“No.”
“You're not riding seventy miles with that antique.”
Arthur looked at the helmet.
“How much?”
“Nothing.”
Arthur sighed.
“You're impossible.”
“So I've been told.”
Arthur put it on.
Mason started the engine.
This time the Shovelhead fired immediately.
The sound filled the garage.
Arthur closed his eyes.
He could almost hear Daniel.
Come on, Dad.
Let's go.
Arthur opened his eyes.
“I think she's ready.”
Mason nodded.
“She's ready.”
Arthur looked toward the clock.
1:29.
They had thirty-one minutes.
Mason grabbed his jacket.
“Then what are you waiting for?”
The Road North
Arthur rolled the motorcycle onto Route 9.
Mason followed behind in his truck.
The Shovelhead moved slowly.
But it moved.
Arthur's back hurt.
His hands shook.
The engine vibrated beneath him.
Yet every mile felt like a victory.
At the first intersection, Arthur looked in the mirror.
Mason was still behind him.
Then another motorcycle appeared.
Then another.
Emily.
Two former friends of Daniel.
Then five.
Then nine.
By the time they reached the highway, a line of motorcycles stretched behind Arthur.
He couldn't believe it.
They hadn't forgotten Daniel.
They had simply forgotten how to return to the grief.
Arthur smiled.
He opened the throttle slightly.
The Shovelhead answered.
For the first time in years, Arthur wasn't riding alone.
The Cemetery
At exactly 1:58, Arthur reached St. Matthew's Cemetery.
The motorcycles rolled in behind him.
People gathered.
Some cried.
Some smiled.
Emily approached Arthur slowly.
For several seconds neither spoke.
Then she hugged him.
Arthur held her tightly.
“You came.”
“I should have come sooner.”
Arthur shook his head.
“You're here now.”
Emily touched the motorcycle.
“Is this Danny's?”
Arthur nodded.
“He kept her alive.”
Emily smiled through tears.
“So did you.”
The group gathered around Daniel's grave.
Arthur removed his helmet.
The wind moved through the trees.
He looked down at the headstone.
“Hey, Danny.”
His voice trembled.
“Sorry I'm late.”
A few people laughed softly.
Arthur continued.
“I brought her.”
He rested one hand against the motorcycle.
“She still complains.”
Someone laughed.
Arthur smiled.
“But she runs.”
He looked at the grave.
“Like you always said.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“Motorcycles don't know how to go slow.”
Pine Ridge
At two o'clock, the memorial ride began.
Arthur led.
Not because he was the fastest.
Not because he was the strongest.
Because Daniel's father had kept his promise.
The motorcycles climbed toward Pine Ridge Overlook.
The Shovelhead struggled on the hills.
Mason stayed behind Arthur.
Every time the engine sputtered, another rider slowed.
Nobody left him behind.