06-07-13 The rains still fell though slight in my area. The surrounding counties and states were being pummeled by storms and floods. I knew I wouldn’t get far if I tried to leave, and setting up camp in the rain is not my idea of a great time. Since I had lodging and no schedule I continued to sit still in Independence, VA. By 10AM I had received a message from my gypsy friend Scooter Tramp Scotty saying that he was leaving and headed my way.
I was looking forward to hearing more of this man’s life on the road and learning from him some of the ways that I could make my journey all the more successful and comfortable. I meandered through my day with miscellaneous tasks and general relaxation. I lay in my bed with my feet up and could hear the rumble of a Harley in the background. From my window I saw the bike pass. I knew the beat up blue bagger with green military bags and towel hanging from the pack. I rose and stepped outside. The bike had passed and for several long minutes I stood there like a child waiting for his lost puppy to return. Perhaps I was mistaken. I went back to my bed and laptop slightly disappointed. Nearly 15 minutes had passed when I heard the rumble again, only it slowed as it approached. I stepped out onto the porch. As he drove up, I do believe I held my breath. His face was chiseled and tanned, his arms solid and strong, the bike was a road worn beauty that screamed, “I’ve seen more than you can ever imagine.” I am never immediately attracted to anyone; my guard is always up. But I remembered his voice like it was ringing in my ear and his aura matched that voice so perfectly. Me, nervous around a dude? Never!! As he got off the bike I extended my hand and he shook it with a masculine hold that lasted just a few seconds longer than one might consider normal. His smile was warm and curious all at the same time. The gold flecks in his brown eyes held me captive.
I welcomed him into the apartment and offered him the pizza I had for lunch. He unfolded and sat upon a camp chair that he had withdrawn from the heap of home goods laden on his Harley. He began sharing stories of his travels from the past 19 years and I asked as many questions as I could develop in my brain amid my distraction that had me staring into his eyes. But I was not the only one that held a captive gaze. Brief moments of silence did not break our eye contact but rather invoked curious smiles. The hours passed quickly.
With evening drawing near Scotty unloaded his bike and prepared his bedroll on the small apartment floor. I made myself a drink, then cooked and served dinner. The Harleys outside attracted the company of a local boy whom works at the Harley dealer not far from Independence. Shortly thereafter my neighbor Jeff visited bringing along his beer. The 4 of us sat for several more hours sharing stories and talking about motorcycles and life. All evening Scotty and I seemed to be magnets drawing nearer to each other in gaze and physical proximity. Our little corner of the world was peaceful save for the crickets and frogs in the nearby pond. The dark forest flashed like a disco with fireflies and I couldn’t help but to smile at my good fortune. I found my thoughts wandering off throughout the conversations and wondering why I couldn’t take my eyes off this stranger. I already knew why! We are the same people in so many ways and I had never met a man so inline with my life, my philosophies, and my dreams.
With midnight approaching our two visitors took their leave and Scotty and I were left to ourselves. We remained outside because naturally, we both prefer to be out; rather than in. I could not ask my followers to stick with me if I wrote them lies, so I tell you now that what you are about to read may seem unladylike but I hold no shame for I have been given an experience and a love that most women only dream about.
But I will not tell you this part of the story. Instead, I turn it over to Scooter Tramp Scotty – writer, gypsy biker, and my amazing new friend!!
The little apartment offered only one small kitchen and a single bed. Aside from these, the linoleum floor was clear except for the folding camp chair generally carried aboard my motorcycle, and an assortment of sleeping bags and other traveling equipment stacked askew against a wall.
The woman was three inches taller than I and considerably younger. Her body was the stuff of a teen age boy’s dreams while the eyes of this pretty face sparkled with the kind of mischief that can make an old man’s heart skip a beat.
But I’d seen pretty girls before; and although certainly icing on the cake, pretty alone is not enough to light the flame that can sometimes burn so blindingly within a man’s soul for the love of a woman. No. It takes something of far more substance than that to really captivate my interest.
And tonight, I was captivated.
With a radiant smile that professed me to be the obvious center of this moment in her life (at least I hoped), she put one hand in my own then reached for the door handle with the other. In an instant we had stepped out into the night.
Although this long, rectangular box of apartments offered three separate dwellings, none but our own was occupied. Our aloneness was complete. Overhead, the building’s metal roof extended only a few feet to cover the concrete walkway that ran the length of this small structure and past all six doors. To my immediate left her 17 year old Sportster sat parked upon the walkway and snuggled against the wall. To the right was my 1988 Electra Glide which sat in the same manner.
When the time finally came to leave this lonely little Virginia canyon and move on to the next town, I knew that each of these motorcycles would be packed heavily with only the entirety of those worldly possessions particular to its rider. For each was a drifter; and although I had been on the road for quite some time longer, this beautiful woman had been living alone and from only the back of her bike for close to half the year.
Far across the vacant dirt parking lot before us the large, two-story, business building of Fox Creek Leather (closed at this late hour) now stood only as dark specter against the tall hills of this small canyon. And although illuminated only by the pale moonlight that filtered gently down from a star laden sky, the impossibly green hues of this thick Virginia forest could still be seen. To our right the closely cut grass rolled easily across low hills as it passed by a slew of large trees before stopping momentarily at the creek waters that hurried to fill the small pond only a stone’s throw from where we stood. At the stream’s opposite shore the grass continued its journey for 75 feet more before ending where the forest began its assent of the canyon walls.
For a moment, hands still clasped, we only stood silently to take in the frantic light show of the million fireflies that must have come from far and wide to be in attendance of their great orgy now taking place among the nearby trees.
When the moment had passed, the girl turned to offer me a smile before her tug at my hand led us from the porch and across the grass. At the water’s edge she paused to slip off shoes and role up pant legs before stepping gingerly into the creek. I followed.
The cool current led us downstream for only a short distance before she exited at the far shore. The short grass of this tightly mowed lawn now poked between my toes as she led us to the nearby hilltop, and then sat to gaze across the small pond. The trees were close now, and all around us. No longer did the fireflies dance in the distance, for here they surrounded us entirely. For a long time we sat that way. And we talked. And she scared me; for aside from her obvious beauty, this woman was also intelligent. A very potent combination when administered in sufficient doses to only the mortal man.
After a time, she stood to move us across the grass and to a large, flat bolder that sat some short distance away. It was there that the kissing began. Pretty soon I saw that she was naked from the waist down. How had I not noticed the removal of her garments? Guess it was dark…guess I was distracted…did it really matter?
In time the fevered session moved back inside the little apartment and continued throughout most of the night; for the chemistry of this evening seemed almost perfect. A most unusual thing to be sure.
Morning came slowly and it was birdsong that eventually brought me awake; for there were few other sounds present amid these rather isolated hills.
But the recent rain storms had passed now, and it was for this mostly-sunny day that the romance would continue with long talks, rides into town for conversation with the locals there (we took my Electra Glide, leaving her Sporty behind to stand guard upon the walkway to our room), a grocery store to restock food supplies, lunch at a restaurant, and a trip to the nearby rec. center for a swim in the pool. Later, a handful of her local friends stopped by our room for an evening bullshit session. And the time was good. But again the day faded into night, and again we slept little.
It was Monday now and her people at Fox Creek Leather (who had supplied the free room) invited us over for photos, coffee, and a video interview. For a time those who are technically homeless and continually on in motion knew our 15 minutes of fame.
Seemed crazy to me.
In the end, and with both bikes again packed with the burdens of their daily chore, we left the dirt lot as the cameras clicked behind. Again the tiny country road opened up ahead. It was a familiar sight, only this time I was not alone…
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