Motorcycles & Sweetgrass Read Online Free PDF Page A

of the highway shimmered in the unusual spring heat, waves rising from it and creating what appeared to be either wet spots or black ice on top. A mirage, he knew. He kept watching, especially the part where the road dropped about twenty-five feet into a bit of a valley and then rose again.
    “What the hell…”
    Rising suddenly from the little valley in the road was a vague figure. It was difficult to see properly, with the heat radiating off asphalt. What was surprising was that although Bruce had been watching, he hadn’t seen the figure coming. It was as if it had just appeared on this side of the little valley.
    Maybe, Bruce Scott thought, I’ve been sitting out here too long.
    As the figure drew closer, gradually emerging from the wavy lines, Bruce was able to make out more details. The figure wasriding a large red motorcycle. An old one too, it appeared. And it was wearing black leather and a dark helmet with an equally dark visor. Now Bruce could hear the distinctive sound of the engine. As it approached him, it slowed down, and Bruce got a good look at what was moving north. It looked back.
    This wasn’t something you saw every day.
    “Nice bike,” Bruce Scott muttered to himself, but his voice was lost in the sound of the already departing vehicle.
    Elizabeth and Ann Kappele were twins. They lived with their parents in a small nesting of houses and businesses just outside the Otter Lake Reserve. Most people in the county called the smattering of homes Roadside. Barely seven years of age, Elizabeth and Ann were happy to be out of school and were enjoying the spring day. That consisted of throwing a big blue ball back and forth, singing “Ring of Fire” at the top of their lungs. Johnny Cash was practically the only music their father let in the house. Maybe some Randy Travis, the occasional Garth Brooks, but deep in his heart, Daniel Kappele felt there was no music like the old music.
    “Higher!” squealed Ann, caught up in the moment of ball frenzy.
    Elizabeth threw the blue ball high over Ann’s head, half by accident and half on purpose. Twins are like that. Ann turned and chased after the ball that bounced along the driveway and was rapidly rolling toward the highway and, across the road, the Setting Sun Motel. It was the Kappele family’s financially dubious business. Both Ann and Elizabeth had long ago been taught the dangers of living so close to a busy road, so Ann instinctively slowed to a walk and looked both ways as she prepared to crossthe road in search of her ball. It had come to a rest halfway across the pavement, just past the parallel yellow lines.
    Darting out, Ann grabbed the ball and was about to turn back when she noticed something hazy in the distance. And she heard something too. A far-off buzz that grew into a deep growling coming from somewhere up the road. Puzzled, she watched for a few seconds, her eyes squinting in effort.
    “Ann, get off the road. You know what daddy says! You shouldn’t be standing there! Throw me the ball.” Elizabeth, even at her age, felt waiting was for people who had nothing more important to do. Frustrated and worried, she ran to Ann’s side and grabbed the ball roughly. “If you’re not gonna throw it, then I will!” she shouted.
    But then, she too saw what was coming. It was a motorcycle. Both had seen plenty in their day, their father had even owned one a few years ago, but this one seemed different. It had a different design to it, sounded different and had a rider who was definitely different in the way the helmet was designed, and the way the motor cyclist’s head cocked like a bird when the machine slowed to a stop a few feet from the girls. One black boot slid off the pedal and touched the ground, a bright blue handkerchief tied just above the knee.
    The Kappele twins could see themselves reflected in the dark visor with the odd markings on the side. For a moment, neither party moved, and then Elizabeth dropped the ball. It bounced once