Walking the Edge IIII

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  Posted by Edgewalker54 April 21, 2012 - Filed in Personal Rides - 829 views
  

  The Arizona desert can be a deadly place to a rider with no transportation. The indifferent sun engulfed the stranded leather-clad rider with suffocating heat and the constant wind gusts drove hot sand into every crevice of both machine and rider. Shimmering heat waves and mirages thwarted any attempt to see any real distance down the flat and desolate road. The only help that could come would be on this deserted black ribbon. 

The rider pushed his chopper forward while squinting against the swirling sand that fought for a way to penetrate his swept back sunglasses. He knew that he needed shade and shelter from the merciless sun and the oppressive heat. He calculated his dogged progress forward and knew that he could not make his destination by pushing the Harley.

  

Dry Gulch Arizona was the rider’s destination and it was at least 60 miles ahead and he had not covered even a quarter mile before black spots were swimming in front his vision. He stopped, leaned the panhead onto it’s kick-stand and tried to catch his breath with long shuddering gasps of oven-hot desert air. He thought of the hot, stale quart of water in his saddlebag but decided to wait. 

He looked around at the small slice of Hell he was in and tried to find a place where he could wait out the intolerable heat and attempt to repair his bike. When nothing presented itself as a haven, the rider looked ahead as far as he could. As he stared ahead, a slight depression in the black shimmering ribbon seemed to be his next goal. He stripped off his chaps and leather coat with denim riding vest and bungeed them to the sissy bar.



  He felt much lighter, even if the heat seemed closer somehow. He started huffing the bike down the road and when it actually picked up speed on the downhill slope, Jake hopped on and laughed aloud at the breeze that cooled his ribcage. When the rigid chop came to a rest at the bottom of the gulch, Jake knew what he was going to do. He pushed the bike over to the side of the road and was pleased to see that it had been scoured free of soft sand in the last flash flood.

 He kicked a flat rock into position for the stand and leaned the scoot onto it. He broke out the tarp that he used for making a ‘Bike Tent’ and fastened it down using bungees and spikes driven into the ground. He rolled out his bag and took out his water and settled down in the relative comfort of the shade created by the tarp. He wasn’t sure what the problem was with his bike, but he knew that there would be folks driving home from work in just a few hours. Hopefully one of them would help get his bike into town and failing that, he would make the call that would get him and his bike to town on the end of a tow truck hook.



  Jake was awakened by the sound of an approaching motor and it was approaching FAST! He had just enough time to sit up when a shadow passed over his makeshift camp. He had dozed off in the desert heat and the incessant buzzing of his dream had morphed into a hard-ridden 2 stroke dirt bike that seemingly had flown over his bike and vanished into the distance, all in an instant! He crawled out of the tent and looked in the direction the dirt bike had gone.

Jake realized that the rider was on the way back to him and sure enough, the rider came around the corner of the wash and pulled up 20 feet from him, on the other side of the road. The bike shut off and a young voice behind the helmet asked hesitantly “You OK?”



  Jake shook his head and said loudly “No! I’m broke down. Can you help?”

The rider looked at Jake for a long moment and Jake noticed that the rider had a pistol strapped to his right leg. Jake thought that, from the voice it was probably a teenager out on his dirt bike. Just as he was about to ask if he would help, the rider asked “What’s the problem with your bike?”


  “Just quit running.” he called out.
“Spark or fuel?” 
“Think it’s fuel.” Jake shot back.


  “If ya got spark, it’s probably your fuel. Does your down-tube to the carb run between your valve covers?”


  “Yeah, why?”

  
“Well there ya go. Got anyway to reroute the fuel line? Just run it away from the engine heat and you’ll be OK.” He finished off this exchange with the voice of experience in his tone.
 Jake shook his head and muttered “Vapor-lock. Why didn’t I think of that?” He raised his voice, “Yeah, I got some fuel hose and a coupla clamps that I can use. I gotta short piece of tubing I can use as a coupling. ” Jake started to turn away as he said this and he heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. The rider kicked the bike to life and disappeared around the bend of the dry creek bed with a rooster tail of sand and rock.

  “Thanks” Jake said quietly. He looked back up the road and in the distance he could just make out a vehicle. As it approached, he was able to see that it was an old Ford pickup. As it drew near, Jake put up his hands and spread them wide into the universal “Help” gesture.

The pickup accelerated and aimed right for him! As he jumped off the road, the pickup blew past doing an easy eighty. The driver and passenger each threw an empty beer bottle at him and were yelling ‘Yee-Haww” at the top of their lungs and flipping Jake a set of twin Birds! Jake’s eyes narrowed to mere slits as he processed what just happened. He wouldn’t soon forget that truck, or it’s occupants. He started packing his gear back onto his bike and he moved quickly and with purpose.

  He rerouted the fuel line and got ready to leave. 

He put on his old riding chaps, donned his jacket and cutoff and checked his 45 Colt. He pulled the 1911 out of its holster and looked at the tool laying in his hand. He thought of the last time he had to use it, the time before that and then the memories threatened to wash him out to sea. The sea of his mind where all dark things lay in wait. For a weak moment, when protective barriers are low and the relentless waves of memory come rising. Just like the tide, inexorable, unstoppable and all consuming.



  When Jake put the Colt away, there was an air of resolution, his face was hard and his eyes were sharp. Bringing his thoughts back to his present predicament, he thumbed the gas tank petcock to the on position. He rotated the kicker out, kicked it thru twice, turned on the ignition and kicked it through. The 40 year old engine caught and Jake twisted the throttle, loving the straight pipes that were music to his ears. He let the bike idle down and as he listened to the pipes and the engine, he heard nothing obviously wrong.

 So he shook his head, climbed aboard and kicked the tranny into first, gave a glance rearward and headed for the next leg of this trip, Dry Gulch. And if there just happened to be an old blue Ford pickup along the way, so much the better. He was heading south so the sunset was on his right and it was a typical desert sundown, beautiful. Sparse, dry, craggy... Yep, but man was it stunning, in all its glory and looking like a National Geographic centerfold. Jake smiled and blasted down the road into the gathering darkness.



  When Jake rolled into town, he was bone-tired and road weary from this past week’s riding. It felt like he had a pound of sand in each pocket and in his hair. His brown hair was in a ponytail that reached almost to his waist and his full beard and mustache were braided, that kept most bugs out of them. He was tall, 6’3” and lean as a rail. He topped the scales at around 180 lbs and his body was wiry and muscled from his four years in the Marines and the last six months of aimless wandering on his iron horse had toughened and honed him. 

He never sought out a fight like he used to. Twice in two years he had been beaten almost to death. Running his mouth in strange bars was the starting point for both beatings. It was one of the reasons for his medical discharge and Jake never figured out what happened after he was beaten unconscious.

  He still wondered why he was alive. He even went so far as to find one of the guys that almost killed him and when he went one-on-one with the guy and beat him... and he didn’t stop until it was almost too late.

 So when he left the beaten man in the parking lot and rode away, he didn’t know that the man had permanent brain damage. He found out a few months later, when the guy’s wife had tracked him down and held him at gun point in a bar parking lot in Nevada. She told her story and when she was done Jake asked her “Well, you gonna kill me with that pistol? For doing to yer ol’ man what he and his friends did to me? Huh, well ya better pull the trigger cause I’m leaving now.”



  He climbed on his bike and left, all the while waiting for the sound of his death. “Just more shadows on my soul. Like I need anymore.” Jake thought to himself. He had actually walked away from several bar fights since then. He had saved a hooker from being beaten and robbed, just by riding up to the confrontation on his bike and intimidating the four chickenshit dudes that were slapping her around. Using only his words, they backed down and left. He still wondered why he even cared. He picked her up and gave her a ride to her house. She offered a “Trade” but he just grinned, shook his head and left.



  Jake rolled slowly into Dry Gulch on the coattails of sundown. The desert air had cooled considerably and would continue to do so as the night wore on. Jake hadn’t seen any hotels that were a part of the past in most of these old towns. The main street was flanked on both sides by old wooden and cinder block buildings that bore ancient paint and faded advertising of events long past. Most had equally ancient ‘For Sale’ signs on the front of the boarded up facades.

  

A few blocks further on, the night was pushed back with neon colors. The sight of trucks, cars and a motorcycle parked out front gave Jake a weary grin. “Cold beer, a shot of Jack and a chance to sit down at the bar just might bring me back from the far side of DRY!” Jake smacked his lips in anticipation and then he saw something that made his grin evaporate slowly. The old, battered blue Ford pickup was parked out front of the bar.

 Jake cruised slowly by and saw that it was indeed the same truck that had tried to run him down. He eased down the street, took a left at the next block and looked for the alley that would run behind the bar. He turned into the mouth of the dark trash strewn back way and as he idled past the bar, he noticed that the back door was not shut and locked. It stood partially open and light spilled into the alley from inside the kitchen and from an old lamp shade above the door. Jake grinned and said to himself “Quick escape, check.”

  He idled on past and went to the end of the alley where he turned right and continued to reconnoiter the surrounding area.

When he was satisfied, he returned to the alley, killed the motor and drifted quietly up to the rear of the bar. This part might be tricky but he had the beginnings of a plan. So he swung outta the saddle, hit the hidden kill switch on the chopper and eased up to the door and looked inside. What he saw pleased him. It was a simple old bar kitchen, reefers lined the bar wall and there was an ancient gas stove that looked like it might have cooked for Abraham Lincoln in it’s previous life. Heavy handled brooms and an old commercial mop leaned up beside the entrance to the bar.

The doors to the bar were the old heavy wooden doors that swung both ways and had portholes so you could see if someone was coming. Jake’s grin broadened and he eased into the kitchen and tiptoed towards the swinging doors. He was almost to the door when he heard someone coming into the kitchen.

  He hid behind the complaining old ice machine and got his first look at the owner of the bar. Jake smiled and shook his head. Another red head had just walked into his life and she was a pretty one too. 

Long red hair was pulled back in a ponytail, a cotton tee that had “Bobbi’s Bar” on the front and was restraining a pair of nice titties. She turned away and he was able to appreciate the way her Levi’s fit as she walked to the keg cooler. Cowboy boots finished the picture perfectly. She deftly changed the keg and rolled it over to the backdoor. She stopped and looked outside and immediately looked around the kitchen.

Jake put on his best friendly grin, held up both hands and stepped out from the ice machine. He had to give her credit, she didn’t flinch or gasp. She just looked him over top to bottom and said “Well, whadda ya want? There’s some money here, but you won’t get it easy and the same goes for me too.”

  

Right then the ancient ice machine gave out a long groan and shut down. The silence afterwards was almost deafening and Jake just said “Actually, I came in the back because there are two assholes drinking out front. They run around in that old blue Ford truck, they tried to kill me and I thought mebbe I could give ‘em a lil surprise. If they’re friends of yours... well, some how I just can’t see you liking those two rednecks. I’ve got a plan that should be fun, it won’t hurt yer bar and it would be THEM that have to pay. So whadda ya say, Bobbi?”



  She stared at him so long that he wondered if she was debating calling the cops. Finally she reached her decision and with a slight nod said “Alright, what’s your name and what’s the plan?” As Jake told her what he had in mind, she started to grin and she even chipped in with a great idea. He looked at her and said “Ohhh, you are so BAD! I like that in a woman.” She smirked at him and in her best Mae West voice she said “Hey handsome, ya wanna come up and see me sometime, OK?” Her face got a serious look and she told him “Look, those two are bad news. The big one is called Slick and the other one is his brother Rabbit. They are well connected in these parts and as much as I wanna see them get theirs... they can be damn dangerous. Just wanted you to have a heads up. You still wanna do this?”


  Jake figured she was still jokin’ around with him and he did Bogey back at her. “Ya know dollface, outta all the Gin Joints in alla the towns, I hadda pick this one.” Instead of her laughing at his terrible Bogey, she locked eyes with him and something clicked for both of them right then. Jake would remember how green her eyes were that night and Bobbi would remember that he was the nicest thing she had seen in a very long time. “About time.” she thought.



  Jake slipped out the kitchen door and headed around the block carrying his compact socket set that usually was nestled in his right saddlebag. He casually sauntered by the front door and noticed that the big guy that had been driving the truck earlier, was dancing with a gal. At least, Jake assumed that he thought he was dancing, even if it looked as though he was in the middle of a Grand Mal Seizure coupled with leg cramps. Jake shook his head and headed for the Ford. 

He pulled out his folding breaker bar and snapped the appropriate socket onto the business end. Crouching behind the truck, Jake proceeded to loosen all the lug nuts on the passenger side by running all the nuts out so they were only held on by one turn. The top one he loosened last and very slowly until the rim was sitting on the lug bolt. Jake kept a weather eye on the front door but since it was closed, he would have some warning if anyone came out.



  Next came the tricky part. Loosening the driver’s side lugs where he could be seen from the bar window. He would have some cover provided by the car parked next to the truck but not very much and if someone came outside, he would be seen. He slipped around back of the truck and started on the rear tire first. As he was finishing the back tire there was a commotion from inside the bar.

 Jake looked up in time to see Bobbi and two other gals dancing on the bar. There were shouts and catcalls and the music went up a notch louder. Jake smirked and hustled with the last lug bolts. He silently thanked Bobbi for her diversion and headed for the back door. When he walked in the bar was still jumping with the sounds of the jukebox crankin out ‘Frankenstein’ by Edgar Winter. 



  He had seen that the backdoor could be locked from the inside and then slammed shut. Since the door opened outward toward the alley, it could be effectively blocked. Jake looked around outside and spotted an empty pallet that would make a very effective door stop and he dragged it into place by the door. The hullaballoo in the bar was starting to die down just as he was putting the finishing touches on the kitchen door. Bobbi came hustling back in through the swinging kitchen doors and he grabbed her in a big hug and swung her around, planted a big kiss right on her lips and then set her down.



  She was startled but her mischievous grin was mirrored by his own. They put their heads together and Jake told her what he had in mind. “OK, I’m going to pour peach juice on the floor, then set these mops and brooms to fall in front of them when they come thru the doors. I’ll leave a strip clean for me to run through. I’ll hit the back door and lock ‘em in. They’ll turn around and head back out to the front when they hear my bike fire up. I’m gonna swing back around to the front and wait for ‘em to hit their truck.”



  “If they need a clue, you yell ‘He’s headed out front!’ and that should do it! Make sure you spread the word so everybody can be out front to see their wheels come off. This is gonna be fun! What could go wrong, right?” Jake would remember those words later and shake his head at the memory. It looked like a fool-proof plan, except when you figure in the Fool Factor.



  Jake walked around outside to the front door and stepped into a tense situation between a couple of the bar patrons. He tried to side step the confrontation but it literally landed in his lap. He went down in a jumble of arms and very shapely legs that belonged to a feisty brunette. She hopped off of Jake and headed back into the fray with a rebel yell that rang in Jake’s ears. She swung and missed her opponent and the punch landed square on Slick’s open jaw.



  There was a ‘crack’ from Slick’s jaw and he jumped up with a roar and grabbed the brunette by her hair, picked her up bodily and flung her across the bar, right into Jake. This time they landed in a heap with a table in the middle and the brunette didn’t get up. Jake thumbed her eyelid back and nothing but whiteness answered his implied question. Jake stood up and yelled at Slick “You are a chickshit sonofabitch! Anybody that does that to a woman is a sack of shit! Now you apologize to her or I’ll thump you like a drum at a Powwow.”



  Slick came off his stool and stood there looking at Jake with a crafty stare. Rabbit was watching from behind and Jake saw him place his hand on his belt. Now Jake knew where Rabbit’s gun was. Jake also noticed that Slick was a really big dude. At least 6’6”, probably an easy 300 pounds and he was staring at Jake with a very odd look on his face. Then he asked “Ain’t I seen you somewhere before? Yeah, you’re that piece of shit biker I tried to run over. Well, I ain’t gonna miss now!”



  “We ain’t got time for this, this gal ain’t breathing!” Jake offered up another thank you to Bobbi. Slick stood there blinking his eyes and trying to decide what to do. It was never really in doubt because his motto was “When in doubt, charge!” He opened his mouth, yelled “Charge!” while moving much faster than Jake thought a fat man should move. Slick swung a wicked left hook that would have torn Jake’s head off clean off his body, if his head would have still been there.

  

Jake moved just enough to let the punch whistle past his nose and as Slick’s momentum carried him forward, he stuck out his size thirteen and helped him find the floor. He hadn’t forgotten about Rabbit, so he allowed his body to continue around and he clocked Rabbit right on his almost nonexistent chin. He punched him just as Rabbit had unlimbered his pistol and it flew up into the air and Bobbi caught it on the way down.



  When Slick hit the floor, he landed on the broken table and just missed the gal he had put there not two minutes before. Now Jake was never one to kick a man when he was down, but in this instance he thought he could make an exception. Jake was still moving after Rabbit’s eyes rolled up and when he looked around he got a face full of Slick’s right fist. It caught him completely unaware. His feet left the floor and he landed five or six feet away and the only thing that saved him was training.

  

As he was falling, he was trying to get tucked but his body wasn’t cooperating. So he just relaxed, landed and rolled to his feet. That wasn’t the hardest he had ever been hit, but it made the top ten. Slick was charging again and that gave Jake the breather he needed. He just waited for him and at the last second, stepped aside. Slick hit the wall like a ton of bricks but he instantly reached out and grabbed Jake by the throat and drew back his fist. Jake head butted him as hard as he could and caught him square on his nose.



  Slick’s eyes rolled up and his grip on Jake slacked, so Jake buried his knee in Slick’s big belly. Jake got two things outta that; the knowledge that Slick's big beer gut was mostly muscle and the last two pitchers of beer he had drank. How had this gotten outta hand? What happened to the plan? Slick was recovering quickly and his looks had not been improved when Jake squashed his nose with his head. Jake knew he had to get out of here fast.



  “Aw ya big asshole, come out back and I’ll kick yer ass all the way to...” but he didn’t finish cause Slick had just let out a roar and Jake knew that meant he was gonna charge. Jake turned and started throwing people, barstools and anything else he could put between him and Big Boy. Just as he rounded the end of the bar, Rabbit stood up and threw a wild punch at him. Jake grinned and stepped inside and gave him a short hard ‘Rabbit’ punch to his short ribs. “Aptly named” he thought. He was still scrambling for the backdoor and hoping he could make it before Slick caught him.  Jake was thinking “Damn he runs fast for a fat guy!” as he hit the swinging doors.



  His feet went out from under him and he landed hard but kept moving. “Damn, forgot about the peach juice!” He was just getting up when Slick hit the same trap that Jake had ‘fallen’ for and it was almost comical to watch the big man waving his arms around and then hitting the floor like a slab of meat in a butcher shop. Jake grinned and hollered “C’mon tough guy, I’ll kick yer ass!” He hit the door, swung it shut and.... SHIT! Where was the pallet to block the door?

  

For the first time, it crossed Jake’s mind that he might be in trouble. His panhead was right where he left it and he hit the fuel, the kill switch and had just dropped it into neutral when Slick slammed the door open. He came out into the alley cautiously but when he spotted his quarry trying to escape he charged forward with a low growl. Jake stomped the pan to life with one kick and he felt a hand on his shoulder as he roared away.



  “Kiss my ass!” he yelled at Slick. “Catch me if you can!” Jake was high on adrenaline and was riding hard and fast when he hit the corner and shifted into second. A ton of pissed off Slick landed on him and the bike went down in the middle of the street. A kind of calm settled over Jake and all sound seemed to slip away. He hit the fuel shutoff and stepped away from the bike. Slick had done the one thing that would make Jake feel like this. He had hurt his bike. Not good.



  That was the night that Slick got his ass handed to him by a skinny ass biker. Jake felt that fight for several months. Slick felt it for the rest of his life. Jake took several blows, but he didn’t feel them. He also failed to notice the look of fear that crossed Fat Boy’s face when his best punch failed to phase his opponent. Jake then stepped in and torn his opponent down with punches, kicks and open-handed blows and finished with a primal yell from somewhere deep inside him. As he delivered his final kick to the side of Slick’s right knee, he watched him fall in the street and stepped up to him and said “Don’t you EVER touch my bike again!”

  Then he spit on him, turned his back and went to the only thing in the world that really mattered to him.

He knew he should leave, now. There was just one thing though... Bobbi. They had shared a look that Jake just couldn’t ignore, and she felt really good in his arms. As he picked up his bike, Slick said “I’ll get you, you bastard... I’ll get you!” But the effect was spoiled when he started crying. Jake just shook his head and climbed into the saddle and checked the bike over. He flipped the fuel on and held his breath as he kicked her over hard. She roared to life and all was good with his world again
.

  He took a leisurely ride out of town to let things cool down in town. The rigid frame let him feel all his battle wounds and by the time he rolled back into town, only Slick’s battered blue Ford was parked at Bobbi’s. He backed the bike into the slot closest to the front door. He slowly pulled himself off the panhead and made it to the front door, stepped inside and saw her. She was staring at him with a mix of horror and amusement.

  

“So, thought you’d come back and help clean up your mess?” He nodded and spent his remaining strength to pitch in and helped her close up. By this time he was running on fumes but he had to get the panhead inside and he knew he couldn’t do it alone. Just as he was going to open his mouth to ask her to help, she said “Hey, we gotta get that scooter of your indoors, you need a hand?” He smiled gratefully and nodded. So they went out and Jake dropped into the saddle and a groan escaped his white lips. Bobbi looked at him and knew he couldn’t push the bike, let alone kick it to life. She put her hand on his shoulder and said “I can do it, if you’ll set her up for the kick.” Jake stared into those beautiful green eyes, looked at her shoulders and her strong thighs and made the decision. He flicked the gas petcock, touched the hidden micro-switch, gave the throttle a quarter turn and rocked the bike into neutral. “She’ll go in one, if you’ll kick her through.”

  She gave him a lopsided grin and he stood back, prepared to be amazed. She turned the tall handlebars far left and flipped the kicker out. She rested her left knee on the seat, grabbed the throttle and expertly eased the kicker down and felt the compression. She let the kicker come all the way up and then raised up and stomped the engine to life. She rapped it twice to clear the unused gas and then dropped into the saddle and with a wicked grin over her shoulder, took off down the deserted street! Jake stood there with his jaw slack as his beauty disappeared down the street.

  He heard her circle the block and moments later, she reappeared behind him and guided the bike to the front door of her bar. He hustled over and swung the door open and she expertly eased into the space between the ancient bar and the kitchen. No one would be able to see it from outside. He took an empty beer case and flattened it for an oil catcher. As he stared at her radiant smile, Jake knew that this woman was like none that he had ever met.

  He was almost falling over now and she said ”Why don’t you come upstairs and I’ll fix you up, OK?” Jake nodded numbly and allowed himself to be led up the stairs (stairs hurt), stripped naked (“Aw honey, I’ve seen it all before.&rdquoand placed into a hot tub... it felt really good. She tended his cuts and applied bandages, she expertly reset his nose (damn that hurt) and gave him two pills. He took them when she said “Vicodan, 10 mg.” Then she led him naked and bandaged to her bed. All Jake had to do was lay there as she made love to him, but he couldn’t keep himself from helping, just a little.

  Later, as they were lying in bed, the stillness of the night was broken by the sound of the old blue Ford being cranked up. They grinned at each other and heard the truck slowly back out and then slowly drive off. Just as it was almost out of hearing, there was a loud bang and a screeeeech. Distant cussing and hollering made both Jake and Bobbi burst out laughing. “What could possibly go wrong?” Bobbi smiled at Jake and said “Welcome to Dry Gulch Arizona, Ja...” Her last words were smothered by Jake’s lips as they started to climb the familiar heights, together.