“What?”
“That I'd take her to his memorial ride every year.”
Arthur's voice cracked.
“I promised.”
“And you've done it every year?”
“Every year.”
“Even after the others stopped coming?”
Arthur nodded.
“Even then.”
Mason looked at the clock.
11:14.
“Then we're getting you there.”
The Clock
At 11:40, the replacement fuel line was installed.
The battery was weak but usable.
The spark plugs were cleaned.
The throttle cable was repaired.
The oil leak was worse than expected.
Mason stared at the rocker box.
“We need a gasket.”
Arthur immediately reached for his wallet.
“How much?”
“Put it away.”
“I've got money.”
“Arthur.”
“I said I can pay.”
Mason looked at him.
“You have one hundred eighty-seven dollars.”
Arthur nodded.
“I counted it twice.”
“That money is for getting home.”
Arthur shook his head.
“No. It's for this.”
Mason sighed.
“Daniel would want you to make it home.”
Arthur looked sharply at him.
“You didn't know Daniel.”
“No.”
Mason tightened the bolt.
“But I know sons.”
Arthur stared at him.
Mason finally said:
“My father died when I was thirty.”
Arthur's expression softened.
“I'm sorry.”
“He never rode motorcycles.”
“What did he do?”
“Built furniture.”
Arthur smiled.
“Woodworker?”
“Cabinets. Tables. Anything with a hinge.”
Arthur looked toward the motorcycle.
“Did he leave you anything?”
Mason paused.
“A hammer.”
Arthur laughed softly.
“That's it?”
“Best hammer I've ever owned.”
For the first time that morning, the two men laughed together.
Then Mason looked at the clock.
11:53.
“We've got two hours.”
Arthur stood.
“Can she make it?”
Mason didn't answer immediately.
Finally:
“She can make it.”
Arthur smiled.
“But can you?”
Arthur looked at him.
“I'm seventy-five.”
“I know.”
“I've been doing difficult things since before you were born.”
Mason smiled.
“Then let's do another one.”
The First Start
At 12:18, Mason stepped away from the motorcycle.
“Everybody clear.”
Arthur stood several feet back.
Mason pressed the starter.
The engine coughed.
Nothing.
He tried again.
Cough.
Silence.
Arthur closed his eyes.
Mason checked the connections.
“Again.”
The starter turned.
The engine coughed three times.
Then—
BOOM.
The Shovelhead came alive.
Its exhaust shook the windows.
The old engine rattled, complained, and roared as though offended that anyone had ever considered replacing it.
Arthur's eyes widened.
He took one step toward it.
“Danny.”
Nobody heard him.
He said it again.
“Danny.”
Mason released the starter.
The engine died.
Arthur's smile disappeared.
Mason shook his head.
“Don't worry.”
Arthur looked at him.
“She's got a fuel problem.”
“Can you fix it?”
Mason grinned.
“That's what I do.”
The mechanics went back to work.