This 4th and last book in the Channeling Biker Bob series is about Bob’s experience, his life in the fifties, his death and why he visits the “one on one” gang.
The following is the first few pages from the book.
Pacheco Pass, 1953
I twist the throttle wide open. The blonde in the Caddy convertible slips around the bend a mile ahead. I make that first turn, no sweat. A Model A zips past going the other way. I glance at my speedometer—sixty-five—and then it comes to me, men and women need to be equal.
Where did that come from?
I don’t have time to think. I hit the next curve and lean my bike deep. The kickstand drags on the pavement.
In the open again, with another few hundred yards of straight pavement, I ponder the thought. Men and women need to be equal? What does that mean?
The next curve is here and I drop deep, drifting slightly over the center line of the narrow two-lane. I let off the gas and slow as I come out of the drift. I find myself dropping into a hairpin. I can hit the brakes for only a second before I’m on the curve. It’s enough to drop my speed. I look at the speedometer: forty-five. The turn lasts forever as the choppy road doubles back on itself. I pass a sign that reads twenty-five miles per hour. I grab my suicide shift with my left hand. My foot jams the clutch, and I slam into a lower gear. I hear the skid of the back wheel behind me. I flip my Indian back to a right bank. The four pistons thunder under me in decompression. Out of control? Not on your life.
I’m doing thirty as I reach the final part of that last turn. I crank on the juice. My bike leaps ahead. I see a flash of taillight around the next bend. Is it the blonde?
Men and women need to be equal before—
The next turn is here, and knowing the Caddy is just ahead, I take it at a more reasonable speed. I slip around without a hitch.
With a mile of straight road, I grab the shifter, throw it into high, and crank the throttle. I’ll be on her tail in a second. But wait, I see the plume of exhaust as the big Cadillac engine kicks in. The driver’s long blond hair whips in the wind. The car pulls out of sight around the next bend.
Before a relationship can mature.
There’s that statement again. I shake my head. It makes perfect sense. “Holy shit! that’s it.” I yell it out loud over the roar of my engine and the whistle of the wind. “Men and women need to find a way to be equal before a relationship can mature.”
It’s so simple.
For a second I forget about the blonde and think of Carol. She’s going to love this one.
The Caddy is just ahead. I round that first bend, and it’s there, right in front of me. A faded green flatbed truck is backing out onto the road. Are those turnips?
I’m on the brakes. My bike goes into a drift. The edge of the flatbed is on me. I’m not going to miss it.