Page 1 of Wild Weekend
1
WILL
The roar of a thousand motorbikes reverberates off the cliffs like a swarm of angry bees thundering down the highway.
Sunlight glints off the chrome of the hundreds of bikes in front of me, making me squint and doing nothing for my headache.
I look over to the right where Luke rides next to me. His adapted bike has his wheelchair strapped next to him. Luke catches my eye and grins broadly. I force a smile back.
It's good to see him happy, and it's good to see the patch on his jacket. Before we left for the charity run, we voted Luke in as a full member of the Wild Riders MC. He was given the road name Chariot, and seeing him ride his adapted bike with a huge grin on his face, he looks like a Roman warrior returning home. This is his first run with the patch, and he's enjoying every minute of it.
I can't say I share his enthusiasm.
My head aches, my thighs are rubbed raw, and I need a piss. I'm too old for this.
I didn’t want to do the charity run in the first place. I’ve got nothing against the charity. Who wouldn’t want to support Women in Need? But it’s the other motorcycle clubs here with us that make me uneasy.
Up ahead, I spy an Underground Crows MC patch. They’re one of the less savory motorcycle clubs on the charity run. The president has done time, and I’ll make sure we steer well clear of them. I don’t want any trouble. I want to finish the ride, enjoy the weekend festival, and get the hell back to my quiet mountain.
I’ve got a list of clients that I need to call. Maxine is handling things back in the office, but I’m the only lawyer on Wild Heart Mountain and I've got a community to serve.
So it's with relief that we pass the sign for the Grantstown turn off.
The bikes ahead of us thunder down the off-ramp, and a few moments later we follow.
We ride two by two along the stretch of road, a line of bikers stretching away in both directions.
It’s an impressive sight, a biker’s charity run, as long as you’re not a car trying to get past.
We’ve been on the road for five days. We rode in from North Carolina, and each day we joined with other motorcycle clubs until our cavalcade grew to include most of the clubs from the east coast and the central states. Today we joined up with some clubs from the west coast, and we’re rolling into the final destination together.
Grantstown has been taken over for the weekend with a charity festival happening in a field behind the main drag. Every hotel is booked, and a field of tents has been erected for the overflow.
April, Snips’s old lady, has handled the planning and got in early to book us a hotel. This biker is too old to camp out in a tent. Besides, I need the internet access to get some work done.
The line of bikers draws to a halt, and I rest my foot on the tarmac.
My GPS says we’re still a mile out of town, but I guess this is the traffic jam into the event.
The pressure on my bladder is worse with the bike idling, but there’s no tree cover, and I’m not going to take a piss on the side of the road with a thousand bikers staring at me.
The flat field next to us does mean I could get an easy run into town. I think about going off road, but then I look over at Luke.
It’s his first run, and he’s beaming from ear to ear. He left both his legs behind in Afghanistan, and this is the happiest I’ve seen him since Raiden found him drowning his sorrows in a dodgy strip club.
I glance around, looking for more familiar faces, but in the melee of merging clubs, I can’t see any of our other MC brothers. I can’t see our patch among the sea of leather.
The Wild Riders MC are veterans who love to ride, and I’m not going to leave one of my MC brothers on his own in this crowd, especially not one as green as Luke.
My bladder will have to wait.
Most of the club are grizzly old men like me, but there are a few that are under thirty. Men, that is. There are plenty of younger old ladies since the guys started pairing off like we’re in the damned ark.
The line of bikes starts moving, and the effect is like a ripple in the water. From a mile up the road they move first, and five minutes later it’s our turn. We creep along at five miles an hour all the way into town.
As we get closer, I spy the first of the townsfolk who have come out to greet us.
They line the road on either side for the last quarter mile into town. Some are waving American flags, and others are holding signs in support of Women in Need.
