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It had been a good ride. The two hundred miles of curvy road had been lightly traveled with just enough traffic on it to get the juices going at each car passed. The bike had sung a song of freedom through the pipes as the sound bounced off hill and mountain sides, rising and falling in crescendo with each gear change. Dinner at the Mom and Pop cafe in Lordsburg had been fun too. Not only was the chow good, but the waitress had been a sexy late forties year old with a wicked sense of humor. She may have been a bit heavier than some cared for, but at this point in life, perfection points for fashionable thinness had long since been overshadowed by an appreciation for fellow lovers of life. She was bold and brassy, well read to boot, and not at all shy as she had traded quips with him. And as she skipped over to the radio to turn up a Seger tune, he saw that she shared at least a few more of his passions. That and the old XS650 streettracker he saw parked outside the front door painted in hot pink and flat black tiger stripes. Everything about the homebuilt bike screamed attitude, like I'm the real deal, not some poser wannabe and don't you forget it. No, she definitely wasn't some fashion plate air-headed bimbet, she was 100% real woman and an honest to god motorcycle enthusiast to boot. And besides, there had been something extra he couldn't quantify about this big titted, sweet assed gal that had made him want to explore every bit of her lush body. Could have been the tattoos he'd seen peeking out from the confines of her waitress top. But he had miles to make, and a run to go to. He'd said he'd be there and run the games and his word was his bond. So he'd made his way out to his scoot, turned on the gas, ...

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