Six-Pack

Six-Pack

The church was jammed, on a Saturday afternoon, the day we laid Six-Pack to rest in the military cemetery south of Tacoma, and an overflow crowd milled about outside the chapel, drinking beer and smoking while they bullshat and waited for the ceremony to conclude.

Inside, we heard all the stories about a hard-living, hard-fisted, hard-drinking man, heard his wife allow as how he was a good father, fair husband, and all-around nice guy.  Nobody told the story about how he died, how he was at the tavern with his wife, who had shown up after work in her truck, until closing time, then decided he was going to race her home, but he was a little fucked up and high-sided into a curb just rightly to crack his skull open and put him down for good.  We all knew that, but weren’t in a hurry to think about it much.

After the preaching was done we all gathered around the gravesite for what was to come.  There was a backhoe parked at one end of what had to be a ten or twelve-foot-deep trench in the ground, easily twice as deep as you’d think they’d need, but it all made sense as it happened.  First, the preacher splashed the holy water and said all the right and usual things over the casket while it sat on the straps between the winches on both sides of the pit.  Then he gave the word, and they lowered him down into the ground.   After the straps were pulled back out, the backhoe fired up, and carefully scooped up some dirt from the side and laid an even coat of soil over the casket.

Then they unfolded a big old tarp and carefully lowered it into the hole.  Then they put a lifting strap on the backhoe bucket and proceeded to pick up his Old Lady 80, a perfectly restored in original condition 1937 Harley Davidson ULH flathead motorcycle, and lowered her gently into the hole on top of the man who built her back up, and who she was going to join up with in the hereafter.  Then they unfolded another big old tarp and carefully dropped it down on top of her, after which the backhoe casually filled the hole to the top with all the leftover dirt.  And that was his last will and testament.

Those of us who were there went away with a sense of wonder, and a feeling of some loss.  There’s only so many old motorcycles left on this planet, so it’s a shame when one more disappears.  I’ve heard idle speculation, months later, that the whole thing was a show, and that the family went back the next day and dug the Old Lady back up, but to my knowledge nobody ever went back to try and find out.  She’s probably still down there, hoping against hope that someday, somehow, she will ride free again in the wind.  :-{)}