Old Friends

The road stretched on ahead straight as an arrow through the scrublands into the distance, where it could be seen curving up out of sight around a distant mesa.  My motorcycle rumbled comfortingly under me as we sailed together under dreamy skies streaked with pale yellow as the rising sun at my back found the horizon.  Up ahead, in the morning light, I saw another rider going solo through the desert.

I caught up with him on the curves going up the hill, but did not pass out of courtesy.  The bike, an old Shovelhead, looked somehow familiar, as did the man in the saddle, an obvious old-timer by the leathers and the ancient Bell full-face helmet with the white hairs blowing about underneath.  As if by signal, we both pulled off at the overlook where the road crested the hill.

Bikers on the road are a common family, so when you pull in to a stopping point and see another bike already parked, that’s where you go, automatically.  I’ve met world travelers that way, and old friends, but nothing that prepared me for the shock when the old man climbed off his bike and pulled off his helmet.  It was Stoney.  A man I had not seen in ten long years, a man who rode with me through thick and thin, stood at my back when I got in a beef at the bar, and always had a good word on him somewhere.  The thing was, and the reason it was such a shock, was that Stoney had died out on Highway 50 one night, alone in the dark in a snowstorm, ten years ago.  We called him Stoney because he always had a joint hanging out of his mouth, and because he could be hard as a rock when he needed to.

I wrapped him in a bear-hug.  “Stoney, you old dog!  Where the hell have you been, and tell me how it is I’m seeing you now, when it seems like yesterday I was at your funeral?”  He held me off at arm’s length and smiled, then turned me around with one hand on my shoulder while he pointed out across the vast open spaces all around us. “I been ridin’,” he said,  “That way goes north into the mountains, and they go on forever, and that way goes to the ocean, where whales cruise near the shore and you can get on a boat and sail the seven seas.  I came back here to pick you up.  You startin’ to catch on now?”

Suddenly, I remembered another funeral, more recent.  I looked down at my own leathers, and realized they were all brand new.  I glanced at my bike, and saw that all the chrome was polished, the paint was perfect, and the tires were new.  “Yeah,” said Stoney.  “I been waiting 10 long years for you to die, too, so I could show you around.  Now let’s get riding.  You’ll notice that your gas tank never runs empty here in heaven, and the beer is always cold at the place we’re headed for lunch, Saddle up!” :-{)}