"Ride Sally, Ride"

I rode in the passenger seat of the Vette, the big boxes balanced on my lap and stacked high enough to block my view out the windshield. The cars weren't made for carrying anything more than two people. Breedlove was singing along with the radio, but didn't know the words to the song with the exception of chiming in everytime the verse, "ride, Sally, ride," pounded out of the single dashboard speaker.

My only view was out the passenger side window, and to do that I had to painfully direct my eyes to the right. The stacked boxes were heavy, and the top one held my head like a vise to the seat's headrest. I noticed we weren't heading back to the office, but were now on some country road.

"Where we going?" My cardboard muffled voice asked. My lips were plastered against the box, and I sounded like I just left the dentist office with a double charge of Novacaine.

"Big Tony's."

"Who is Big Tony?

"The guy from the Harley store."

I knew from the sound of the tires, we were now on a dirt road. A quarter of mile later, I felt the Vette slowing down, going up a ramp, and when it stopped, I found myself looking at the gray boards of the inside of a barn. Breedlove got out, came around my side of the car and lifted the first box off of me. There were motorcycle parts everywhere. Breedlove lifted the other two boxes off me, and I felt the blood rushing to my legs. My toes tingled in the pink flip flops I purchased at the Salvation Army on the way here, to replace my shoes stolen at the 7-11. I opened the door and got out of the Vette. I bent to massage my legs.

When I straightened, I saw Breedlove checking over a circa 1930 Indian motorcycle with a sidecar attached to it. He went over the dusty machine like a pilot doing a pre-flight check. I limped over to the machine, and noticed a gear shift near the big gas tank.

"What's that?"

"A suicide shift."

"Great," I said. I was gonna die on a road somewhere with a stoned private investigator.

"Hi boys," I turned to see a petite woman standing at the entrance at the barn.

"Hi Flower," Breedlove said.

"Long time no see." The woman walked toward us. She was dressed in a white muscle shirt, jeans, and I noticed no bra. There was a tattoo on her right arm, homemade. "Tony's Chick."

"Tony called me from the store, and said you would be coming. He said, if you need anything to just let me know."

She looked at my pink flip flops, and smiled.

"It's not what you think," I said.

"Where is the gas cans," Breedlove asked her. She disappeared into a stall, and returned carrying a two jerry cans. I watched as Breedlove dumped some into the massive tank of the Indian.

"Do you need anything else?" she asked him.

"Do you still have that wig, you wore at the CycleFest, the one when you dressed up as Lady Godiva?" he asked.

"Yeah, it's in the house, I'll get it." She turned and walked quickly out of the barn.

Breedlove yelled after her, "Oh, and if you have any of those temporary tattoos, could you bring them too?"

"I have plenty," she yelled back.

Breedlove looked at me, like Michaelangelo must have looked at the Sistine Chapel ceiling.

"Oh no, I'm not dressing up like a biker chick."

"Do you want get Lupe or not?"

"Well, yeah."

"Then it's a small sacrifice, right?"

A half hour later, with the Vette stored in the barn, I discovered what was in the boxes, and I found myself in a tight pair of black leather pants, a vest covering some black satin top, two temporary tattoos, and a long blonde wig held tight by a skull cap type helmet. A pair of wrap around sunglasses topped the get up off. The black satin top, I could only construe as some type of short blouse that showed off my navel.

Breedlove was dressed nearly the same, except his outfit was obviously for a male. He wore no helmet, but a leather cap. He also wore motorcycle boots, an item he neglected to remember to get for me. I was stuck in the pink flip flops.

I climbed into the sidecar. Breedlove saddled up on the old Indian.

"Are you ready to go to Sturgis?" He laughed. I think he was still stoned from the Harley store.

"Don't you think that eyepatch should go under the Ray Bans," I replied. The guy looked more like a pirate than a biker.

"Oh, yeah." He slid the sunglasses off pulled the eyepatch back into position, and adjusted the Ray Bans on his nose. The Indian started with one jump, and Flower waved at us as we left her in a trail of dust. I looked at the fake tattoos on my outer arms just below the shoulder.

"Ride Sally, Ride." on the right, and "Breedlove's Bitch"on the left. I still remember Flower cackling when she put that one on. This isn't going to work, I thought. Breedlove cracked second gear when we hit the pavement throwing me back into the cramped confines of the sidecar.

I yelled over the loud rumbling.

"Breedlove, I'll never pass for a biker woman, I have a three day old beard."

He looked down at me, his voice loud trying to overcome the wind.

"Did you ever see some of those biker chicks from the SRRRMC, believe me, you'll pass."

We headed northwest with the wind whipping through my long blonde tresses.

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