We had been out to Portland Head Light and were just down the road at the corner Short Stop to get some gas before it jumped another two bits.  When we pulled in to the pump island there were four big motorcycles all hovered around one pump topping off their tanks.  

These guys resurrected old bikes and actually used them.  Can’t say they were in the business of restoring them.  They looked old, and the wear and tear of many years and many miles was evident every where you looked.  But when they started those machines, they purred like kittens without a growl or whine.

For a very brief moment, I felt the – what?  Urge?  Desire?  Not really.  It was more like the sweet breath of fantasy on the back of my neck, whispering about straddling that Indian and sampling the lovely hills and curves so near and beckoning.

I took a deep breath and quickly turned the page.  

It was like walking away from a fight I knew I couldn’t win.  I got in the car and happily drove home.

Jerry Henderson

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