Stories

  • 9/16/2011 15:56 PM Keep it Between the Ditches, Son
    Long after midnight in a town far past its prime, you drop the kickstand next to a gas pump.

    An old man shuffles from a clapboard shack leaning tired against a boarded up garage. You hand him ten bucks, he inserts a little crank in the pump and turns it. The mechanical digits reset to zero and you're good to go.

    "I used to ride an Indian," he says. You look at him for the first time and see an image of a much, much younger man living in his eyes.

    He tells you he was seven when his dad came home from the war and used his discharge pay to buy a Chief. "Looked about the same as yours," he says. Says his mom used to get mad because he got to pack behind the old man more than she did

    It takes you a sec to flash that he's talking about the big war, War II as the Marines called it. You realize that his dad was one of the original wild ones, the restless vets who two-wheeled across America raising hell and creating the icon we now call "biker."

    "Keep it between the ditches, son," he says as you start it up.

    You roll out feeling five inches taller than you did riding in. You've just had an Indian moment.

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