One You Can’t Forget

Surprised, he saw Wanda, the barista from the coffee shop standing next to Saks’ bike.

“Hey, Luke,” she said, smiling at him.

“Hey, Wanda. Riding with Saks?”

“Saks? Oh, you mean Tony.”

“Yeah. Tony. We call him Saks.”

“Why?”

“You should ask him.”

“I’ll do that. Is it all right that I come along?”

Luke chuckled. “Sure. We don’t have the new girls partake in the ritual orgies until after a few rides. By then we’re sure if we like you or not.”

She shook her head at his joke, but grinned back at him.

Luke chatted with several members while they waited for Jake Kinney, Aces, the company president. The club had elected him as president unanimously two weeks ago.

Jake had told Luke he was annoyed with himself for the vote, sticking his hand up when he felt differently about the situation. However, he didn’t want to be the odd man out, and everyone was in agreement anyway. It felt disloyal to him that the club members were willing to give up Okie so easily.

As they waited for Aces to arrive, a couple club members came by Luke’s bike, one of them complimenting the nearly total black styling on the bike, except for the gun-gray gas tank.

Aces pulled in on his ride, and drove straight over to Luke. Luke eyed the new patch on Aces’ leathers, the one that said “President”.

“You like those Sportsters, don’t you?” Aces asked.

Technically, the Iron 883 did have a Sportster body. “There are differences. Nuances in handling.”

Aces slapped him on the back. “And you’d know about them. I’ve never met anyone who knew so much about bikes. Glad we have you here.”

He shrugged as he looked up and checked the changeable New England sky. “Looks like we have fair weather. We should get going.”

As Road Captain, Luke rode at the front of the pack with Aces. The eighteen other bikers pulled out in back of them. They roared down the road toward Route 66 that led into Middletown. They passed the diner that had been there forever, and past the faded red barn that had been turned into a bar, which was now a popular biker’s hangout. It would be many club members’ last stop for the night on the return trip.

The bikes rumbled down the four-lane road into the center of town and took a right down Main Street. Plenty of cars lined the parking spaces on either side, even for a Saturday afternoon, since Main Street had the highest proportion of restaurants to other businesses that Luke had ever seen. About ninety percent of the storefronts along Main Street were eating places.

Main Street led into Route 154, a portion of which was called Old Saybrook Road. As they left the town, the trees rose up on either side of them.

A half hour on the road brought them to the Mexican restaurant. Someone called Saks over to check the chain on his bike, so Wanda was left standing there looking lost. Luke was about to go over to her when Aces strode over and started chatting with her. Wanda looked confused, then guarded, as Aces talked to her and she shook her head. When she turned away to walk towards Saks, Aces pinched her ass.

Luke’s mouth drew into a hard line when he saw that. Touching another member’s lady, either a date or an old lady, was not done. Other clubs might have different rules but that one stood fast in Hades’ Spawn so as to avoid problems with the membership. Aces knew that.

Lunch went smooth enough, though he noted Aces drank more than he should and his voice got loud at their shared table. He was grabby with the waitress, which wasn’t cool. Luke felt obligated to give the woman a higher tip than usual just for putting up with Aces when he went to settle up the bill. He’d make sure he’d charge Aces for the extra amount also. Luke easily kept tabs on who ordered what, and would collect the members’ shares later. He had a head for this sort of thing, one of the reasons he was Road Captain. He never thought all through high school that his natural ability for math would come in handy. He always could remember numerical information about motorbike specs with ease. In the Navy, he discovered that transferred into other mechanical areas as well. He became known as the walking dictionary of engine specifications. Even the officers deferred to his skill when it came to fixing the engines of the big boats.

They climbed back on their bikes and continued through the back roads of Connecticut to the swing bridge over the Connecticut River. Riding over it was always interesting as the bed of the bridge was completely metal to accommodate its function. It could be slippery when wet, which urged caution when traveling over it. But today was a bright, sunny day, and Luke enjoyed riding over the bridge with the water of the river sparkling in the sun. The sound of the club’s engines filled the little town as they headed up a steep and twisty climb that took them further into the backcountry of Connecticut. This town was once a significant Connecticut farming colony in the seventeen hundreds when a splinter group of Puritans broke off from the colony in Wethersfield and migrated here. Like all Connecticut towns of that period, it rapidly took on manufacturing in the eighteen hundreds, but it never lost its small town cache. Others of the original settlements, New Haven, Hartford and Bridgeport, grew into major cities. However, time slipped past East Haddam, leaving it with its history and forgotten farm fields overgrown now with trees. Anyone who didn’t know better would wonder why the road was lined with low fences of fieldstone.