At the final turn, Arthur opened the throttle.
The engine roared.
The old machine climbed.
Arthur laughed.
He laughed harder than he had in years.
At the overlook, everyone parked their motorcycles.
The sunset had begun to spread across the valley.
Arthur removed his helmet.
He looked at the group.
“There used to be thirty of us.”
Emily smiled.
“There can be again.”
Arthur shook his head.
“No.”
Everyone became quiet.
Arthur looked at Daniel's motorcycle.
“There are more now.”
One More Time
A month later, Arthur returned to Apex Custom Choppers.
He walked through the service bay carrying a cardboard box.
Mason looked up.
“What'd you break?”
Arthur smiled.
“Nothing.”
He placed the box on the workbench.
Inside were old motorcycle parts.
Daniel's original air cleaner.
A set of worn spark plugs.
Several hand-made brackets.
Mason lifted one carefully.
“What's this?”
“Daniel made it.”
Mason examined the weld.
“Good work.”
Arthur nodded.
“I thought you might want it.”
Mason looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because you helped keep his bike alive.”
Mason smiled.
Arthur glanced around the shop.
“You got room for another?”
“For what?”
“A memorial ride.”
Mason raised an eyebrow.
“Next August.”
Arthur smiled.
“I want to organize it.”
Mason nodded.
“How many riders?”
Arthur thought for a moment.
“However many show up.”
Mason laughed.
“And if nobody does?”
Arthur looked toward the open garage door.
“Then I'll ride alone.”
Mason shook his head.
“You won't.”
Arthur smiled.
Outside, the old Shovelhead waited in the sunlight.
The rust was still there.
The chrome was still faded.
The leather was still cracked.
It would never be beautiful in the way expensive motorcycles were beautiful.
But it was beautiful in another way.
It carried twenty years of Daniel's hands.
It carried seventy-five years of Arthur's life.
And it carried a promise that had survived death.
Arthur put on his helmet.
Mason stepped outside.
“Where are you going?”
Arthur started the engine.
The Shovelhead roared.
“North.”
Mason smiled.
“How far?”
Arthur looked toward the road.
“Doesn't matter.”
He eased onto Route 9.
Behind him, Mason started his own motorcycle.
Then another engine came alive.
Then another.
One by one, the riders followed.
Arthur looked into the mirror.
For a moment, he could almost see Daniel riding behind him.
Young.
Healthy.
Laughing.
Arthur smiled.
Then he turned toward the open road.
The old Shovelhead carried him forward.
One more mile.
One more memory.
One more promise kept.
And this time, Arthur Bennett didn't have to ride alone.