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There hasn't been any actual "creative writing" posted here for a while, so:
1/10/2011: This story didn't survive the transfer from the old site so I've reposted it as a reply. Mellie.
The picture was taken by Bill on the day of my little tale.
Best,
Melody
THE FIRST RIDE
By Melody Anders
It was mid-afternoon when I got the call from my business partner, Bill. “Paint's dry, come and get her.” I tossed my tie downs into the bed of my pickup truck and headed out to our motorcycle shop in West Los Angeles, just south of Beverly Hills.
I pulled up to the shop and Bill told me, “turned out really nice” as we walked through the shop to the small yard out back. He was right, it was beautiful, my customized 1964 Triumph Bonneville TT bike. It had low “BMW” style handlebars, a long black squarish fiberglass gas tank with the Triumph logo on the sides. Behind the tank was a solo racing style seat. A disc break graced the front wheel. Racing style exhausts ended in megaphone mufflers. Alloy rims were shod with Dunlop racing tires.
Bill got out his camera to “document the bike before you go out and crash it.” I winced at that one. We ramped the Bonnie up into the pickup's bed and tied her down. “We'll have to go riding this weekend” I said as I pulled away.
It was a long trip back to my place just below Chavez Ravine, the stadium where the Los Angeles Dodgers baseball team play their home games. I unloaded the bike and chained it to an I-bolt I'd installed in the garage floor for the purpose. Then I went inside to get ready for my first ride since the Bonnie had been totally rebuilt from the ground up.
Would I take the ride as Melody, or my drab self? Decided to go with a little of both. I put on my Bates Leathers jumpsuit. My new black knee high boots with the 3” heels were staying home, instead I wore my racing boots with the same tread as the tires on the bike. Checked myself out in the mirror and with my long hair I remember thinking I looked Emma Peel-ish.
I went out to the garage and unlocked the bike. I opened the petcocks beneath the tank to allow gas to flow down to the carburetor. I gently pushed the kick start down a couple of times till I found the “sweet spot”. I twisted the throttle open a bit and came down with all my weight on the kick start lever. The Bonneville roared to life with the wonderful exhaust note that can only come from a British vertical twin cylinder motorcycle. Well, I thought, that's a good sign, it started on the first try despite being a very modified rebuilt high compression motor.
I engaged the clutch, tapped her into first gear with my right toe and rode into the street. Told myself to take it easy, this is a brand new motor with no miles on it. I rode around the neighborhood reveling in the joy of actually being able to finally ride the Bonnie after so many months of working on it and the thousands of dollars I had sunk into the project.
I rode towards Figueroa Street, loving the feeling of the wind lifting me as I leaned forward to grip the low handlebars, my hair tossed back and my mouth sporting a big grin. I was riding faster now and leaning deep into the turns, racing tires and modified suspension inspiring confidence. God, this felt good!
By now it was starting to get dark so I turned on the lights. A powerful beam emanated from the headlight – the electrics were all new, every bit of the Joe Lucas (known as the Prince of Darkness) original equipment was gone. It was drizzling and the street was damp so I wasn't pushing her very hard.
Suddenly a yellow VW bug pulled out and cut me off. My right hand and left foot hit the brakes. As the brakes engaged, the VW stopped - he had no brake lights.
Crunch, my front wheel went into the back of the bug, which also had no rear bumper. Since I was already braking, I was able to keep the Bonnie upright. My heart felt like it was in my mouth. The VW floored it and disappeared into traffic ahead.
I pushed the bike over to the curb to take inventory of the damage. The front alloy wheel rim was bent and tire was partially pulled away from it. I wasn't riding home. I hoped the forks hadn't been damaged.
In any case, I bet the bug suffered the worst of the impact.
There was a Filipino bar on the corner. I went in and found a pay phone. I tried to call Bill to come get me and the bike but he wasn't at home or at the shop. I guess I was spared his remarks about being a “crasher” for a while.
I called my house and luckily my roommate, Rob, was home. He knew about Melody and pretty much ignored her. I told him where the keys to my pickup were and he agreed to come rescue me.
Well, there was nothing to do but sit at the bar and chat with the bar girls and try some Filipino mixed drinks. We were having a fine time, despite my lack of Tagalog skills, when Rob finally showed up. Not the evening I anticipated, but pleasant none the less.
