Old school biker

 His old Harley sat covered in the garage, now a reminder of his younger days riding on mountain roads and country miles he wanted to last forever. It wasn't about fancy paint jobs or a thousand pieces of chrome; he remembered the bike itself. An old Panhead with a kick-start and a seemingly never-ending machine with oil leaks. If you owned a bike like his, you never went anywhere, even to the corner store, without a burlap sack of tools. He wasn't a fair-weather biker; his rubber met the roads in every condition. During the harsh winters, he'd rebuild his bike from the ground up, a painstaking task but one he loved as much as he did riding. He will never forget the first ride of spring, stopping along the road to tighten something he'd forgotten, saying to himself, crap happens, with a smile.

It wasn't just the ride but riding with other bikers, some known, others met, having a beer in one of many biker bars along the way. Most conversations focused on their bikes in detail only a true biker would know. In the summer months, he carried a sleeping bag tied to the back and had no fixed place to go, as long as there were forests and rivers where he could sleep under the stars. He'd often go back to camps he'd visited before, where bikers gathered in peace to share stories of the open roads and party until the sun came up, then fired up their bikes to continue their journey to no place special.
Back in the day, a lot of people hitchhiked, and it was common to offer a girl a ride on the back to where she was going even if it was out of your way. He had many memories of long-haired beauties who smelled like patchouli and sun-drenched skin. Now all he has are memories, as age has stopped him from riding after he finally listened to his kids and grandkids that his reflexes weren't what they once were. Now, every so often, he uncovers his steel pony and swings a leg over to sit, but dares not start it, as the kick would probably break his leg. It's enough to sit on it, reliving the country roads and mountain curves that challenged the best riders.
When he passed, he wished to be buried beside his bike, where the heavens would greet him with the sounds of other bikers kick-starting their steeds and traveling endless roads in good weather, where the rubber meets the road, and real bikers ride forever. 

                                                                                          Mike  2026

Mike 2026