She hit the kill switch and, with the V-Twin engine silenced, could hear only the wind sizzling past her ears. She dropped the stand and leaned the Deuce into his resting position. Pocketing the key, she swung her long leg off the bike. She stood motionless for a moment, the wind and the ticking of the bike the only sounds that reached her ears. Not even the noise of the nearby highway seemed inclined to penetrate this canyon.
Leaving the bike, she wandered slowly up the sidewalk, her eyes on therock wall before her. She rested her hands on the top of the 4-foot wallthat was more a visual barrier than anything, designed to keep the idiots from stumbling over the edge and plummeting the hundred feet or so to the Crooked River ambling below. Her eyes traveled down the rock face in front of her, down to the brush lining the river.
She pushed herself up and swung her legs over the wall until she was seated on its wide, smooth top. Staring into the ravine, she wondered what the freefall would feel like if she jumped. She could imagine the wind whistling in her ears as her speed increased with each passing foot. Then silence. She kicked her feet, her booted heels thudding solidly against the rocks. Fumbling in her jacket pocket, she came up with a pack of Lucky filters, slightly mangled, but still serviceable. She pulled one out and placed it between her full lips. Ittook her a moment to find her lighter, too many pockets filled with toomuch shit. She cupped her hand around the tip of the cigarette and flicked the lighter a dozen times before realizing it wasn’t going to get the job done.
“Story of my life,” she grumbled to the wind, “surrounded byinadequacy.”
She started a meticulous, pocket-by-pocket search for fire. Finally,in the last pocket, a pack of matches. She held it up triumphantly, thinking maybe her luck had changed. She flipped it open. One match.
“Shit!” The wind snatched the word from her lips.
She vowed that if she could just light this smoke, she would take itas a sign to carry out her plans. She swung her legs back over the wall, hopped off and crouched in the leeward side of the stone barrier. Cupping her hands around the match, she struck. The flame sputtered then held as she touched it to the tip of the cigarette, inhaling deeply. Drawing the smoke into her lungs, she felt her plans solidify in her mind. She remounted the wall and let her feet dangle over the abyss, staring into space and sucking in smoke, exhaling only to have it snatched from her lips.
With the fingers of her left hand she subconsciously stroked thesupple leather of her jacket, delighting in the feel of the leather as well as the way the leather made her feel. She wore it like armor, protecting her soul from all who would try to corrupt it and all those who would like to subjugate it. The jacket was a representation of all that had changed in her life over the last year, starting with her purchase of the Deuce. She had bought it despite Mike’s loud, emotional objections. She had paid $5,000 down, half her life savings. It was savings she began right out of high school with the dreamof someday marrying the perfect man, being able to buy her perfect home, and living happily ever after. So, here she was, 36, still not married and still not in her perfect home. She was living with Mike, had been for 8 years, living in what he was always happy to remind her was his home. And her life was definitely not happily ever after.
She smoked the Lucky till she tasted filter, then lit a second one off>the cherry. Her discontent had been rising slowly and steadily for months; the desk job, the dismal house, her grim relationship. Her only pleasure came astride her bike. She had only bought the bike a month ago. She hadn’t discussed it with him, just showed up at home with it one afternoon. He had gone ballistic. He ranted and raved, continually accusing her of havingboth a death wish and a desire to send him to an early grave. All hisposturing boiled down to jealousy, plain and simple. He was jealous of anything that would take her attention from his needs and wants. Every ride was cause for a sulk, every dollar spent a reason for complaint. And in a perverse 180 from her normally placating nature, she refused to let him ride it. She kept it locked and the keys on her body at all times. She had found him on several occasions rummaging through her purse, claiming to be looking for Chap Stik, and had seen him sitting in the garage staring at the locked bike. It always brought a glimmer of a smile to her lips.
She continued staring into the crevasse, her eyes roaming along theriver bank below. There was the carcass of a mid-?70s sedan rusting half in the water, shrubby willows growing up through the frame. She continued to smoke and mull her few options while the freeing wind soothed her scattered mind. The hissing wind covered the throbbing sound of an approaching V-Twin, reducing it to more of a feel in her chest than an audible pulse. She turned her head to see if it was anyone she knew.
The blue Shovelhead with silver flames, stretched forks and apehangers belonged to the one person she didn’t mind intruding on her bleak thoughts. She watched the gangly, goateed biker limp his way toward her.
“Hey Shred,” she greeted the best Harley wrench in the county. “Whatthe hell you doing here?”
“Looking for you. Mike came by the shop, sure you were there,bitching about you walking out on him. That true, Katie Girl?”
She smiled and turned her head to look back into the ravine. Shenodded and mumbled, “Yeah, true enough.”
“What?” He climbed up beside her on the wall and pulled out a pack ofWinstons.
“I said, ?true enough.? I guess you could say I walked out.”
She thought over her silent departure. She hadn’t said a word as hefollowed her from room to room, alternately begging her to stay and complaining about her lack of dedication to the relationship. Eight years wasn’t dedication? She was tired of trying, tired of placating, tired of him. She had grabbed her jacket, started the Deuce and listened to the throb of the engine as it drowned out the boring monotone pouring from lips she no longer had any desire to kiss. She hadn’t even looked his way as she buckled her helmet, zipped her jacket and rolled out of the garage. She could see his reflection in her mirror, his mouth still working, his face getting red. She rode for three hours beforeending up at the Wayside staring into the inviting depths of the deep gorge.
“Got plans?”
She did. But none she could share. She shrugged noncommittally and>fumbled another smoke from her dwindling supply. Shred offered her a light.
“You can stay at my place. The couch is comfy. Or…” He let thethought hang.
She knew the “or,” Shred had never hidden his affection for her. He hadnever felt compelled to defer to Mike and had offered his bed on more than oneoccasion.
She smiled. “We’ll see.”
She had no need of a place to stay, not tonight. Not from this dayforth. She looked down at the rocks below.
“Hungry? I could do peanut butter and honey sam’iches…maybe put ona pot of coffee.” He knew her fondness for the sweet sandwich and viciously strong, black coffee.
“Thanks, but I ate not long ago.” It was more like last night, but she had no desire for food, not even her favorites. “How’d you find me here?”
“Remembered you saying you came here when you needed the wind to blowthe chaos from your brain.”
She smiled, surprised he had remembered such a trivial comment mademonths ago. But then the guy could remember parts numbers, paint codes, even the VIN of his bike and hers. So why be surprised that he’d remember something said over coffee at 2 a.m.
They finished their smokes in silence, stubbing them out, fieldstripping the butts and slipping them into their pockets. In unison they swung their legs back over the wall and sat looking at the two bikes parked at the curb. They turned and grinned at each other, hopped off the wall and strolled wordlessly to the bikes. Both knew what was coming. A private ritual. A shared delight.
They thumbed the starters. The Deuce caught on the first try, theolder Shovelhead took an extra shot before she grumbled to life. With another grin, Katie took the lead. In a matter of minutes they were on the old Crooked River Highway throttling up through the gears and playing leap frog through the grasslands. Each pass pushed the speedometers a little higher, until they were cruising at an easy 90. Katie reveled in the buffeting of the freeing wind as it tried to push her from her deep, low seat. She looked at the blue blur in her mirror that was Shred as he kept pace. He had raced a Ducati for several years before a near-fatal accident nearly cost him his leg. But he would never lether outdistance him. She smiled and put on a little more throttle.
They came to the outskirts of Madras and throttled down to legallimits. Katie felt peace deep in her soul. She knew that her fate was sealed, her decision made. Today would be the day. She would make her farewells. But to whom? She scowled. Who did she care enough about to even bother with? Mike? Hell no. Her boss? Not even. Shred? Yeah, Shred. He should be told. He wouldn’t try to stop her, just honor her decision despite his own feelings. When? Now was as good a time as any.
She pulled into a convenient viewpoint and killed the engine. Shred followed. Shred pulled along side and silenced his V-Twin.
“What’s up girl?”
“I gotta say goodbye.”
“Huh? You heading home?” He looked puzzled.
“You could say that. But not to Mike’s.” She looked across thegrasslands to the hazy blue mountains lining the horizon.
“I don’t understand. Where’re you going?”
“I’d tell you if I could.” She brought her gaze back to meet thehazel eyes, seeing concern.
She dropped the jiffystand and swung off the bike. Standing close toher friend, she held his eyes, smiled and leaned down for a long, sweet kiss. His hand settled on her cheek. She broke the contact, smiled again and remounted her bike.
“I gotta go now. You could say I got a date with the devil,” sheteased.
“But wait…” he paused as if seeing the finality in her eyes. “OK,call me if you can. You know where to find me.”
She nodded, slid her wraparounds back over her eyes, started the warmbike and pulled away before either could say anything else. She headed back the way they had come, feeling the bike surge under her, as eager as she was. Winding through the open range, the Crooked River Canyon moved in and out of visual range. Her eyes took in the details of the world around her; the sun glinting off of golden grasses, birds careening through the air, jutting outcroppings of lava rock. She was seeing it as if for the first time,as well as the last. She found herself back at the Wayside, the bikemoving as if under its own intelligence, returning to the scene.
She knew this would be the last time to park here. Her last view ofthe river below. She climbed the rock wall, standing on the flat ledge. Spreading her arms and closing her eyes, she felt the wind whip around her body. She opened her eyes and stared straight down. The car, the willows, the winding river, all the same. She stared long and hard, swallowing against the sudden nervousness rising in her stomach.
She dropped her arms, took a deep breath and whispered to the wind,”Goodbye.”
Turning her back to the wind, she jumped. Landing with a grunt on thedry lawn, she walked slowly back to the loyal bike waiting for her return. She swung back aboard, fired up the loving heart and left the only place in the region that still held any draw for her. Hitting the highway, she turned south. South to where? She had no idea. But she had almost five grand in the bank, a virgin Visa card in her pocket and the freeing wind in her face. She didn’t look back.
