Solar Joint Stories: The Tale of the Blood-Red Biker
A Totally 100% On-The-Level Ghost Story...
There’s a time-honored tradition in the solar joint Doc’s Oasis; the toast. Only it isn’t your normal well-wishing over a tall class of amber-colored ale. The toast is a time to tell stories. To rant, to rave, to regale. Talk of grand triumphs and complete failures. All unfiltered, and all in the company of friends. This is one of those stories.
Best damn ride of my life, Sabina. God you’re good. I’ll catch ya later sweetheart. Alright, now who’s got my brandy?
There it is, come to Papa!
Right then, y’all been short on a few biker stories, huh? Well, nothing the M.A.D. Dog can’t fix, ‘specially with my Indian in tow.
Yeah, Chief’s running good, the three-eyed devil. Boys on Base been taking good care of my baby girl and it shows, huh?
So, what kinda story you want? Action, mystery, suspense?
Ghost story? Well shit, do I got one for you, Pal. I met Her once out on the plains. And I mean HER. Not some spooky gray lady on a fucked up Harley, I mean the Goddess Almighty. The Hellioness you hear all the old-timers raving about. We got folks in the war praying under their breaths, chantin-n-pantin like they’re in heat on the battlefield. And I got to meet Her!
I’m serious Pal! And it ain’t the drink talking yet. I’m only…two shots deep and this here bottle got plenty more to go. So here goes it, the whole damn story from top-to-tits-to-bottom.
Now this all went down before I was on the Force for Old Man Godred. I was out riding the Chief. Just spent the day tuning and rubbing her down. It was late at night, real late. All I had on me was my jeans and boots, nothing else, and we were running flat-out. I mean, I was giving her every ounce of juice and she was speeding good. Little Miss Black Hawk never was a slouch, even in rust bucket form, but tonight she was the MOST! Hottest thing on two wheels.
I flicked my eyes up to the sky for a sec and caught sight of that there set of…what the hell them ‘stronomers call it?
“Red dwarfs.” Yeah, somethin’ like that. Anyhow, them two red stars were up in the sky that night, the mark of our dear metal queen. Naturally, I get my Chief running red hot now. Must be a good sign, right? Well, someone should told the rock they threw in front of us.
Swear to God, outta nowhere, a big ol’ ACME boulder jumps into the road. But then, before I even go for her brakes, the thing blows apart, right in half and all the shit goes flying out of our way.
“Weird” was the first thought before the devil-may-care side of me said, “eh, fuck it” and kept the blood-red beauty a-rolling.
Next thing that happens is I start hearing roars. Not bike roars, I mean wolves howling mad and mountain lions going ape-shit. Like the kinda noises they only make in movies, Pal. That raw, that rough, that kind of shit.
Now I brake. Because I don’t know where this is all coming from, until I hear it getting closer. From all sides man, like the whole thing’s on a lasso above my head, whipping ‘round and ‘round, coming in to rope me up and do God only knows what. The roars, the wind, it all picks up tenfold and goes shrieking my way. And just as soon as I hear all these groans, moans, screams and shouts, they all hit a reeeeeeeeeeeeeeal high note. Like, fortissississimo off-the-charts, who-kicked-me-in-the-nuts bad.
And then it all stops. Just like that. Dead quiet.
Then I feel Her. Her red-furred fingers rolling up my back. And I turn to look. And she’s right there, the Hellioness herself. Her eyes were white, but the rest of her was all normal looking. All that desert beauty you ever heard about. Gorgeous eyes, gorgeous coat of fur, a playful smile, all done up in leather and suede. And then I see that silver steed of hers right beneath. Chakana, yessir, all sterling and polished, that long chopped ride with the big fat wheels. She was sat right on top of the bike, her beast balanced like a scale.
And then she says it. That there magic word of hers all the old cats go mumbling under their breaths.
City…sit…shit, sorry, Shot Number Seven is kicking like a mule right now. Fuck. Alright, here it goes: Sit-e-shaw-beer. Some’in like that.
Anyhow, she says that magic word and that bike gets a-cranking. And I mean that beast roars better than any of the strange critters there on the plains that night. And she looks over to me, with that classic Hellioness cool. She knows what she wants from me right now: I’m gonna duel the motherfucking queen.
I get my Chief revved up and fixing to fly, she nods to me and I nod to her, and we both take off in a roar. Burning rubber, big clouds of dust, the bikes bolting for it. Those white eyes are just glowing with a savage kinda hunger. And just when it looks like I’m about to take the lead, the cloud of dust overtakes her…and she is gone-daddy-gone. I put the Chief’s brakes on and swung her around to face where the ol’ red ghost was. Looked all over for her, but she had just vanished. But hey, gave me one of the best night rides of my life. Pretty cool ghost story, eh?
How do I…fuck Pal, I only had two beers that night! Now if I had a dozen, then any bitch I rode up alongside would look like Her. But not on two! I know what I saw and I saw what I know, and that’s the whole damn story! I wouldn’t lie about that shit ‘cause that’s the kind of blasphemy that comes to you in the middle of the night with knuckle dusters and a chain to wrap your head in. That’s the kind of shit that gets you cast out of heavy metal heaven where you get all the road you need, all the bitches and beer you want, and there’s always a pack of smokes on you and there’s…there’s…AW FUCK that shit’s smarting now. Shot 23, not for the faint of heart. This is professional, weapon’s grade shit we rocking here tonight, got-DAMN.
Anywhosit, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it, strangers. You better believe I met the Queen-Bitch of the bikers. It’s not like Imma chosen one or I’m comin’ on with prophecy-n-shit. Sometimes, a goddess just gotta ride. She just picked the night I had to ride, and saved my ass from whatever the hell was coming out of the hills. And y’know what, I ain’t ever run my baby Chief that good since that night. I juice her up all the time, get her the best shit to run on, but she ain’t ever sung the way she did for the Queen man, I…
Where it happen?
Easy, I’ll tell you just after lil’ ol’ shot thir…thirt…alright that’s enough for me tonight…gemme the first medic that walk in the gin-joint, will ya?