The Motorcycle: The Motorcyclists

“What on earth is going on?” wondered Sally, the owner of a small, equestrian farm. “Who is making that racket?”

The deafening roar of a large fleet of motorcycles fractured the silence of the midnight hour. Lights quickly appeared all over the small town on the coast, as pairs of motorcyclists drove down the main street, through the town and turned into the driveway of a large home in a wealthy neighborhood.

One motorcyclist on a small Harley-Davidson, led the way, as they headed up a long hill towards a five-car garage, turned around and circled back towards the huge house just bought by the manager of a car lot and his wife.

It looked like a well organized, mini-parade that ended with a police car pulling up on the side of the highway. Two police officers watched, as the motorcycles lined up side by side and the motorcyclists dismounted. There did not appear to be any problems with them and so the officers left shortly thereafter, responding to an emergency call.

“We probably woke up the entire community,” said Pierce, a rather vociferous man of small stature, as he climbed off his brand new, huge motorcycle and took off his helmet and black jacket. “Think we frightened them?”

“Probably, but we really should have come earlier in the evening,” replied Grayson, an elderly man sprouting a long, gray beard. “It took us a bit longer than I thought it would. Of course, the folks in this town do not have any way of knowing we just drove eight hundred miles. We still have another five hundred to go to get to our motorcycle rally.”

“Maybe they do know,” said another man, removing his helmet too. “But, they might also see us as another rowdy motorcycle gang.”

“A lot of people have weird perceptions about motorcyclists.”

“My guess is that they knew we were on our way here, a long time ago.”

“Well, to some extent, we do look like a gang,” replied Dominic, an Italian restaurant owner, with long, black hair. “At least some of us do.”    

“Other motorcycle clubs might hit on us.” said Pierce. “We are peaceful people and don’t want any trouble.”

Pierce and Grayson had participated in the organization of the inter-provincial, cross-country rally and suspected there could be problems for the motorcyclists along the way. They had encouraged them to find places to stop overnight where there were family members, as it would be safer for everyone. “So far, we have been lucky.”

“No one will bother us here,” said Clyde, the chubby, young man, who had been riding the small Harley-Davidson. “We will be safe for the night in my aunt and uncle’s back yard. This is a neat place.”

“We can apologize to them for the inconvenience, if you like,” Sam, a middle-aged man in their group, suggested. “The impact of our arrival on the local community has to be of concern to them too.”

“Don’t worry about that, guys, as they are expecting us,” said Clyde, with a smile. “These are good folks.”

“Where do we pitch our tents?” asked Trevor, a tall, thin man, wearing a brace on one leg. This was his first motorcycle club outing after a motorcycle accident. In spite of having some pain, he was enjoying the trip. “This has been a long drive for me, but I survived it, so far!”

“I knew you would,” replied Grayson. He was a kindly man who had helped Trevor get back on his motorcycle following the tragic accident in which he had been involved, several years earlier. Another motorcyclist had lost his life. “You did not think you would ever ride again.”

“Coffee and cake first,” said the Francis, their host for the night. “Welcome to our home. Come on inside, boys.”

“Hey Clyde, it is so long since we saw you,” Cindy, his wife said. “You look so grown up now. I am really glad you came.”

“Thank you for allowing us to stay here for the night,” said Clyde, as he handed her a beautifully wrapped gift box, containing a miniature Harley-Davidson motorcycle. “This is from my mom and dad. They thought that you might like it.”

“Love it!” said Cindy. “Thank you, ever so much. By the way, boys, there are well-stocked showers in the garage. If anyone needs anything, let me know. Breakfast will be at nine am on the patio deck. I will set up some coffee, tea, muffins and biscuits for anyone who gets up earlier.”

“You can use the fire pit to light up the area for the night, if you like,” suggested Francis. “There is lots of wood beside the garage and here are some matches.” He had spent many years as a motorcyclist and was looking forward to talking to them.

Sally, the elderly woman next door, terrified by what she saw happening in her neighbor’s yard, grabbed her coat and boots and went outside to see what was going on. She stood out of sight, in among the trees beside the wooden fence that marked her property line and watched the motorcyclists.

“There are dozens of motorcycles here,” she said to herself. “Why are they here? There has to be some kind of an ordinance against noise pollution. This cannot be happening in our neighborhood!” Sally had not expected to find out her new neighbors were involved in what she perceived to be a motorcycle gang. She was stunned to see the tent city that popped up in her neighbor’s yard. She was afraid to go to bed and stood watch just outside her barn, as she had several expensive riding horses she did not want to lose.

Several miles down the highway, another large group of motorcyclists had gathered at a local garage, the home of their motorcycle club, because they had heard earlier that an unknown motorcycle fleet was on their way into their territory.

“We might be heading into a gang war. They won’t be expecting us to be ready for them,” said the leader of their local motorcycle club. “We have to keep our heads on straight, regardless of what happens.”

They too stayed up all night too, as watchful vigilantes who quietly patrolled the area. They were armed and ready for anything and had set up a plan of attack, just in case there was any trouble. “We may have to protect our town.”

Morning came and went uneventfully, except for Sally who complained to Pierce about the noise, when he started up his motorcycle in order to check his engine.

“Spooks my horses,” she said.

“I am so sorry, ma’am,” replied Pierce. “We will be leaving shortly. May I offer you a cup of coffee, before we go?”

It looked just like a huge family picnic, as everyone gathered for breakfast. Sally tried out Pierce’s motorcycle, a little while later, much to everyone’s surprise.

Both the police and the local motorcycle club members followed Clyde and his motorcycle fleet out of town, later that day, but at a safe distance.

“I rode on a motorcycle!” boasted Sally. “Pierce is such a nice man! Maybe I should trade in my riding horses and get a motorcycle instead.”

“I love my new Harley-Davidson,” said Cindy, showing her miniature motorcycle to Sally. She knew that they would become good friends, now that she had apologized for not telling her sooner about the motorcycles.

“I am really surprised at how gracious those guys were,” said Francis. “You would never know that anyone was here overnight. As far as I am concerned, Clyde and his friends can come back anytime.”

“They will,” replied Cindy. “They will be staying here on their way back home.”