours. I've thought about this for a while now. I'd sign it over to you before we go, just in case, and it's a done deal. Whaddyasay?" Without missing a beat, he nods back at the maps on the table, picks up a highlighter, holds it up to me and raises one eyebrow. A slight grin comes to his face, 'cause he knows I'm hooked. Tom knows it too, and excuses himself, shaking his head.

"No promises til I talk to Kim... in fact, you and me are leaving in the morning for home and you're coming with me. She's gonna need to hear this one from the horses mouth." I waved at Tom for another round before he entered the bar, and slowly shook my head, bending over the map.

I produced two Arturo Fuente 8-9-8 Maduro cigars out of my top pocket and offer one to my old friend. Clipping the end from mine, I am lost in a fury of thoughts and fears. I am getting on up there myself, new aches and pains crop up every year. Perhaps this trip is just what I need as well.

This'll be a helluva ride!

Click here to go to the INDEX

 

"Lets Roll!"
 

 
For Information, contact:
Muthuh@Muthuh.com  

MUTHUH'S RIDES HOME | ARCHIVES | FUTURE TRIPS