Averie
TheGrizzlySkullswere infamous throughout the area. Outcasts of all the other motorcycle clubs in our corner of the country somehow made their way into the club’s fold. No one outside the community knew the reasons or backstories for any of the members, but I could make a few guesses. They were a tight knit group. I would bet only the worst things got you removed from your home club.
And that was far too intriguing for me to pass up; I had to investigate. I had tried gaining information on them from others in the area, but what they gave me was half-assed which meant the Grizzly Skulls were far more interesting than I had initially thought. There was a mystery to unfold. So, here I was, a small-time author with too many interests, standing outside their isolated bar.
The Grizzly Skull Saloon sat off of a well traveled road, but the world around it held little life. Given their vague and mysterious history, I couldn’t help but think this was on purpose. No house graced the area for miles around, and with the lack of service, no one was going to move in and claim a piece of land any time soon. Not only was the place lacking physical, human life outside of the bar, but the seasons had swiftly changed, leaving the trees bare.
It was a long, log building with a large porch in front and a tattered metal sign that read, ‘The Grizzly Saloon’ hung from the roof. As expected, nearly twenty motorcycles of various sizes and colors sat outside in the small parking lot, making it difficult for me to park my Imperial Blue 2010 Chevy Impala.
With a backpack filled with pens, a notebook, and a zombie rubber duck, I exited the car and marched up to the entrance. I couldn’t help but eye the bikes. One held the recognizable Honda symbol. It was a Cherry Red cruiser, and I was tempted to hop on and snap a few pictures. Maybe one of them would let me take a ride? The one next to it was just as beautiful but completely different in design. This one was an Indian Roadster in Sagebrush Smoke, and I knew if I had the chance, this would be the one I’d request for a ride. The seat looked inviting and had a back, so I wouldn’t be terrified of falling off if I let go.
Clearly, I had done far too much research on motorcycles if I could name the kinds, but I knew my time would be well-spent if it impressed the members and gained me brownie points for extra information. I took one final deep breath and placed my hand on the large wooden door that looked freshly stained. With a nod, I plastered on a smile and pushed.
Silence greeted me. Even though the music was still booming through the space, the silence from the men inside was deafening. All eyes landed on me. I might have been above average in height for a female, but I now realized how my appearance would look in this environment.
The bar looked like a Western saloon if you slapped on a biker motif. Everything was wood or metal, giving it a dated, industrial feel. Round tables sat all around the long front room that ran from one end of the building to the other. At the back was a wide bar straddled by two doors which probably led to the back rooms for storage and who knew what else. Handlebars and bear heads hung on the walls as the signature decor. If I had guessed what the inside would look like, this would be it. It wasn’t flashy, but it certainly had a style.
The men were as varied as their bikes out front. Some looked my age, just under thirty, while others pushed their senior years. The one constant among them was a leather covering, whether it be a vest or full jacket, that had their name, year of entry, and the Grizzly Skulls’ symbol embroidered onto it.
There was no possible way for me to blend in with this crowd. Long, purple-streaked brown hair hung over my mostly bare shoulders, a floral dress hugged my curves and fell just above my knees, a bright yellow backpack, and three-inch platform strappy flats that brought me to the height of five-eleven pulled the look together. If I had cared, maybe I would have dressed more for the occasion. It was a blessing and a curse that I was never concerned with what others thought. At times like this though, I wished I had given a small amount of care before catastrophe struck.
A man who sat at the bar stood as he undressed me with his eyes before commanding the others. “Enough. We have a guest. Let’s make her feel welcome.” As much as I wanted to believe his words, his smile did not portray the welcome he demanded. “Come,” he said as he indicated to the bar stool behind him. His blond hair caught the light, and for a moment, I was mesmerized as it fell into his eyes.
The practical side of me knew it wasn’t too late to turn back, but my instincts—the ones that had the little hairs on the back of my neck standing—said otherwise. My feet moved of their own accord, and the next thing I knew, the man who invited me in was lifting me onto the stool and leaning against the bar.
The smile he gave me and the ones all around proved me right. I was in the bear’s den, and I wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.