It was a full moon on a crisp October night. Bobby just polished off another can of Bud and threw it into the pile. His wife, Peggy, was constantly nagging him about cleaning the gutters, the overdue bills, the dog digging holes in the yard, and the usual stuff any married man hears. Bobby just shakes his head and doesn't say a word. He puts on his old boots and his riding vest and walks from the front door of the dilapidated trailer.
He lifts one leg over the one thing he loves in his life, his 1974 Harley sportster. He bought this thing brand new the year he graduated from high school. It's been to Mexico and back a few times transporting Mary Jane across the border for some extra cash. It's been to the bar and back countless times. It's been there through his first marriage. It's seen it's share of mystic voyages and always brought Bobby home safely. He kicks the sporty over and it fires up first stroke. A slight smile cracks from his weathered face buried beneath his thick grey beard.
He tears off down the gravel driveway heading for higher ground. The blue ridge parkway is about 30 miles from the trailer. Bobby makes it to the first over look about 20 miles down the parkway. The moon is full and Bobby stops the check out the valley below. He pulls out a tightly rolled marijuana cigarette from his top vest pocket, puts it to his lips and fires up the P.O.W. Zippo lighter that his brother gave him after his second tour in Vietnam. He takes a deep pull from the cigarette and exhales through his nose. The night is dead silent, no wind, no cars, only silence as the marijuana soothes Bobby's nerves. "Well, lets put down a few more miles then it's back home. Maybe she'll be asleep when I get back" he mutters under his breath. He snuffs out the doobie and puts it in his top left chest pocket.
The sportster fires up first kick, just like always. Bobby twists the throttle hard and tears off into the darkness. Little did he know two mischievous boys are camping beside the parkway a few miles ahead. They hear the Harley coming and immediately devise a plan. Just a little prank to them. Bobby tears around a long sweeping turn that leads into large fields on both sides. The boys are laying in the ditch with a rock the size of newborn babies head. As Bobby comes within range the stone was tossed in front of his bike. "Oh shit!!" he shouts out as he whips the bike to the left. The bike goes into a full blown tank slapper and Bobby hits the pavement hard. The two teenage boys flee into the woods scared to death. They didn't mean to kill anyone, just a little scare is what they were after.
Bobby comes to with the full moon staring back at him. His right leg is surrounded by a pool of blood and he can see his bike 75 feet ahead in the ditch. He doesn't say a word. He unzips the top left chest pocket and retrieves his lighter and what's left of his doobie. "This weed has never tasted so good." he thought to himself and smiled. "guess I won't have to do any yard work tomorrow" he said out-loud as a park ranger pulled up to the mangled Harley and turned on the lights.
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