not much different. Knowing a brother had my back was reassuring, comforting, and provided an odd sense of balance to an otherwise askew life I seemed to live.
I gazed down into the empty cup of coffee and began to wonder if forfeiting a conventional way of life was something I was willing to do. The answer was as clear as the blue sky outside - I had already done it. Consciously or not, I had cast aside anything conventional to protect the lives and preserve the rights of my beloved brothers. The Sinners were my family, and more than likely the only love I would ever know.
I stood from my seat and walked to the kitchen sink. After rinsing the cup of coffee and placing it in the dishwasher, I walked to my bedroom and grabbed my cut. My thoughts of Sam and the untimely death of her mother had begun to fade, but the event opened my eyes and allowed me to have a better understanding of myself, my life, and my true love.
The Selected Sinners.
I opened the door to the garage and pressed the button on the wall to open the door leading to the driveway. I stood on the steps and glanced around. An obvious extension of me and my beliefs, the garage was filled with tools and equipment for working on bikes, my two motorcycles, and my 1969 Z-28 Camaro. No second car, no flower pots or planters, and no indication of any interests other than the car and bikes. Satisfied my life was what it was meant to be, I grinned and fired up the bike. As the motor warmed up to operating temp, the low rumble of the exhaust filled me with pleasure. Riding a motorcycle wasn’t something I merely enjoyed, it was part of my being. Each time I rode was as exciting as the first, and for that I was extremely grateful. If riding a motorcycle ever became boring, I suspected my life would become the same.
I rode to the clubhouse, enjoying the sunset against the few clouds that had developed along the western sky. With the warm summer air against my face, I gazed ahead at the slight curve in the highway leading into town. The empty highway invited me to twist back the throttle, and I did so without reservation. Now heading into the curve at eighty miles per hour, I leaned the bike to my left, dragging the toe of my boot against the passing pavement as I did so. The tips of my boots acted as a measuring stick of sorts for how far to lean my bike, and doing so until my boots drug against the road provided me a sense of worth. As the curve straightened into open road, I leaned right, bringing the bike back to upright.
In the distance, a tractor crossing the highway reminded me of the summer soon coming to a close, a farmer obviously spending as many daylight hours as possible harvesting his crops, he attempted to cross the road before I arrived at the intersection. I downshifted, released the clutch and grinned at the sound bellowing from the exhaust. As the distance between me and the tractor quickly decreased, I downshifted again, then again, almost coming to a stop before the tractor completely crossed the road. As my bike slowed to an almost stop, the farmer reached out the side window of the tractor and waved, obviously realizing his poor judgement in crossing the road in front of me.
I lifted my left hand, waved, and twisted the throttle. As the bike quickly accelerated, I shifted through the gears until once again reaching the eighty mile per hour mark. A quick glance in my rearview mirror revealed a dust cloud following the farmer’s tractor down the county road he traveled along.
As I considered that he was probably going home to a late dinner, thoughts of having a woman in my life began to run through my head and filled my mind until I rode into town. Struggling with whether or not I’d ever be able to come home to a prepared dinner, under another person’s expectation of doing so, I slowed down for the first traffic light.
I sat at the light, gazing blankly into the road ahead, as an old school Harley approached the light in the oncoming lane. A
I gazed down into the empty cup of coffee and began to wonder if forfeiting a conventional way of life was something I was willing to do. The answer was as clear as the blue sky outside - I had already done it. Consciously or not, I had cast aside anything conventional to protect the lives and preserve the rights of my beloved brothers. The Sinners were my family, and more than likely the only love I would ever know.
I stood from my seat and walked to the kitchen sink. After rinsing the cup of coffee and placing it in the dishwasher, I walked to my bedroom and grabbed my cut. My thoughts of Sam and the untimely death of her mother had begun to fade, but the event opened my eyes and allowed me to have a better understanding of myself, my life, and my true love.
The Selected Sinners.
I opened the door to the garage and pressed the button on the wall to open the door leading to the driveway. I stood on the steps and glanced around. An obvious extension of me and my beliefs, the garage was filled with tools and equipment for working on bikes, my two motorcycles, and my 1969 Z-28 Camaro. No second car, no flower pots or planters, and no indication of any interests other than the car and bikes. Satisfied my life was what it was meant to be, I grinned and fired up the bike. As the motor warmed up to operating temp, the low rumble of the exhaust filled me with pleasure. Riding a motorcycle wasn’t something I merely enjoyed, it was part of my being. Each time I rode was as exciting as the first, and for that I was extremely grateful. If riding a motorcycle ever became boring, I suspected my life would become the same.
I rode to the clubhouse, enjoying the sunset against the few clouds that had developed along the western sky. With the warm summer air against my face, I gazed ahead at the slight curve in the highway leading into town. The empty highway invited me to twist back the throttle, and I did so without reservation. Now heading into the curve at eighty miles per hour, I leaned the bike to my left, dragging the toe of my boot against the passing pavement as I did so. The tips of my boots acted as a measuring stick of sorts for how far to lean my bike, and doing so until my boots drug against the road provided me a sense of worth. As the curve straightened into open road, I leaned right, bringing the bike back to upright.
In the distance, a tractor crossing the highway reminded me of the summer soon coming to a close, a farmer obviously spending as many daylight hours as possible harvesting his crops, he attempted to cross the road before I arrived at the intersection. I downshifted, released the clutch and grinned at the sound bellowing from the exhaust. As the distance between me and the tractor quickly decreased, I downshifted again, then again, almost coming to a stop before the tractor completely crossed the road. As my bike slowed to an almost stop, the farmer reached out the side window of the tractor and waved, obviously realizing his poor judgement in crossing the road in front of me.
I lifted my left hand, waved, and twisted the throttle. As the bike quickly accelerated, I shifted through the gears until once again reaching the eighty mile per hour mark. A quick glance in my rearview mirror revealed a dust cloud following the farmer’s tractor down the county road he traveled along.
As I considered that he was probably going home to a late dinner, thoughts of having a woman in my life began to run through my head and filled my mind until I rode into town. Struggling with whether or not I’d ever be able to come home to a prepared dinner, under another person’s expectation of doing so, I slowed down for the first traffic light.
I sat at the light, gazing blankly into the road ahead, as an old school Harley approached the light in the oncoming lane. A
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