The Independent Biker Features Page
We have a brand new Shovelhead Red Adventure in Issue #22 and we are pleased to be able to bring it to you on this web site too. It's a long one, so you may want to print it out -- but either way you're sure to enjoy our fearless Biker! We also have a line to That Look Of Eagles -- A Shovelhead Red Adventure! Click on the link at the end of this story.
The Storm and The Drifter
A Shovelhead Red Adventure by Rufus D. Ruckus
Shovelhead Red studied a darkening sky to the west. The wind had begun to gust, trying to push the scooter and trailer off the road. Red could see the funnel cloud forming out in the vast grassland. He wished he were on a bigger road; where overpasses offer shelter. But he wasn’t.He was on the remotest of back roads like always, and this was central Kansas in July. Twisters form on the prairie in a matter of minutes and shelter is scarce to non-existent. Red scanned both sides of the road, seeing only endless, rolling grasslands with nothing taller that a fence post, or utility pole for miles and miles. The trouble with twisters is they have no sense of direction. If a hurricane is blowing from the east, the prudent beach resident runs to the west; no problem; but a twister is totally unpredictable. Red sensed he was in more danger than seemed apparent at the time. But when there’s no place to hide ya might as well ride.
The sky grew darker, lightning flashed angry fingers across the clouds, and the wind blew harder. Red now had the throttle twisted to the stops just to stay in fifth gear. The sinister funnel shape was clearly defined now, but he still couldn’t judge how far off, or which way it would go. Things did not look good.Red dropped to fourth, and leaned the bike steeper against the ever-strengthening wind.The twister was very near and he was starting to get really worried. He looked frantically around for a place to hide. Ideally he needed to get under something solid, or at the very least a deep ditch. There was fence on both sides of the road and Red remembered riding over cattle gaps a few miles back. Then he saw it; a tunnel under the highway that allowed cattle to go from one pasture to the other without getting on the road. The tunnel also caught the run off from the torrential rains that often accompany these storms. ‘That’s th’ bad news’ thought Red, ‘but ya can’t have everything.’
The air was filled with dust from the leading edge of the twister, and Red could see that the center would pass directly over him. The grade off the shoulder wasn’t extremely steep, but it still required some touchy handling, considering he hadn’t taken time to disconnect the trailer. Near the bottom it was rockier and more difficult, and Red was running out of time. He grabbed a pair of wire cutters from his ready tool pouch and made quick work of the barbed wire. He pulled the whole rig into the tunnel to protect it from being sucked away, or at best skittered across the plains to who knows where. He knew this was risky; it only takes two feet of rain to wash a car away. But he had to gamble with the possibility of a flash flood. He was all out of choices.
Red felt fairly secure now. The Biker god had definitely smiled on him. He cautiously stuck his head out to see how close the twister was, and to his disbelief, an old pickup truck was coming down the road directly into the path of the tornado. Red couldn’t tell if the driver had spotted the tunnel or not, so he whipped off his t-shirt and waved it wildly. The driver saw him and braked to a stop. Wind tried to push him off his feet, his bare torso was being sand blasted, but Red had a plan for the truck. He opened the passenger door and pulled a small boy out of the cab. A very attractive young woman grabbed the kid and bolted for the tunnel. Red jumped in, drove the truck down the incline and positioned it across the tunnel, as close as possible to the opening. Not daring another trip across the road, he scooted across the seat and out the window into safety. He hurried to the trailer and grabbed a light nylon rope. Tying one end to the forks of the scooter, he strung it out the length of the tunnel and tied the other end to the frame of the truck. And then the rain came down. The three huddled around Red’s motorsickle listening as the twister raged outside. No one spoke, but the kid was clinging to the woman, rocking his upper body back and forth and making senseless grunting sounds.
“Are we all going to die?” the woman asked, near panic. She looked to be about 27 or 28 years old; the boy, who had a death grip around her thighs, was maybe 6 or 7.
The twister was full on them now. It tried to suck the pickup away, slamming it into the concrete supports at the tunnel mouth. Rain mixed with hail was falling in sheets, already filling the ravine and starting to push against the barricade formed by the vehicle.
“I think we’re OK.” Red answered. “The wind can’t get us, an’ if we get a lot of water, your truck should slow it down enough that we won’t wash away. Take it all around, I’d bet there’s folks somewhere in a mobile home that would trade places with us.” Red smiled and stuck out his hand; “Hidy maa’m, Shovelhead Red.”
“C-Carole West, this is my son Tony.Pleased to meet you. I guess we owe you our lives.”
“I’ll bill ya later. Hey, I was as glad ta see you, as you were me. There’s gonna be a lot of water comin’ through this wash. Your pickup is our security blanket.”
“By the sound up there, I hope the truck doesn’t get sucked away!”Carole had to shout now to be heard above the din.
“By god it does sound like a freight train.” Red yelled, laughing at his own joke.
Now that the danger was essentially over, his adventurous nature was stimulated, and he was getting into the whole thing. I told ya’ll before, the boy ain’t right.
“Maybe it’s me,” Carole said tersely, “but I’m having trouble finding the funny side of this. You on the other hand don’t seem particularly worried.”
“Lady, I never worry about things I can’t influence. You want worried? Ya shoulda seen me before I found this tunnel.”
“But now we’re having fun!?”
“I do my best with what I have to work with, if that’s what ya mean.Red opened the ice chest, and pulled out a cold Dos Equis.“Dig it; we and our shit are safe, we’re warm and dry, we got cold beer, and if ya indulge;” Red pulled a fat joint from his pocket, “medicinal herb; an’ a great story for yer grandkids. Life is good.”
Red uncapped the beer, torched the hawg-leg and sucked a toke down to somewhere near Mexico.
“Doesn’t it bother you that that’s against the law?”Carole asked, with obvious disapproval.
“Damn right it does! Dope shoulda been legalized years ago. Why do ya think it rhymes with cope?”
“But it hasn’t been, that’s what ‘against the law’ means.”
“Well, they got their rules an’ I got mine. Red said, exhaling the pungent smoke. “It ain’t my fault that politicians are bull-headed. If ya wanna get into all the areas where me an’ the system clash, we’re gonna need an uncommonly long storm.”
“You might consider the presence of a child Mr. Red.”
“Don’t want to seem unseemly ma’am; but he don’t appear ta be overly interested.”
The boy was still hanging on to his mother’s legs, rocking and making the strange sounds. Red isn’t ignorant; he recognized the signs of autism.
“Hey little bro.” Red touched the boy’s shoulder. “Everthing’s cool. Just a little wind that’ll be over ‘fore ya know it.”It figured the kid didn’t understand anything he said, but he was tryin’ to recover from pissin’ the woman off.
“Don’t knock yourself out being sensitive.” Carol said curtly.
Red exhaled another hit. “Ma’am, If I seemed flippant, I apologize. I wasn’t makin’ light of yer boy’s condition.”
Carole sighed. “No,...it’s me. I’m sure you meant nothing. Call me stupid; you probably saved our lives today, and I’m giving you a hard time. I’m the one who should apologize.”
Red butted the joint and dropped the bug into his J-box. “Actually your truck there is probably keeping my motorsickle from bein’ washed away, an’ its my life, so technically we’re even. Anyway, I hate playin’ ‘I will if you will’ so what say we just start over? I’m Shovelhead Red, professional road dog, amateur philosopher. My insights may be lame, but the price is right.”
“Carole West; professional mother and frustrated entrepreneur, who thanks you for inviting me into your tunnel. The dust was so thick out there, I’m not sure I would have seen it, and I shudder to think what might have happened.”
“If we hadn’t found this place we’d be statistics in tomorrow’s paper; if they could find enough pieces.”
The roar above now blocked all attempts at conversation. Carole busied herself trying to settle Tony down, while sneaking looks at Red’s body. He hadn’t put the t-shirt back on, and boy was she glad. Red isn’t exceptionally tall at six feet, but he is very muscular, and his torso is covered lightly with this curly, red-gold fleece. The pelt stops at his neck, replaced on his face by a thick beard. A ropy braid of hair hangs midway down his back. His hair and beard can best be described as the color of burning copper. I’m too hetero to judge a man’s looks, but I have observed that the bitches think he’s all that. Carole was hoping she hadn’t come on too puritanical.
Red didn’t know how to help, so he drank beer and thought about the mystery of autism.Imagine a motorsickle newly built, wired, filled with gas, hot battery, new plugs. Now imagine that this motorsickle won’t start, no matter how hard ya kick it or how fast ya turn it over. That’s the mechanical analogy to autism. Red has a logical mind. He is intrigued by anything that goes against logic, and this condition certainly does that.
Fifteen minutes later, the storm had passed and the sun was breaking out. Red and Carole watched the funnel cloud meander off into the distance in search of a trailer park. In its wake a wide swath of debris trailed off across the prairie. The rain had been intense, and Carole’s truck had taken quite a buffeting from wind and water. Red knew it wouldn’t be easy getting the scooter out. Though the incline wasn’t especially steep, he now had mud instead of dirt for a surface. Red got Carole’s truck out and tied the rope from the bike’s fork to the rear bumper. He dropped the trailer and with Carole providing VERY light strain, he was able to regain the pavement with nothing worse than a grungy motorsickle. Next he pulled the trailer up to the shoulder, and hitched back up.
Red looked at the muddy rig disgustedly; “damn, soon as I start rollin’ that shit is gonna sling everywhere.”
Carole was aware of the danger that single women face in today’s society, but she sensed this man could be trusted. “You could ride out to my house and wash it off. Might even be a supper in it for you.It’s the least I can do after what just happened.”
“Hey that’d be great. We have to be a long way from a car wash, and this stuff will just bake on.Don’t worry, I’m not a weirdo, even though I do abuse the ‘demon weed’.”
“Well,” she laughed, “Nobody’s perfect. I’m not afraid of you Red, even though I somehow
sense I should be.Now let’s get outta here, I’m hungry.”
“Yeah, me too,” Red agreed. “I got th’ munchies. Lead the way.”
Red spent the remainder of the afternoon cleaning up the bike. Tony sat on the doorstep, rocking back and forth as usual, but watching intently instead of grunting.
During supper, Red learned that Carole made a borderline living by helping with the stock on the landowner’s ranch. She looked after the horses, and in winter hauled hay out on the prairie to the cattle. In return she made a small income and lived rent-free in the modest house. Tony had been autistic from birth. Carole explained the condition to Red in some detail. In many cases, the afflicted person just wakes up, for lack of a better term. In others, years of therapy can be ineffectual. Because such children require round the clock attention Carole couldn’t even consider conventional employment. As a result, things were pretty lean, with no reason to expect improvement. Red was impressed at how the woman dealt with the circumstances. It showed character.
After the meal, Carole refused Red’s offer of help with clean up so he sat on the front porch looking at the stars. The house was about a half mile off the highway, and the silence of the evening was disturbed only by the sounds of the prairie. Gentle, never-ending breezes off the grasslands wafted the smells of high summer through the night. Red puffed meditatively on a doob and sipped his after supper beer. He had a hot shower earlier, and the meal was terrific. Red was almost as happy as Hugh Hefner with a bag of Viagra,...almost. Carole joined him on the porch swing; Red offered the joint to her.
“I don’t use drugs Red.” She said, minus her prior tone of disapproval.
“Me either. This is pot. It’s more like a 90’s survival kit. I mean, we’re out here in the middle of nowhere; I sure as hell ain’t gonna rat ya out. An’ Considerin’ everybody here was almost dead today, smokin’ a little herb seems pretty insignificant. Wouldn’t you say?”
“Well, you did warn me that you were a philosopher.”
“Amateur. I said amateur. So, ya gonna drop the old guard? Hell, Columbus took a chance.”
“You honestly don’t think there’s anything wrong with it?”
“Just for conversation, let’s examine the present. Two adults, capable of rational mature thought, are sitting on a lonely prairie talking pleasantly. These two people make their own living, pay their taxes, don’t steal, don’t cheat, don’t lie if given an option, and are generally a credit to their country. So far everything is fine. Now, I take a paper cylinder filled with vegetable matter out of my pocket and light it. We inhale the smoke, and we feel relaxed, talkative, sociable; whatever. But, according to the man, this simple act instantly and forever transforms us into criminals; worthy only of the disdain of our fellow citizens, deserving to be locked away, our lives stolen, and wasted. I’ll tell you what’s wrong. It’s wrong to respect a government that would do that. I’m a biker. I don’t owe allegiance to a buncha rules that I had no part in making. Remind me some day to explain the ‘Outlaw Mentality’ to ya.
“Oh, so now I’m alone in the middle of nowhere with an outlaw. That’s great.”
“You don’t have to be an outlaw to have an outlaw mentality.”
“But surely you recognize that we can’t live without laws. We’re just not that kind of species.”
“Do you need a group of politicians who you never even met to tell you when you’ve done something wrong? Of course not, you have a brain. You know when you do wrong, I know when I do wrong, PEOPLE know when they do wrong. That’s what makes ‘em people. Don’t forget, we’re all anarchists at birth. The government leeches have been trickin’ the sheeple into thinking they need governing for so long they can’t even fathom any other way. Lissen’ I’m feelin’ too good to get on this bullshit subject, it’ll jeopardize my mood.”
“OK.” Carole said. “You’re right, I’m coming on like some holy roller. You say it’s OK?”
“If I wanted to see ya get hurt, I wouldn’t have invited ya inta my tunnel.” Red chuckled, and passed the joint over to Carole. “You’ll thank me later.”
The night slid by as the two made talk on lighter subjects. Spurred by her buzz, Carole said; “So, you’re a big, mean, biker drifter who swashbuckles his way around the country breaking women’s hearts?”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much it, except for the mean part.”
“I take it you’re not married.”
“I was once, but I got over it.”
“Another nineties story.” Carole said. “This decade sucks. Red, do you mind if I get a little bold?”
“Hey we’re all adults here; just be gentle.” Red replied with mock sincerity.
“Well, it occurred to me that a man who rides a bike all over the country alone, can probably fix things.”
“FIX things!? Honey I can fix anything from a broken heart to the crack of dawn. In fact, if I can’t fix it, it probably ain’t broke.”
“How’d you like to hang around for awhile and help me out? Unless it interferes with your plans.”
“I don’t make plans. Whatta ya got that needs fixin’?”
“Well y’ know..stuff. The tractor won’t run, and the air compressor doesn’t sound good. I can’t pay you but the shower is hot, the roof doesn’t leak, and my cooking never killed anyone.”
“Sure, why not. I need to do some maintenance on my scooter anyway, an’ I noticed yer shed is pretty well equipped. Ya got yerself a hired hand.”
Red slept alone that first night. The second night, Carole came to his room after Tony was soundly out. The hall light framed her slender body in the door. Her hair, turned to gold in the light, tumbled down her shoulders; everything about her said surrender. Her voice was husky and promising; “Like the drifter said, we’re all adults here.” By morning, Shovelhead Red didn’t have to invent reasons to stay.
I know, I know, y’all want the steamy details ‘n shit. However, this ain’t that kind of story, an’ the bro deserves his privacy. If consenting couples’ carnal crotch capers crank yer tractor, read Danielle Steele, or Penthouse Forum fer Chrissakes. (Rufus)
The days rolled into a week and more. Red knew it was a mistake but it felt so easy, and there were dynamite fringe benefits. Tony liked to follow Red around as he worked. The scooter tramp noticed that the boy didn’t make his grunting sounds when distracted by these activities. He still rocked back and forth, but quietly, intently watching whatever Red was doing. Red talked to the kid matter-of-factly, sometimes explaining what he was doing, sometimes just making small talk. Tony never acknowledged anything. One afternoon, Carole was out on the plains somewhere baby sitting a cow. Red had just finished re-installing the carb and air cleaner on his bike. Tony was rocking and watching as Red fired the engine up. Red forked the machine, and, just for the hell of it motioned to the kid to climb on. He was stunned when Tony haltingly approached the motorsickle, and held out his hand.
Red didn’t say a word; he swung the kid up in front of him, put Tony’s hands on the bars to make him feel involved, and clunked the trans into first. Red putted slowly down the driveway letting Tony get the feel of the rumble and shake. He couldn’t believe the kid was cool with this; and he didn’t want to freak him out. When they caught pavement, Red brought the big machine steadily up to revs in each gear, letting the magic happen as it always did. He wondered what the boy was thinking, or if he even knew what was happening. Figuring Carole might go off, he decided to make the ride a short one. She was in the yard as they rolled up. Red hoisted Tony off the scooter. The kid ran to his mother, grabbing her around the legs like always.
“I leave you here with my son, and you decide to take him riding!?” Carole said in disbelief.
“He wanted ta go.”
“OH, he wanted to go! Well, excuse me. I suppose the two of you sat down and discussed the whole thing.”
“Hey, I thought he might like it. Hell, it ain’t like we been down at the whorehouse smokin’ crack! Lighten up.”
“You know nothing about his condition or the related problems.”
“He’s got the same problem we all do; he’s gotta stay alive ‘till he can die. You said there ain’t nothin’ really wrong with his gourd. Maybe he just has a different outlook. I can relate to that. There ain’t no challenge in bein’ ordinary.
The two adults were focused on one another, ignoring Tony for the moment. Carole picked him up placing his head on her shoulder.
“Vroom, vrooom.”
Carole’s face turned white as she numbly stood the boy on the ground. She took him by the shoulders, held him at arm’s length.
“Vroom,..vrooom” Tony pointed at the bike. “Gut’damn Mo’sicka. Vroom,.vrooom.”
Carole looked at Red, her eyes instantly filled with tears.
“Sonofabitch” Red said softly.
The morning dawned clear and soft. The prairie wind coming through the open window tasted especially sweet to Carole. For the first time, she had real hope for bringing her son into the world of reality. Red was out, but that wasn’t unusual, he typically got up early to go running. She would get the coffee ready. On the counter she found the note, and through streaming eyes read:
“Carole; neither of us can change what we are. There’s too many roads, and they run too far. When the highway calls, I can’t say ‘no’ to the wind Maybe another time... Take care of yourself and Tony.”
EPILOGUE:
Carole was washing the breakfast dishes, while Tony concentrated on a coloring book. His progress over the past two weeks had been amazing. He was beginning to discover the rudiments of language, and with his mother’s coaching, could identify some animals from his coloring book. His awakened mind seemed determined to catch up with the last seven years.
Through the kitchen window, Carole watched two pickup trucks, one loaded with boxes, coming up the drive.. She walked out on the porch and spoke to Rodney Phillips, a car salesman she knew from town. “Morning boys. What brings you all way out here on the range? Can’t sell cars on the prairie Rodney.”
“Oh, I don’t know, somebody sold this new pickup an’ I don’t even know who done it.”
“Really? Who did they sell it to? I didn’t think any of the hands on this spread made that kind of money.”
“Why you, Carole. What the hell else would I be doin’ out here in the sticks. My ol’ lady ain’t give me permission to date ya. I’m deliverin’ yer new truck.”
“I must have done some serious sleepwalkin’ last night. So tell me, what did I use for money?”
“Damn girl, I’m jus’ a flunkey. All they tell me is whur ta deliver shit. Considerin’ the shape of yore current vehicle, I figgered handin’ this ‘un over would be a site easier. Sign here.”
Carole signed the paper in a state of shock, like one a them fools on ‘The Price is Right’. Rodney handed her the keys, and a manila envelope, then climbed into the other truck. He and the driver rolled down the lane and out of sight.
The boxes contained children’s books, school books, Encyclopedia Britannica on disc, a collection of educational video tapes, five foreign language programs, state of the art computer with all accessories, and learner’s manuals, even Hooked on Phonics; just in case it really works. In the envelope with the owner’s manual for the truck were documents describing a trust fund of fifty thousand dollars set up in her and Tony’s name.
* * * *
Hope you enjoyed this selection from The Independent Biker.
Part I or That Look Of Eagles
Let's Do Some Dain Bramage
Lemme Check Out Those TIB Biker Duds
Take Me Back To Page 1
These Ain't No Sausage Links!!
NEW! Check out Runs & Happenings!!
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