Sometimes the journey is over before it begins…
Desires – Travelling
By Fzzy and Tera S
Saskatchewan province, Canada
On a lonely stretch of road lays a freshly killed mule deer. Beyond that, by about ten feet lies a Harley Davidson motorcycle. Upon closer examination under the blood and the scratches you can tell it was an ice blue in color. The sound of cursing and falling sticks brings your attention to a small clearing beside the road. There, leaning on a strong, freshly cut branch, is the rider of the motorcycle. A robust man of 5 feet 9 inches, the 200 pound road warrior is obviously injured.
However he refuses to give in, to quit trying to survive.
“Goddamned, DEER! All I wanted to do was ride. I finally get to realize a few dreams, go to Sturgis, visit my great uncle Sonny, and ride into Saskatchewan to visit the buffalo drop. I cannot believe that a deer would ruin my dream from 4th grade.”
“No uncle sonny I just want to ride up there and then ride back the next day what could happen? Famous last words Damn, this hurts”
*rubbing his left side that has several scrapes and bruises. Covered by a shredded drover coat.*
“No”, Uncle Sonny said. “Stay here gets drunk, play some poker with the boys. Maybe go into Missoula, and poke a few women.”
“No thanks Sonny,” I said. ” I want to go check out the Buffalo drop, and ride.”
“Well, I can’t stop you but call when you get there.”
“Yes Sir, Sonny. I will also stop back before I head to Sturgis.”
“Everything was going great, easy border crossing, got all gassed up.
Then hit the open road of Canada.”
*smiling at the thought of the ride then a frown transforms his face*
“THEN THAT DAMNED DEER!”
Grabbing a piece of cloth from my shirt and my knife, I limp over to the deer’s carcass. There I begin cutting into the rump, until I have a couple of slices of fresh deer meat. Finishing with that chore, I limp over to the motorcycle. My eyes begin to overflow with tears. I kneel down beside the motorcycle and begin to speak to it as, if it can hear and understand what I am saying.
“I am sorry Ice. I will try and get you fixed as good as new.”
Patting the tank affectionately once, I remove the gas cap. Shoving the rag inside, it soon is soaked with gasoline. Removing it quickly and replacing the cap, I struggle to my feet and walk to the clearing, which is now a campsite for the night.
Once there I place the meat into a mess kit pan. I then turn to the fire pit I had already prepared, before hand, placing the fuel-soaked rag under the stack of twigs and limbs. This will make starting the fire easier and faster.
Striking a match I throw it into the pile. It catches with a loud
FWOOSH! After getting the fire going I feed it a steady stream of sticks until a nice, cheery fire is going. Grasping the mess kit pan, I place it into the fire, to cook the deer meat.
Suddenly, I turn my head. I can hear a sound, a distant rumble of another motorcycle! Struggling to my feet I rush towards the road. Once there I have a coughing fit. I spit out some phlegm, I think, looking up the road towards the north. There in the distance, I can spot a light, a motorcycle’s headlight.
Rushing over to my motorcycle, I lean down and switch on and off the lights. The pitch of the oncoming motorcycle changed. It is slowing down
Mercy comes in odd ways sometimes…