We are living in the best of times. I mean it. Just slip into a new car and gaze at the vast technology surrounding you. Peeps live longer than ever. Medicine is still learning, but it’s major steps ahead of just two decades ago. Look at new homes and new high-tech phones. Life is simply amazing, and if you’re a young man on a new highbar Softail cruising for love, look at the number of women you have to choose from.
About 1992 me and a couple of brothers rode to Sturgis. It got to be a regular annual thing. We changed and built new bikes every year, and we rode from LA and enjoyed every mile through the desert and Las Vegas or Monument Valley. The ride out was always a new adventure with a new machine.
We lived in more reliable times, but unproven choppers were always a challenge. I’ll never forget building a modified bagger for the run and 50 miles outside of Blyth on the Arizona border I suspected I was getting a rear flat. The bike swam around the lane as if on a sea of grease. I pulled over and discovered the tire wasn’t going flat, the tread attempted to escape. I had to be towed into Blythe on the border of Arizona and California. At the time Blythe look like Blythe sounded, the last green before the bleak dry desert took over.
We’ve been so fortunate to live in massive times of technological advancement. There’s one thing that never changes. I never found myself addicted to drugs or alcohol, but the touch of a woman sparked something I can only dream off. And the search was mandatory, never ending and without bounds or boundaries.
Even that year we all looked, dreamed and plotted to meet a woman on the road. It was my lucky year when we rode into a small town is Wyoming. We cut off the interstate in Rock Springs and started to slice north across the vast state and into Lander, to Riverton along the Wind River to the Boysen reservoir. It’s one of my favorite rides, curvy overlooking a winding river into Thermopolis.
We entered Thermopolis, the largest town in Hot Springs County, Wyoming and also the county seat. The town population was 3,009. We pulled up to a bar looking more like a barn. Inside, it was mostly empty and dark except for three girls out on the not-so bustling town for an evening. We immediately straightened our shirts and offered to buy the girls drinks.
They ran a hair salon and I hooked up with the owner. Her hair was long, auburn and flowing like a rambling stream, but she had the voice of a giddy small child. She asked me more questions than I asked her. Her smile glistened and her cheeks were as soft as satin.
Her flirting nature didn’t match her position at the spa, or her entrepreneurial spirit. Giggling she asked me about business and told me of her dreams to own several spas throughout two states. Her eyes sparkled with the joy of child rearing, she had two, and of herbal product lines.
She wanted to know about my ailments, for she had an herb lotion for any sore neck or bruised elbow. She rambled and we strolled out to my bagger, and she wanted a ride. That’s when I met her boobs. Softer than warm pillows she pressed herself against me and my brother Myron winked at me as we pulled away.
She talked incessantly as we meandered through the seemingly empty town. I was beginning to feel the need to meet her face to face under the sheets, but it didn’t happen that night.
We became fast friends and stayed that way for almost 30 years. As a kid she worked in the fields during crop-dusting sweeps of a bi-plane. She developed severe lung cancer and died a couple of years ago. My grandson got to meet her one last time in Thermopolis as we headed home from the rally. Still all smiles, she reflected only joy in life.
There’s so much more to that girl you discover in a bar, than just her eye-makeup and that delicious cleavage. Each one is an adventure, just don’t get addicted.
–Bandit
