The cold rain slapped his face as he rode through a mountain pass, alert to every turn, his nerves shaky, but he knew no fear, only excitement. Any day now, the snow will come. It may even arrive today if the temperature drops a few degrees, as he prefers not to ride on snow-covered roads. He did that once and still remembered sliding, hoping he wouldn't wreck.
He'd been in the saddle for hours now, wanting to reach his destination before dark because darkness and slick roads could be a disaster in the making.
Finally, after six hours of riding, he pulled up to a house deep off the main road that looked empty. No lights were on as he got off his bike and slowly walked up to the front porch and knocked on the door. He cupped his eyes, looking inside, but couldn't see anything but darkness. He walked around the house and saw light coming from a shed. He opened the door to see his brother listening to hard rock music, knee-deep into a complete rebuild of his 46 Harley.
He tapped his shoulder, and his brother jumped up, ready for a fight, but seeing him, he smiled and fist bumped his baby brother. You got it he asked. Sure, " he replied, handing him the box he'd brought across the state, containing a rare 46 Harley carburetor that took months to find. That's it, brother, the last piece of the puzzle to get this old girl running again.
The bike belonged to their grandfather, who bought it brand new in 46 after returning from war. When he passed away in '66, it was left to their dad, who taught them how to ride and instilled in both of them a never-ending desire to ride. Dad passed away in '89, and the bike was covered up and tucked away in the shed, where it remained until the brothers decided to restore it to its original glory. Seeing that his baby brother did all the work, they decided to pass the bike along to him.
One week later, it was completed. Although the roads were dry, the chances of snow were now very good, so they wasted no time getting it on the road for a test run. Side by side, the two brothers rode through the mountain roads, and the old 46 was reborn. Looking good, little brother, he said. Gramps would be proud. They made it back to the shed, where a few minor adjustments were made, and the bike was covered until Spring arrived with no icy roads and frigid cold wind slapping their faces.
He kept his bike in the shed during the winter months, trading it for his '56 Chevy pickup truck, which was stored in the shed all summer until riding season arrived. He bought the truck from an old farmer who was a friend of their dad, who had passed away. The widow was left to sell his truck, but it didn't take long for him to buy it. A minor restoration was all it needed, as the farmer had taken great care of it. The paint was almost gone, but he didn't care since he planned to repaint it flat black. The engine ran, but he wanted more power, so he swapped the motor for a Chevy big block and a new four-speed transmission. With some new tires, she was ready to go.
His time was winding down, and he had to get back to work. The next day, he said goodbye to his baby brother, telling him they'd meet up come Spring to give the 46 a long road trip to someplace unknown.
Some brothers do things together, like building houses or cabins in the woods, but these brothers brought back memories of their gramps and their dad's love for motorcycles, with one foot in the grave, screaming to be reborn and hitting the roads together like rolling thunder.
Mike 2025
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