American Road Runner Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 

Pulling off this highway to refuel, this is where the real race begins and ends.  An 8 minute fuel stop would be prefered, of course it could probably be done in 3 minutes if I didn’t have to use the restroom, refill my coffee, get water or food, etc… I could just piss on the pump and drink rain water from the sky, I suspect some of the first place finishers do this but I really like my coffee, water and snacks and yeah, bathroom breaks. Snuffing out my smoke in my ashtray that’s strapped to my handlebars with hockey stick tape and making 2 right turns I find the petrol station. Oh how so many years ago every young men dreamed of hitting the highway on their righteous over built monster Harleys, seeing America like they had never seen it before and, visiting every petrol station along the way.  The peanut tanks of the classic chops were just not big enough to hold much fuel, bouncing from station to station is just what they did hence, my spare fuel cell sitting under my headlight with an extra 3 gallons of ozone depleting, throttle twisting power.

Finding a roll in and roll out pump where I can see the skoot from inside the store can be a challenge but I manage it at this station. This won’t always be my plan of attack but for now, leaving the skoot at the pump for a few minutes while I run inside is my preference. No persons too shady seem to be around unless you count me, and one of my competitors with his dirty righteous skoot. His tool pouch is out and something is taken apart, he is sitting butt down on the ground, concentrated and hard at it. Don’t know him too personally but, I had met him at the starting line, as well as his red beard and got to eye up his awesome machine. He has done some good work on it, an early 1980s Suzuki J engine or inline 4 in a stellar classic tall raked out tall frame, with alot of chrome and lack of paint. Damn I must work harder on remembering people by name. I can shake their hand, say their name back to them and still I have issue remembering. My Pops with all his professional business sense and accomplishment would be disappointed in me right now. This man’s name was Caleb I recalled later but at this time, I could not remember that to save my life. Maybe I just have a few other things on my mind.

With a wave and good morning again as I walk by he starts talking to me.  

“Yeah I think I got the hosa thingy stuck in the” I interrupt him,

“Are you going to be able to fix it and keep moving?  Do you need anything?”

“oh yeah” he replies with a big smile on his face, “ I got it.”

“Cool” I reply.  “Well it’s a beautiful day, get back on the road asap and have a good time Amigo!”

Time to enter the store, walking with purpose as I usually do. Hope he did not think me too rude, this is a race and neither of us have time to sit and chat about skoots, if he has got it all figured out, I will catch up with him at the end of the race over coffee or beer and hear his story then.  No time for stop and chats now, I’m way too hyper of a human to be polite sometimes and now, is definitely one of those times.

Go Bob Go, hitting the bathroom stowing the coffee tumbler in the back pocket of my oversized overalls, I pony up to the Urinal, unzip, pee and stretch out my upper body.  I feel good right now and do not really need the stretch as it has only been a few hours of riding but, it’s a good habit I’ve gotten into over the years, stretch a little while ya pee.  I can feel the cool on my legs as they are almost numb by now from the cool morning ride with only my overalls but, it will warm up soon out here in this desert. Most people are going to church or big buffet breakfasts, maybe sleeping off some alcoholic coma from last night right about now across these United States of America and here I am, in my own sanctuary, on the road, on my skoot going down this beautiful highway built for us taxpayers.  Fresh air in my face and the road moving just a few inches beneath my feet on my machine.

With two shakes and a flush I am hitting the sink. No soap, whatever, no time for common things like perfect hygiene. Exiting the bathroom and filling my tumbler with half of the dark roast and half house coffee blend. I like the extra caffeine of the dark but don’t need it giving me heartburn out here as it sometimes can. A shot or 2 of creamer and I grab a stick of jerky for later, teriyaki, not spicy pepper, again the less heartburn the better. I am almost 40 years old, the spices have become a little hard on my stomach if I do not manage them correctly. No line at the counter, score! Nothing slows my racing mojo down then a line of slow, card swiping people. Hitting the attendant with a few bills from my wallet then walking outside past my competitor, yeah, I’m going to have to remember to hear Caleb’s story at the finish line, for sure he will have some good ones with all the excitement of a younger man in this cross country chopper race.

I slide my card in the petrol pump machine and stretch my hips. I  hope to do this instinctually in the next few days and keep my legs working. Unlock my fuel tanks and start refilling with that golden petrol fuel, smiling and happy to be out of California and away from the foreskin nozzles that have to be held back manually.  This is a bit of a dance for me and the weak point on my set up on this machine but, over the years I have learned to embrace this dance as good exercise. Filling my main tank with premium, just under 3 gallons. I then let the pump handle sit on the seat while walking around to the other side of the bike, undo the net on the front holding my small duffle bag where my top or filler of my other fuel cell is. Unscrew the cap, hold the bars straight so they don’t flop over as the bike is leaned to the left on its kickstand. I grab the pump nozzle, put it in and pull the handle to fill. Paying close attention to how it’s filling without losing concentration of what’s around me is always tricky business. I suspect this is when I’d get whacked in the back of the head and robbed, all my senses are alert right now but I’ve learned that kind of stuff really doesn’t happen. Just over 2 gallons in this tank, it holds almost 3 so it still has a little fuel left in it. That’s a good thing, my estimating skills seem to be ok as I figured it was a little premature in stopping and my figuring, was correct. Without my gps working correctly, this is going to be a long trip, that’s what I get for thinking technology would take care of me or be able to operate on a skoot such as mine, the whole rigid frame bumping and bouncing everywhere thing. This gps is a few years old and not a common model but big enough that I can see it well. However it keeps going to fuzzy white screen and has shut itself off twice and it has gotten way lost. I will need to work more on good old instinct to find my gas stations and know my mileage, this gps is done and done for this trip. Oh well, guess it can be a good thing as it’s one more thought to be calculated in my head keeping my mind sharp and focused in this race.

Now I get to perform the reverse of all I just did and grab the pump receipt, stowing it in a plastic baggy I have tucked in the inside pocket of my riding vest. All receipts for this race are kept and very needed as proof ya stayed on the designated route. This keeps people from riding 100 miles then throwing their skoot in the back of a box trailer while their team of people take turns driving cross country as fast as possible only to unload 100 miles from the finish line.  I am not sure if anyone has ever tried this and don’t think it would work as it takes time to fuel a vehicle while the whole loading and unloading also takes time. To keep questions and conspiracy theories from arising, we simply keep the receipts as they are timed, dated, and location stamped.

About now, competitor Caleb is jumping on and firing up his skoot.  He rides over to me,

“We’ll see ya down the road”.  I nod and give him a thumbs up, he waves and smiles jamming gears as he pulls away.

Time for me to go as well, buttoning up my riding vest making sure my earbud wires are straight where they should be. I have gotten in the habit of undoing my vest anytime I am not directly riding on the skoot or just taking it off stowing it under a bungee net on the back or wherever.  Afterall it is a riding vest, not a walking around in vest. With all the extra stuff I carry in it, it can be odd to wear it all while not riding as its heavy, leather and full of everything I need to survive for a month in the wilderness or a zombie apocalypse. I have stuffed some stuff in this poor vest throughout the years and gotten so used to it, it would be hard to ride without it. And it’s all set on right or left side, inside or outside pockets depending on the item. In the clutch hand or left outer pocket, there is usually an assortment of small candies that can be found including but not excluded too, life saving mints in peppermint and spearmint, both regular and sugar free, hard and soft caramel, and just about anything else that is hard and will not melt too easily but above all, my coffee candies. Oh how I love my coffee candies on a good long ride, just a nice steady stream of caffeine to aid my body and mind. Yup, I’m a junkie, I love love LOVE the stimulating effects of caffeine via almost any form of consumption. In my left front watch pocket rides my mp3 player. The earbud cord runs under the vest then up the inside tucking into my neckerchief or big bandana worn around my neck and up to my ears. On my right I hold my smokes and a lighter sometimes on the outside pocket along with an extra mp3 player, that has a little different music so I can change them up as the mood strikes me but they are virtually the same model.  In the front right, a great bundle of AAA batteries taped together for easy access and quick replacement while flying down the road for these mps players. The inside pockets are of course not accessible at 80 miles an hour so, I keep my small sandwich bags of receipts, my small tube of sunscreen, a sharpie for my friends to sign autographs for all the adoring fans while attending chopper shows, a pile of my stickers and my rosary. It all equals a kind of the glove box or center console of my riding world. We have all gotten very use to having all our stuff close at hand, I simply wear it all in my vest.

Assessing my face shield situation, I pull some duct tape from my role that’s hanging off the back side of the skoot. I can see the damage and it is very obvious that the scratches are deep and going to cause me a huge visual issue on this ride, well, it is what it is and all part of the adventure. Maybe the distraction will keep me awake, I gotta look at the positive here dammit. I could find somewhere to stop and get another one but, I don’t have time for that and even if I did, I don’t want to take the time for that. Fuck it,  duct tape will have to do, Stampede Approved. I rebutton and attach it to 3 button setup on the top front of my helmet, taping it on on top of the buttons as I see fit. Red duct tape is what I happened to bring and now it is everywhere on the front top of my helmet. I also noticed it was rubbing my chin when in the down position so I add a piece of tape there as well. That would be a bloody mess if that rubed through my chin and with my red beard and goatee, yeah that could hurt. This whole face shield thing is just not my normal M.O. but it’s going to keep me going without wearing down my face so a necessary evil it is. I strap my helmet on and slip on my gloves.  Kicking up the kickstand while grabbing a handful of clutch, hit the start button and motor away.

 

Dave Mathews Band, “Two Steps.” Crash, RCA Records, 1996.

 

I wonder how my new Girlfriend Ella is doing?   She had seen me off at the starting line. I left her in the care of my Pops.  A Lot of my Motley Crew of a family and group of friends came out to see us all off this morning, always a good compliment.  Even my Buddy Jake Krotje, The Flying Dutchman drove in from Las Vegas late last night, slept in his car at the gas station next to the hotel to see the start of this mayhem. If you don’t know who Jake is, look him up sometime, the man is a crazy metalworking artistic badass who always manages to inspire with all he creates and builds. I heard something about them all going to breakfast after I took off, I hope Ella enjoyed that. Naturally I would like to stop and text her or call but I really do not have that option while moving and bouncing out here on the road. I start looking at my phone mounted on the handlebars and open it, nothing. I will trust as always that no news, is good news. I got a message from my friend well my Mistress, wishing me luck and good fortune on this race. Wow how I miss that woman. I have not seen her for several days which is not unlike us but, I have been so busy lately with my skoot and the new girlfriend that I just have not had a minute to call her and hear her voice. Yeah she has that voice, it is so young, so smooth and her infectious tones just hit my ears like the timbre of strings on a well tuned mandolin, working deep into the naughty parts of my mind and body. Our physical and sexual relationship has always been at our convenience and totally absent lately but, going several days without hearing her voice is wearing on me.

Her message to me reads “Hi Daddy!  I see by now you are off and running in your race. Good luck and have an amazing times, I can’t wait to hear all the stories you bring back. As you like to say, Go fast, go straight. Oh and your new girlfriend is still a CUNT!  Come back to me in one piece Daddy, I will be here waiting for you!” Yeah that woman really knows how to get to me alright, I also know that she knows this and does it on purpose, making my cock rock hard with just a few simple words. How I wish her place in life and mine were on the similar paths but we all know these kinds of statements can be self leading to trouble, just self inflicted, downward spiraling, kick yourself in the chest trouble so terms like “I wish” are not usually in my vocabulary. I have learned the hard way to not fight someone and, I just refuse to fight her for her.  It would be nice if she thought higher of Ella but, I will simply have to view her opinion as healthy jealousy and take it as a compliment. They had met a few times in social settings, I know she was hoping they would get along wonderfully and a few hot sexual threesomes would ensue but when they did meet, it was not the fireworks show she was hoping for. I will not dismiss it as my Mistress is a very smart and educated woman with a lot under her surface. I have learned to trust her and her intuition on things. She seems to see things before they happen and has reaction skills above and beyond that of an average human. Damn I like this Mistress of mine. Our relationship is built on friendship and admiration for our sexual play. She serves me in an extremely submissive fashion as I serve her in a very opposite dominating style. It’s just one of those thing you are either born with it or you are not. Some people are all into it, while some run from it. In my life I have been fortunate enough to dabble in this lifestyle and enjoy it but these days, I live it, even with Ella in a similar yet, unique fashion as relationships are very unique with this lifestyle and non two are alike. It had occurred to me just recently how most men seem to just think, or ponder, or simply dream of anything. Any hobby they may be interested in, and lifestyle etc.  Maybe they have a monthly magazine subscription or a favorite program on the television but for the most part, it seems they just dream of it. My character seems to always jump into things so here I am, racing and running hard with wonderful serving women on my mind.
Allman Brothers, “One Way Out.”  Eat a Peach, Capricorn Records, 1972. just what I needed right now.

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