A few hours later, at Malo's, he sat at the counter and rocked his coffee cup slowly, watching the waves inside. His belly was full, he had good friends around him and all was well with the world. He kept tilting the cup back and forth, reaching for his pack with the other hand.
Jet remembered the bolt. Laying there. It stood out for some reason. A stray bolt on the side of the highway... He tried to think of other times he'd noticed junk on the ground. Bolts, cigarette packs, beer cans, lock washers. Anything.
All those miles up and down the highway. The parking lots of a couple dozen bars and diners. Big rigs and cages at 'em, always. Other bikers too. He thought hard about the gravel lot where Karen worked, three days west of Malo's, because he knew every inch of that lot. There should be odd parts and wrappers everywhere he looked, shouldn't there?

Conchita came by just then, sassing him about thinking too much. Ty picked up on it and punched him on the arm, sloshing his coffee all over. Jet stuck his cigarette between his teeth and got Ty in a headlock. Shoved his nose toward the puddle, and almost got it down there. Scattered applause and catcalls broke out from around the diner. Ty pulled himself loose and made like he was going to punch him again, then wagged his head and stepped back, smirking like it just wasn't worth the time.
Kerry and Links got up, throwing down crumped bills on the counter and pulling on their jackets. Jet followed suit, hailing Malo behind the grill and thanking him with a jest in easy Spanglish. He paid and pulled on his gloves, nodding to truckers he knew and giving Conchita a last salute.
He ambled out to where the bikes waited. They had a three-hour ride to Deke's roadhouse if they took it easy, closer to two if they wanted to crank it up. But everybody seemed relaxed tonight, so he figured they'd stop off for a joint halfway, at the dry lake where they usually did.

The desert rolled by them. Indigo sky, still pale orange behind. Not a cloud in the sky.
Jet cracked his neck and sighed with contentment. The bike was running great, as always. He looked forward to getting high next to the gully, and later a few shots, a couple games of pool, and then sprawling across a little bed with old, clean sheets.
It's just a bolt, he thought. So what if there aren't a whole bunch of 'em scattered around? Maybe people just got more respect for the highway here, they don't litter, what's the big deal...
He rode on, lost in thought.

"Hey. Links."
"Yo." He turned and looked over his beer at Jet.
"You ever notice how there's no trash on the ground?"
"Huh?"
"There ain't no parts layin' around. Nuts and bolts. Or beer cans, papers..."
Links looked at him for a few seconds, smirking. "Well. Should there be?"
"No..."
"People are cool here. They don't dump their shit out the window."
"Never? And, I mean, there'd still be the little parts that fell off, here and there. Vibration. Right?"
"I guess." They drank up.
"Don't that seem weird to you?"
"Sorta." He thought about it, and gave it up, shaking his head. "I don't want there to be a bunch of trash on the side of the road. If nobody else wants it either, cool."
"Naw, that's not what I mean," Jet muttered. "I like it too. It just seems like... Aaah, I dunno. Different..."

 
Next day, he woke right up. Always bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, first thing in the morning. That's what Karen said. He liked the way she said it, too. She wasn't like that at all. Jet pulled his boots on and went out, pounding on the other guys' doors...
They ate, and they set off. Up to the Colinas, nice easy hills, and on through.
 

Perro, another biker they ran into sometimes, sank the eight-ball. Kerry started to howl his usual protests, but he busted up laughing as he did.
Links looked over at Jet, rolling his eyes.
"Yup." No more needed to be said. They were sitting on stools around one of the pool tables at Black Mike's, waiting their turns. Leaning 'em against the wall. Perro raised his hand and took a little victory lap, and poked Kerry in the gut with the handle of the cue, just to shut him up.
Jet started another cigarette, closed his lighter... and looked at it. He'd had it forever. It always worked. He never had to do anything to it, and he'd been using it, oh, at least as long as he'd been riding with Links. Before that - before he found himself on the highway - well, he didn't know.
He dropped it back on the shelf and kicked out smoke. Looked at his pack. Camel shortys. Around half-empty, same as always. That thought led to a simple, basic question, and he tried to catch it. Same as always...? But it slipped away again.
All Jet knew was he could smoke all night and there'd still be about ten cigs in there. He'd stashed a couple extra packs in his left saddlebag, just in case. A couple times, when the pack had just plain fallen apart - or somebody sat on 'em or something - the next pack didn't get lower than halfway gone.

There was something different from the way it used to be, but he couldn't figure out what it was. He bounced it off Kerry and got the same I-dunno shrug he did from Links.
The next couple days, Jet smoked as much as he could. Every time he thought to look, there were still about the same number of Camels in there, ready and waiting.
It didn't bug him all that much. He did wonder why he hadn't noticed before. He'd had enough for a while, so he went down to two smokes a day, and never gave 'em another thought in between. So eventually he just quit outright, and it didn't matter. Sat in the same ol' bars and coffee shops, and he didn't care about it. This was okay too, but it confused him in a vague sort of way.

The next time Ty pulled out a big bomber and wagged it at him, he turned it down. The guys made a couple jokes about it, but that was all. He could watch 'em get stoned and it didn't make him want to, or not want to. So he started to drink coffee at the bars - soda, at the places where the coffee was notoriously rank - and he had just as much fun as before. People were as friendly as ever, he slept just as soundly as before, and he didn't crave any of it.
Now and then he'd get curious and check his pockets. The half-full pack of Camels was still over his heart. The leather pouch of top-notch weed was tucked inside on the other side. His Zippo was always in his pocket, firing up on the first try. He was glad to see 'em. If he wanted to smoke, he was ready. Did he want to? Usually he could go either way...
On impulse, he took six or seven Camels out and threw 'em into the scrub.

Next day, when he thought to check, there were eleven cigs in the pack.
 

 
But he had other things to think about. Karen, tonight. He only shaved on the days he was riding home. And was he ready - getting her alone was all he could think about, the closer he got...
The other guys recognized the signs. They each had a ol' lady along the way, further west. The last leg between the Big Skillet and Dead Stop was always balls-out, a nice flat stretch that begged to be taken at a hundred and ten.
They pulled up, and he didn't see her car. No Karen. Fairly ran inside, and Rosa told him she'd gone home early. She'd checked with Willie at the Kruise-Inn, found out the boys had crashed there last night, and did the math. Home, waiting for him.
Jet chuckled loud, and booked. In his haste at the door he shouldered Kerry out of the way.
Links chuckled at that. "Damn. You go take care of your wife, now."
"Don'tcha know," Jet shot back, as he went.

He pulled up to the shed and reefed on the throttle before he shut it down. The light was on inside...
"Sweetness," he said happily, from the doorway.
She looked up and shut off the torch. Lifted the welder's mask and smiled at him, cocking her head. The gesture always made him nuts. "Hey. Aren't you something to see. Let me shut down here."
He exhaled hard and decided it was time for a cigarette. Not that he'd get time to finish it, before - "Let's do it. Here," he said, staring at her.
Karen laughed. "Ten more seconds, big guy. Maybe ten more to get to the house. Okay?"
" 'kay." He looked at the sculpture she'd been welding. "How's it coming?"
She made a weird expression as she shut off the tanks. "Don't know yet. I need some inspiration."
"Well," Jet crowed, "I'm full of inspiration."
"I just bet."
He held his arm out as she walked over, and took a last mammoth drag.
 

 
They slept in. Rain pattered outside in the blue dusk. It always rained when he was with her. Not good weather for riding. No conflicting desires. When he was with her, it was the only place he wanted to be.
For a long time, he smoked and watched her sleep. Easily, gradually, she moved a little and opened her eyes. Saw him, and smiled. He grinned back, put out his smoke, and reached for the mouthwash bottle next to his side of the bed. Had a belt and crept back alongside her, kissing her neck...

After another nap, he got up and made coffee. Brought it back into the bedroom and looked out the window awhile. Karen took a long time to wake up, every time she woke up.

"What'cha thinking?," she yawned.
He looked at her, and back at the rain. "How do you do that? Make it rain when I'm here? I never see no rain anywhere else."
"It's probably raining all along the highway, right now."
"I wonder. I never run into it when I'm ridin'. Come back here, though, and get cooped up with you -"
"In the bedroom," she said.
He grinned. "Yup, in the bedroom for a few days. With my wife."
"Awwwwww."
"Whoo hoo. So even those times when I only get east a day or two, start thinkin', turn right back around, it'll be raining before I can get my jeans off."
"Well, at least you won't miss any good riding weather."
"Yeah," he said, surprised. "So I can give all my attention to my favorite person in the whole world."
"Good try."
"Yeah, well."
"Uh-huh. You can ride in the rain..."
"But I don't want to. Not when I'm here with you."
She reached over and squeezed his thigh. "Let it rain. I like this just fine." He put his hand on hers, and looked outside again.
"You know what else?," he said suddenly.
"What?"
Jet tried to find words. "It's the end of the day. Always. Sunset. Like the sun got stuck or somethin', y'know? Looks just the same in the sky all the time. 'course, all I ever see here is clouds -"
"Rain clouds?"
"Hah. But even here it don't get no darker in the east, and the sun don't go no farther down, that way," he said, gesturing to the west.
"It's darker at Raceway than it is here."
"But... but you can sit in front of Raceway for a month and it'll be just the same the whole time. The sky's a lot lighter on the beach, but it never gets as dark as here, even. Ever."
"That's right. So?"
"Was it always like that?"
She looks at the ceiling for awhile. "Uh. I think so. Why wouldn't it be?"
He shakes his head once. "I dunno. I just been thinkin' about weird shit lately."
Karen sat up. "Go fix me some eggs, and I'll let you tell me all about it."

So he fed her, and washed up, and parked himself across the table from her, coffee and ashtray close at hand.

She listened to him, interrupting with questions now and then. He wound down, and she stared at a point next to his head, thinking it over. Jet belched, lit another cigarette and waited.
"Well. It's a puzzle. I don't get it, exactly. But I feel something like what you're saying. Things have been this way for as long as I remember, and I don't want anything to change. But I almost sorta remember it being different than this. I just never thought about it."
"Yeah," he says, relieved. "It's fuzzy -"
"But there's something there, tiger. I don't know." She glanced out the window. "Since it looks like you're gonna stick around 'til tomorrow, you can ask Pastor about it if you want."
"Hmmmm." He was doubtful. "Not really his area. But I guess it couldn't hurt."

She went back to work on her sculpture - but not before loading him up with things to do. He actually enjoyed it. Getting his tool belt on again, rehanging that kitchen cabinet that was threatening to fall down, the loose screen door, replacing some shingles that had blown off the roof. Putting up more shelves in her workshop. Lugging around a bunch of pipe and steel plates she'd be using to make sculptures.
They were both tired. But not too tired.
 

 
He slapped the alarm until it shut off, and nudged Karen. Got up and dug in the closet for his good shirt...
It had quit raining, but more was on the way. She rode on the back of his bike. It was only a few blocks to the cinderblock church, but the ride had become a custom of theirs - Karen behind him, and Jet on his best behavior, trying to get 'em there with as little mud splattering on them as possible.
"There they are. Karen. Hey, Jet," the pastor's mom said from the doorway, watching them get off the bike.
"Hey back, Miz Montoya," he called, curling his arm around Karen as they started up the steps.
They got settled, and Raul nodded to them as he walked up to the podium-thing. There were about three dozen people there, the usual crowd, and they sang with gusto. They laughed a lot. Jet liked that. When the plate came around, he dug into his pocket and pulled out what he had. It was about fifty bucks.
Whenever he reached in there, no matter where he was, it seemed like he had about fifty bucks on him. A twenty, a couple tens, a five and singles. Four or five quarters too, for the jukebox.
Raul started to preach, so he tried to follow Karen's finger as it slid across the page in her old Bible. He knew most of the short words.
Jet's mind wandered, though. It wasn't Raul's fault - he was as stand-up as they came, and so damn sincere about what he was saying that it usually sucked you right in. He'd put a lot of time in with Jet and Karen, asking tough questions - what they believed, why they believed it - and then he actually listened to the responses. He got after Jet, gentle but stubborn, until he made an honest woman out of Karen. And then she took longer to get okay with the idea than he did.
Raul married 'em right here, in this church. That seemed like such a long time ago...
He looked at Karen. She didn't look a day older than when he met her. Not a day.

The sermon was up to Raul's usual standards. Useful stuff, encouraging, and the people were with him. Jet was a believer. He had no beef there.
But probably it wouldn't hurt to have a sit-down with the guy...

Afterward, he let Karen lead him around and show him off. Everybody was friendly as always. He hung around until she started talking to a new couple about her next piece. She was lost to him when she got to talking about art stuff, so he picked up his jacket and wandered outside, along the far side of the building. It was sprinkling - they were gonna wet on the way home, but at least it wasn't far. There was an overhang and a sidewalk there, and a couple ladies finishing their smokes, getting ready to leave. He greeted 'em and lit a cigarette, leaning against the wall.

A little boy ran by. "Jet!," he yelled, not even slowing.
"Hey, dude," he said, but the kid was already around the corner.
He watched the rain for awhile, and an idea suddenly came to him. He parked his smoke and dug into the pocket of his jeans...
Fifty-three dollars and thirty cents.
"There he is," Raul said, coming from the back of the building.
"Preacher man," Jet said, grinning and sticking out his hand. He took a last drag and threw the butt in a rusty coffee can.
"Good to see you. What's up?"
"Oh, you know, the usual."
"What else?"
Jet blinked. "Huh?"
Raul leaned against the wall. "From up front, there, you get to know what people look like when they're awake. You looked like you had something on your mind today."
"Aw, nothin' personal, Raul -"
"Of course not. You wanna talk?"
Jet looked down. "I guess so. Yeah."
Raul stuck his hand into the rain, and looked at the sky. "Safe to say you'll be around tomorrow? Say, afternoon?"
That got another grin. "Yup."
"Okay," Raul nods. "I'll be home all day. You, and Karen, or just you. See you then?"
"It's a deal..."
 

 
He pounded on the door again. Raul appeared, talking on the phone. He waved Jet in and pointed toward the back door.
A dog ran up, tail in high gear. Jet threw a stick to her for a couple minutes and tried to remember her name. Dogger, Dig, Digger. Dugger. Dugout, that's it, she used to dig her way out all the time...
Raul appeared with mugs and a coffee pot. "You know where the butt can is?"
"I think I remember," Jet said, reaching behind the barbecue.
"Sue's shopping in Arroyo, took the kids. We can hide out for a good couple hours."
"Shit, dude, I won't take up that much of your time."
"Please. It's yours if you want it." Raul shrugged.
Jet blew on his coffee. "Karen's goin' full-tilt at this piece she's workin' on. She says hi."
A nod, and a pause. "So... things are okay between you two?"
That got a chuckle. "Yeah. Oh yeah."
"You mean it?"
He looked, and saw Raul watching him. "I mean it. I'd tell you if it wasn't. I got no complaints, and she seems happy as ever."
"Well, that's what I thought. Good. I didn't, uh, pick up on anything. I'd hate to think I was slipping."
Jet chuckled at that, and shook one out of his pack. "Yeah. Fat chance."
"So...?"
He looked around, wondering how to start. Saw the dog. "Dugout. How long you had her?" Her head came up, and she looked at them, wagging her tail.
"Boy, I don't know. Ten years. No..." He stared into space for a while. "A long time."
Jet ate smoke. "Yeah. Since she was a pup. And it doesn't look like she's slowing down at all." He scooted forward a little. "Just hear me out, okay? I look at Dugout, and Karen... My bike. And the sky - me, even. Things just are... the way they always are. And I like it, don't get me wrong. It's alright. I just think about stuff lately and it seems like it had to be... some other way, once. Before. Different..."
Raul was baffled. "Keep going."
"I tool up and down the road. It's always sunset, just like this. Further east it don't ever get as dark as it is here. Ever." He drank some coffee. "My bike runs like a champ, all the time. Gas tank's always at three-quarters, and I got the same amount of cash in my pocket, the same half a pack of smokes. I don't know, but it seems like... Aw, shit. How can things always be the same?"
Another pause. "They're not always the same. You got married to Karen."
"Yeah." Jet tried to find words. "I know. She finishes pieces, and sells 'em, and calls for a truck to come and haul it away. I patched up some shingles on the roof a couple days ago. Bucco added a couple new sandwiches on his menu - uh, that's out at the Grinder, a truck stop west of here." Raul nodded. "But still... wouldn't it be like something other than dusk, sometimes? I can't... remember."
Raul stared at Dugout and sipped his coffee. "She was a cute little puppy. Noisy little thing." He looked over at Jet. "That was a long time ago."
"But how long ago?"
Raul didn't say anything.

The coffee was gone.
"Huh huh huh," Raul murmured, running a hand over where his hair used to be. "I have a couple thoughts. But I doubt they're what you're looking for."
"Shoot," Jet said.
"Well. I think I'm not going to have any big answers, here. At times I think I understand what you're talking about, and other times..." He shrugged.
"Yeah, that's about where Karen is," Jet said. Oh well, this is pretty much what he expected.
"I've been praying all while we talked - and I'll keep praying, you know that - but I just don't have anything helpful to say. You know what I mean? I'm sure you're okay, and you'll be okay whatever happens. There's a few places in Scripture that occurred to me, but to tell you the truth they don't really explain or answer what you've been talking about."
"Don't tell me I stumped ya."
"Wouldn't be the first time," Raul said cheerfully. "But not everything is in the Word, right there in black and white. You knew that." Jet nodded. "Nothing about motorcycles in there. So that's where faith comes in. And figuring things out the best you can. As I get to know God better - what He said about everything else - I can make better and better guesses about what He thinks of scooters. And guys who ride 'em."
Jet nodded. "I get it. I think."
"I hope you do," Raul said. "I trust you to keep after me, if you don't. A long time ago, I told you that God will take care of every need you'll ever have. And it's true. Thing is, He doesn't work just through me. Or any one person. If you really needed to... make some sushi, I would not be the man to see -"
"No chance," Jet says with an exaggerated shudder.
"Yeah. Well, I'm out of ideas. It happens sometimes. If God tells me something to tell you, you can be sure I'll get word to you quick as a shot."
"I know."
"Good. How much is this bugging you?"
"Not much..."
"Jet."
He looked down and thought it over. "No. I kinda pick it up for a while, and set it back down. Maybe I'm thinking about more things 'cause I'm sorta looking for 'em now." He glanced at Raul, who nodded. "I get distracted easily enough. Usually by Karen, or a good stretch of road. Ain't losin' sleep over it. Eatin' okay." He scratched his head. "Some things, I don't get. It's always been that way. No big deal."
"That's good to hear."
"Well, thanks."
Raul laughed. "What I mean is, you seem the same as always. Same ol' Jet. You know what I think? I think you're about to learn something new."
"Huh."
"Whatever happens, choose to do the thing that takes you closer to the Lord. Simple stuff. You'll be alright." He shook his head. "You're a hoot. The more I see, the better I like Karen's taste in husbands."
Jet squinted at him. "Well, I'm even better at pickin' wives..."

As he walked back to Karen's house, the wind started acting up. Sand and little tumbleweeds swirled in eddies before his boots. Short little cyclones. He stopped and watched for awhile, then turned onto her street.
Jet trudged up to the porch, and she appeared in the door. A very welcome sight, always, still.
He grinned and polished off his cigarette, and she opened the door.
"Ain't you cool. Tough guy."
"Yeah," he said, "I'm your tough guy." He kissed her, taking his time.
She shut the door, and he stamped on the inside doormat. "What'd he say?"
"That you really know how to pick your men."
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah. And?"
"Well, I'm okay. I guess. Spiritually." He put his arm around her and gave her a squeeze. They headed into the kitchen. "He thinks I'm gonna learn something new."
"Is that so?"
"Best he could tell. It was sorta fuzzy for him too."
"Huh." She watched him get a beer out of the fridge, turn and wag it at her. "Thanks, no. I want to get back to my piece."
"Gettin' close?"
"About... eight more hours. Maybe ten. Finish welding tonight, treat it and paint it tomorrow. Let it dry."
"And it's outa here," Jet said.
"You okay with that, if I go out to the shed? Wanna come watch me work?"
"Babe," he said, taking another swallow, "nothing I wanna watch more."
 

 
When they woke up the late light was dim, as usual. But the rain had stopped, and stuff looked sharp and clear. The air smelled good. He stood at the window, sniffing it, when he heard her turn over and groan.
"Morning," he said.
"I like that view," she mumbled. He started to move from in front of the window... figured out what she meant, and looked back at her with a big ol' shy grin. "Get back over here."
"With pleasure," he said, doing what he was told.

They laid there for a long while. He played with her hair, slowly, and flicked ash with his other hand.
"Boy, are you relaxed," he said.
"Uh-huh." Neither said anything for a couple minutes. Finally, "I love finishing a piece."
Jet opened his mouth, but thought better of it. Instead, "You get it the way you wanted?"
"Just right." Karen looked up at him. "Stopped raining."
"Izzat so?" She punched his gut playfully. "Oof. Ow."
"Deal with it, sport," Karen said. "Gotta get my licks in while I can."
"What? You can for as long as you want, anytime you want. I'll stick around -"
"And pace, and fidget. Chain-smoking. Like a big ol' gorilla that doesn't know what to with himself. And you trying so hard to hide it -"
"Aw, Karen."
"Nuh-uh. Besides, you know how I am when I'm this close to finishing up." He finally realized she meant the sculpture, and nodded. "We're a set, huh?," she chuckled. "Other couples would go nuts, being apart for a week at a time. I'm so used to having the place all to myself... If you were in my hair all the time, though, I'd just wring your neck."
"I'd pay to see that." She just growled. "It's a serious rush to roll into Dead Stop, over and over and over. You make me pin the throttle, just thinkin' about you," he said, and he kissed her ear.
"Every time?"
"All the time. Ask the guys."
"Bring 'em on by."
"Y'know," he said, "it's about time you came along for a ride. Mike always asks about you."
"He's a trip. I like him."
"He likes you."
"I want to at least get a start on this new piece... What about the time after next stop?"
"Deals. Ty owes you a beer."
She laughed. "That's right. I forgot all about that. He sank the eight-ball on the break. The look on his face."
"Too cool. Shit, he was just dazzled by your beauty." She clicked her tongue. "It's a pure wonder I can even stay in my lane -"
"Oh, please." She snuggled against his chest. "Scooter trash."
"Take ya west, Karen. Right to the ocean, straight shot. Last of the sunlight there, and the hills are nice and sweet."
"You," she said, wonderingly. "You never get tired of the highway, do you? Been up and down it more times than I can remember, and you sound just as crazy about it as you ever were."
"Well... I don't get why it everyone isn't crazy about it."
"I know you don't," Karen said. "And I'll never get why everyone isn't crazy about making art."
"This kind of art?," he sassed, stroking her neck in that way.
"Ummmm." She laid her hand on top of his. "You know what I like best about riding with you?"
"Holding me," he said. They'd been through this before.
"Wrapping my arms around you, holding on. The bike talking to us, doing just what you tell it to. The smell of your jacket. The look on your face when Kerry goofs around, or when you sneak a peek back at me."
Jet squeezed her. "You're amazing. You know that? The best part of riding, the very best part, is riding back to you."
 

 
"Hey, look what crawled in."
Jet stood inside the door of the Dead Stop. "Meiko. How's tricks?"
"Above average. Karen done with that piece yet?"
"Today. She's probably spraying it now. Happy as a clam. She likes that compressor."
Meiko shook her head. "Better her than me."
"Or me. Well, any message for the folks at the Skillet?"
"You're going west." He stopped, pointed vaguely with his left hand, then his right. Just as he got it straight, Meiko shook her head. "Your boys hit Buzz's last night. They're going thataway."
"No shit?"
"No shit, honey."
"Huh. Guess I got me some motorin' to do."
"Gonna catch 'em in Lindita?"
"Yes'm." He rolled his neck around. "Thanks, Meiko. Seeya."
"You come on back soon."
"You know I will."

Jet rode along, thoroughly satisfied. Thinking of Karen. Picturing her running her compressor, singing her heart out while she did. And his road dogs - they must've turned around, and that meant Links spent a few days with Julia, so he'd be one relaxed dude too. Jet would catch up with 'em a day or so before they got to Kerry's old lady, and he'd go from rowdy to rowdier right about then.
He loved these guys. They tore up the road together. There and back, more times than he could even guess. Past the washes and cactuses - no, cacti, that's what Links said - and joshua trees he knew by heart, the gentle waves of sand flattening out before they carried him to the curling hills of the sea... always sheltered by the blanket of dark blue to pale gold, eager stars and afterglow of a persistent prior day.

He stretched his legs at Madre Burger, slammed two cups of coffee and hit the road again. He especially liked the next pullout - where the highway curved gently through an enormous stand of saugaros, and lifted a little to an open hilltop.

Jet slowed it down and scanned their spot, but they weren't there. He pulled off and kicked down the center stand, lit a smoke and made water.
About fifty yards away stood the widest saugaro he had ever seen. It was worth a stop all by itself. But he could look left and right and see a lot of miles of highway. They'd rolled some flat rocks over and dug a fire pit, talked a lotta shit right here, in the clearing surrounded by all those prickly upraised arms...

At the Wet Whistle, Jet backed in alongside Ty's bike. The place was almost empty. Okay by him. He sat at the bar and bought a cigar from Aurelio, in keeping with the custom of the place. His dudes had staggered out to their rooms a couple hours ago, Aurelio said.
So he did a couple shots, fed the jukebox a few tunes and relaxed for a good hour. Then he bought a bed and tossed a twenty on the bar. Made his way to the tiny room and eased his boots off, yawning. He laid there for a few minutes, enjoying the feel of sleep stealing over, wishing for nothing and glad for everything. Grateful, even. He had so much, and it was alright.
 

 
In a dream he stood outside the Dead Stop, alongside four Harleys.
But Ty's wasn't there. He'd made it legal with Dolores and was raising rabbits, of all things. He'd putt up and down the road just far enough to make it back to her each night. He was relaxed and happy...
Kerry slammed the door open with a whoop. Links said something to him that made him nod bigtime. Behind them, a younger guy with a sheepish grin, lookin' almost ready to blush. Kyle.

The kid had shown up a while back. Sal cleaned out a storeroom and threw a mattress in it, put him to work at the Dead Stop. The truckers, Meiko and Karen all took him under their wing. He listened hard and took in everything. He warmed up around Kerry and sometimes talked a blue streak. And for some reason he was in awe of Jet, which was kinda embarrassing - and that amused Karen no end.
She could tell where that was going. At her suggestion, he'd scrounged up parts and put together a little dirt bike. Kyle was never seen walking anywhere again, or so they said. He seemed to be taller every time Jet saw him. He'd sneak onto the highway and ride all night. There was a little turnoff maybe a quarter-mile east, up a slight rise... and Kyle could usually be seen there when he wasn't working, leaning back against a flat boulder, smoking cigarettes.
Jet hung out with him more and more. Listened a lot, and talked to him about how to ride, and where to get wild and where not to. The difference between smart risks and stupid ones. Being who he wanted to be, and not what he thought was expected of him. Doing right instead of acting right. It was obvious that Kyle loved to ride more than anything, and Jet was intensely pleased. But he kept after him until Kyle knew that their respect was earned by who he was, not what he looked like.
The kid still ogled their rides with bald-faced, dreamy hunger. They took him west, on the back of Jet's bike, and got a lotta laughs out of the way Kyle and Conchita's oldest daughter took to each other.
Meiko started dropping hints about a particular birthday present, and Karen shoved a small wad of bills in his hand. He talked to Jasper on his next pass, and then the guys wanted in too. So they threw another hundred bucks down each time they came by.
When Kyle's eighteenth birthday came, Jet lobbed a set of chaps over to him... and while they all razzed him, Raul pulled up the driveway on the new bike, honking the horn.

He put Kyle through another bunch of lessons. How to wrench on a real bike, how to ride it, dealing with trucks and cages - even though there was never anybody else on the highway itself, but you never knew. He did fine. Jet was almost as eager as the kid was to roll 'em out together...

And this was the night. The other guys lit up and hung back, talking. Pretending not to watch.
"Hey. You," Jet said, "Gimme that pack in your pocket, there. Out with 'em."
Kyle looked blank. "Uh -"
"Now."
That threw him. He dug into his jacket slowly, bringing out a hard pack. Marlboros. Reluctantly, he handed it over, looking down. "I found 'em, one night, somebody left 'em..."
This was old news to Jet, and he said nothing. They'd all talked it over years ago, and even Kerry didn't lean on him like that. But the Dead Stop had a lost and found drawer, waiting for a nosy kid to discover it and help himself.
The pack was battered and fuzzy, held together with masking tape. There were four cigarettes in it. They looked fresh.
Jet closed the pack and shook his head slowly. "Dude," he said casually, holding out a few quarters, "Buy your own damn smokes."
Kyle stared at him, wide-eyed, until Kerry started to hoot. The kid took the quarters and headed back in.
"Take a leak while you're at it. Three hours 'til we stop," Links yelled after him.
Kyle nodded, looking at the change in his palm. Jet and the boys watched him stop in front of the cigarette machine in the lobby. They started to suit up, taking their time, 'cause no way was he gonna make it out of there without Meiko and Karen getting in one more hug...
Jet was down on one knee, giving Kyle's bike a last going-over. Throttle cable, primary chain cover bolts, shifter peg. The door opened, and he looked up -
A man paused there. Long black hair, head craned forward, gloved hands cupping around a Zippo and a pack. Lighting a Camel - nonfilter - and the meaning of that wasn't lost on Jet.
He stood up, trying to understand it all... the change in the kid, and his own desire to show him the ropes, back him up.
Meiko's face appeared in a window. And Karen, with a couple of fingers laid across her lips.
Kyle coughed a couple times, and the guys all laughed. He looked as though he was about to blush or something, and jumped on his scoot, found neutral and rolled it off the center stand.
"Let's do it," Links said, kicking his bike to life.
"Yawwwhooo," Kerry whooped, doing the same. Kyle tried a couple uncertain kicks, but then he followed through and got it going.
"You remember the hand signals?," Jet hollered, after he started his bike up. After a couple seconds, Kyle nodded. "Any questions, you ask 'em anytime. Let's get you to Malo's. She's waitin'."
The kid looked embarrassed again. Like an embarrassed, happy wolf. He snuck one more drag...
As they pulled on their goggles, Jet looked back at the Dead Stop. At Karen, still in the window, watching them. He pointed at her, and pointed at his heart, and she blew him a kiss. Then they were rolling, Links on point, Kerry weaving around like the wild man he was, Kyle next.
 

 
Ty pounded on the door. "Get up, dammit..."
"Yeah, yeah," Jet yelled. He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his eyes. The dream had gone on for years, but most of it was staying real clear in his head. The sight of Kyle pausing in the doorway, compared to what he'd looked like when he first showed up. He wagged his head, smiling, and pulled on his boots.

Ten minutes later, through a mouthful of eggs... "Who do we know named Kyle?"
"Kyle?," Links pondered. "Trucker, at the Raceway joint, fat guy?" They all thought about that.
"Naw, that's Lyle," Ty said.
"Oh." They continued eating.
 

They hit the beach two days later.
The white lines stopped abruptly, and that was their cue to slow it down. A hundred yards from the water, the blacktop gave way to sand...
Kerry pulled a scuffed-up Frisbee out of his saddlebag. He and Jet kicked off their boots and threw it around, while the others passed a joint back and forth. Eventually they kicked back on their bedrolls and had a last smoke, enjoying the sounds and the smells and the unmoving sunset.
 

Heading east, they dropped off one by one as they got close to their women.
Jet pushed it harder than usual after he left Madre Burger. He wanted to tell her about the dream, look things over. And just hold her for a while.

Karen slipped outside the door of the Dead Stop as he cut the motor, and kissed him in a way he liked just fine.
"You're always going to come back," she whispered.
"If I gotta crawl. Nuthin'll keep me away from you."
He went back in with her, and hung around an hour or two until she got off work. Followed her car back home, as the rain started coming down.
 

 
The highway ended when it ran into Rockway, at Black Mike's.
It was a big place, and it drew a partying crowd. They'd drifted away, and then Jet's guys had turned in too. He'd had a good night shooting pool - only out ten bucks - and since there was usually a wait for a table, he stuck around and practiced some bank shots...
"Jet."
He finished his shot, whiffed it, and looked up. "Hey. It's Angelo."
The other guy nodded, smiling big, as Jet sauntered around the table to shake his hand. "Hope you did better than that, earlier," he said, with a nod at the pool table.
"Not much," Jet chuckled. "I still gotta shirt on my back, so I'm doin' alright."
Angelo studied his face, then stepped back and looked him over. "Yes. You are, aren't you?" That earned him a puzzled look. "Let's talk."
Jet cocked a thumb toward the bar. "There okay?"

Povl wandered by and set up a boilermaker for Jet. Angelo declined a drink politely.
"Ain't never seen you drink anything. Or eat," Jet said.
"Special diet," Angelo replied, with a mystical expression.
"Oh."
"So, you getting tired of the highway yet?"
Jet swallowed and shook his head hard. "Huh-uh. Never am. Too into it to get bored, y'know? It's like the more I see things, the more I want to see 'em."
Neon glinted off Angelo's glasses as he nodded, and more dully on his bald spot. "How's Karen?"
"Sweet. Like always," Jet said, tapping a cigarette on the bar. "Just finished some artwork, starting on another. She's comin' along with us, next trip this way."
"Give her my best."
"Maybe we'll run into ya."
"Maybe." He'd been at their wedding. Old friend of Raul's. Jet didn't see him often, but it was always on the eastern end of the road when he did. "So what's new?"
Jet lit up and looked at the ceiling. If Angelo only knew, he'd sh-
"You..,. see anything interesting lately?"
Jet turned and stared. "Yeah. As a matter of fact..." He closing his eyes, exhaling slowly. "This is gonna sound weird, buddy... but I found a stray bolt laying by the side of the road."
Angelo chuckled. "Yeah. I put it there."

A few cigarettes later...
"We got on our bikes and headed east. That's it. I woke up, 'cause Ty was pounding on the door."
"Huh. That's wild. Sounds like one of those dreams that really stay with you."
"Yeah. I liked it. Felt like a proud poppa."
"No. Not quite," Angelo said decisively. "Or rather, a small part of it. Good parts. Y'know, sir, you'd make a great dad."
Jet snorted. "Sir, huh?" He shook his head, at a loss for a longer response.
"I mean it. You can have that, if you want."
"Well, you give me too way much credit."
Angelo stared off into space for a couple seconds. "Hmmm. On one hand, none of the credit is yours. And on the other, you have no idea how impressive you are."
"Get outta here." Jet snickered once, and picked at a thumbnail. " 'course, I couldn't do no full rides like I do now, if there was a kid involved. Wouldn't be fair, bein' gone so much."
"Hey. It's a option. Not even a suggestion, alright? If you and Karen want that, it'll happen. It's up to you and her."
Jet stared behind the bar. "I did like that... in the dream. Kyle. Seein' him decide what he wanted to be. We had some long talks, did I tell ya that part?"
"Uh-huh."
"I hadda make sure he wasn't bein' like us, 'cause he thought he didn't have no choice. A guy shouldn't be out here, livin' the life if that ain't what he really wants."
"I'll go along with that."

 
Jet caught a big smile on Angelo's face. "What?"
"You are so much fun to watch."
"Thanks. I guess..."
"When you like something, you really like it. Get into it. Glad to have it."
"Ain't everybody?"
"Not like you. It always shows, with you."
He thinks that over. Decides it's okay. "Huh. Guess that's alright."
Angelo looked like he thought so, too. "Y'know... you don't seem too surprised that I put the bolt there."
"You musta had your reasons."
"I set it there for you to find."
He wrestled with that one for a while. "Why?"
"So you could wonder about it, if you felt like it. Notice other things," Angelo said.
"I notice things all the time."
There was a pause. "Jet, I know about a lot of other things, and some are pretty hard to understand."
"Uh-huh..." He grabbed for his beer, drained it, signalled Povl for another. "Okay. Shoot."
"You seem like a guy who's totally satisfied with his life."
"I am."
"What would you change? If you were king, and you could make anything different," and Angelo snapped his fingers, "Just like that?"
Jet looked at him and smirked. He thought about Karen. And his bike, the road, the static dusk. Raul, and Dugout. Kerry's hotdogging. Dark orange waves, seen from the top of the last decent rise before the ocean. The really nasty chili at the Raceway Cafe...
He looked around Black Mike's, and guffawed. "Y'know what, dude? I can't think of a damn thing."
"Amazing," Angelo said to himself. Then, to Jet: "That's what I like to hear. You've been hanging out in these parts for a long time now, and you've got a great setup here. You're healed up, and settled in, and that's a wonderful th-"
"Whoa," Jet stopped him. "Wait... 'Healed up' ?"
"Yes."

"I don't remem- from what? Was I... hurt? Wreck the bike?"
Angelo sighed. "And here's where it gets interesting. Alllllright... I have information. You got a right to it, too. If you don't want to remember something - anything - you can totally forget it whenever you want. Up to you."
"Okay," Jet said uncertainly.
"Hey. Hey, easy. You lose nothing, here. You don't have to do anything. I can add to what you know, but only if you want me to, okay? It's your call. Got it?"
"Let's see... You got stuff you can tell me, which I get to know if I want to, but I don't miss out on nothing if I don't. And I can forget any of it, or all of it, whenever I want."
"Exactly." Angelo beamed.
"This is a weird way to do it, brah. Dropping a bolt, out in the middle of nowhere. Coulda just told me."
"Nope. This way, you got to think it over, or not. You could've said nothing, you know, when I asked what was new. And we would've had a good talk about Karen, or my poor old rusty Bonneville out there, or maybe Povl's haircut."
Jet looked hard at the other guy. He lit another cigarette and took his time before he spoke. "Who are you? Really?"
"Well," Jet decided, squinting, "This ain't your kind of joke. You've been straight up before." He fidgeted with his beer mug. "And I've been doin' a lot of talking, here. Unless you made that happen too - hey, you look me in the eye and tell me you didn't ma-"
"Nobody can make you do anything you don't want to do."
"That sounds good, but it d-"
"Jet," Angelo said firmly, "it's true. Literally."

After a few blinks, a crafty smile breaks out on Jet's face. "Was it always true?"
"No."
"Ah-haaah. When did it change?"
"When you came to the highway."
"So I get to call the shots now?"
"Hmmm. In the sense you mean that... yes."
"Cool. And when I, uh, make a mistake, wh-"
"You can't."
"Dammit, Angelo, there you go again -"
"Sorry, it's true. You can't make a wrong move here."
"Can't? You mean, can't ever?"
"Not any more. You're past that, Jet. You get it? No more wrong moves."
"Whuh?"
"Those old things don't exist here."
"What things? You got a fer-instance?"
Angelo sized him up and blinked at him. "Pain. Fear. Anger."
Jet sat there, thinking hard. Then, "I, uh... I can't - I don't know what those words mean."
"You used to," Angelo said softly. "But you'll never have them in you again. Nothing but good stuff now."
"Shit." Jet ran a hand through his hair. "Angelo, man, I'm either drinkin' too much or not enough..."
That got 'em both laughing.

 
"O-kay." He rolled his eyes. "I can just blot all this out? Any and all? Or any part?" Angelo nodded a few times. "And whichever way I decide is okay? You sure there ain't nothin' even a little like a test, here, that I could...uh... mess up what I got here?"
"No tests, no tricks."
There was a pause. "I'm trusting you, dude."
"I know. I'm telling you the truth." Jet shot him a look, but said nothing. "I have nothing to gain and nothing to lose, Jet... Why do you think I keep saying you can choose to forget whatever you want?"
Jet looked around, and farted. "So if I don't like thinking about something, it won't just keep hangin' around in my head."
"Yup."
"Huh. Now... say I wanna keep wondering why the sky always stays just the same. Sunset out east, night here. What I'm sayin' is, there are things I like to wonder about, why they don't change - but they don't bug me all night long or anything. Y'know?"
"Yeah. I do," Angelo said. "You can keep what you want, and let go of what you want. No problem."
"Alright. Let's say... money. If give you all the cash I got -"
"Okay. Thank you -"
"Hah. I walk outa here broke, and the next time I need money I'll be back up to the usual fifty-some bucks in my pocket. And it... damn, I can't put it together. It's like it didn't used to work like that. I'd need it and it wouldn't be there. But it seems more like I was needing something else, like water. Besides, it don't make no sense 'cause I know everybody up and down the road, and they all know I'm good for it, I settle up what I owe..." He trailed off and looked at Angelo, who sat there with his chin in his hand, staring. "Uh. Hello."
He roused himself. "Whup, sorry. The contrast."
"Wha?"
"Never mind. I'm used to thinking out loud. Your asking about money kind of hits on a lot of subjects. You have money now so you can have anything you want. It's a... transaction, a deal, you're used to." He looked at Jet's expression and reconsidered what he was saying. "I have another idea. Let me tell you a story. About you. I'll try to keep it short, and it'll answer some questions. You just ask me, afterward, whatever you want."
"Shoot."

 
"Before you came to the highway, you weren't a happy guy. You were raised by people who were... really... not happy. They didn't do their best in raising you, Jet. And I'm not talking about little things. Every man and woman who ever lived, did some wrong things. But some people... work really hard at doing wrong things.
"You were like that, too. You didn't know anything about good stuff. Your people did wrong things, on purpose, ever since you were a little baby. They wanted to make sure you wouldn't be fast or funny or have a good eye for the road ahead. So they raised you to be strong, but not sharp... doing just what they said. The stuff they taught you to do wasn't good. If a run-of-the-mill wrong thing was the size of your mug, there, the wrong stuff you did was more like the size of the whole bar. Does that make sense?"
Jet took the time for it to sink in. "Okay. This is weird, though."
"I know. Stay with me. Just a few more things, and they're important.
"Even though everybody around said the wrong stuff you did wasn't wrong at all... you knew inside that is was. For years and years you tried to come up with a way to stop doing all those things that were wrong. Your people didn't like that, and then they did even more wrong stuff to you.
"And one night they gave you... something to drink that made you tired all the time. A little like whiskey, except it cost a lot more and if you didn't keep drinking it, all the time... you couldn't ride, or eat, or do anything fun.
"You did a long of wrong things. The big one, maybe, was... that even though you had to keep drinking what they gave you, and it made it really hard to think, you decided, inside, to stop looking for the right thing to do.
"And then you did something amazing. Just amazing. You had to make a decision, one day. It was a big one. A lot of people were going to have a lot of wrong, wrong stuff done to them, and you were there.
"God knew about it, and this time He actually got your attention. He talked to you, in your head. Sort of like a dream, okay? He wanted to know if you needed a hand... and if you'd stop doing wrong things, and do good stuff instead. It was kind of like you saw a door that you'd never seen before - and you ran through it, Jet. That was very, very cool.
"Karen ran through another door like that. Raul, did too. A lot of people you know. And as if that weren't cool enough, you had a quick comeback, boy. Wow. You remember, at your wedding... when Karen said you have a big heart? She's right.
"See, all people have to look down the road behind 'em. Where they've been. Everyone, every single one, did stuff that was wrong, back there. And they don't always 'fess up,' do they? But you did. You heard what God was saying, and you got it and held on.
"You and God talked about all this, in your head, in the space of a couple seconds. Then you looked around, and saw all those people who were... uh, about to have things that were really wrong happen to 'em. And you did something wonderful, Jet. Really good. You thought about God... and then you opened a door. A real door, like that one over there. The people, they all booked. You sorta figured the wrong things were going to happen to you, instead of them. And they did. Very wrong, Jet. In every way. Wrong... wrong things."
"But you'd made the right decision. And that's why you're here."

 
Jet closed his eyes. "I'm not that dumb," he finally said.
"Oh, I know. You're smarter now than you've ever been."
"Well, you're kinda talking like I'm a little kid."
"It's not you. It's the words. There's no way to talk about some of these things. They don't exist here." Angelo made a gesture with his hands, you-following-me-here?
"What?"
"They don't work. C'mon. Earlier, I used some words... 'pain', 'anger' and 'fear'. Laid 'em on you, and you drew a blank. And it isn't just you, Jet. Those things can't ever follow you here. Nobody here will know what I'm talking about. You're past that stuff. Been there -"
"Done that."
"Yessir."
Jet leaned on the bar and smoked.
"How you doing?"
"I dunno. It's weird." He swallowed hard. "I ain't about to... mix up what I have, dude. Karen. The bike, the guys. All of it." Angelo nodded slowly. "That okay?"
"Absolutely."
Jet sighed quietly. "Alright. I got another question then."
"Good. Let's hear it."
Jet farted again, and laughed. Angelo rolled his eyes. "Okay. Here comes... I like the life. Think it's fine. But am I... uh, is one way to live better than another way?"
"Do you mean something like... is it 'more gooder,' the more you remember?"
"Nah. That one I think I got. I'm thinkin' about Raul. He's always been good to Karen and me. And we're real different, me and him. You know?"
"Yeah."
"I do stuff he doesn't. Ride, get high. And Raul, he never even drinks. Don't smoke... I don't care, he's a good guy. But that's pretty different'n me. Right? And you said I'm a good guy..."
"You both are. That's right."
"There's something... Now that you told me about me doin' all that wrong stuff before, it seems like... aw, it's fuzzy. I ain't sure. It was different -"
"Yes." Angelo smiled. "It was. The things you get a kick out of are from God. So they're good things. Way back when, people could do right things for the wrong reason. And they'd find dumb ways to have fun with what God made. Not sharp, Jet. Not too smart. So the things would work differently.
"And some of the decisions Raul made then, looked like good choices on the outside but didn't stand up so good, inside his head. He passed on doing some of the wrong things, but he passed on 'em for the wrong reasons. God makes good stuff. Here, you get to have fun and not go wrong, instead of thinking the fun stuff takes the point over God and everybody else.
"And you've passed on it, all of it, if you felt like it. Many times. You've put off riding to hang out with Karen, and you ride without her a lot and have to do without her, 'til you get home -"
"Wait a sec." Jet squinted, lips moving silently. "I think... I think I get it."
"It'll come. If you want it to. If you don't, then it'll just roll off."
"Okay." His head jerked. "One more. I been here for a while, huh? Riding. Like, years... How many years?"
"Jet, how old are you?"
"Twenty-four," he said without hesitation.
"And how long ago did you and Karen hook up?" Jet sat there, eyes closed tight, mouth hanging open. "Rough guess."
"It was December first, I know that. Hunh. Twelve years, at least. Sixteen?"
Angelo stared at him. "Huh. Hmmm... what does 'twenty over' mean?"
"Engine bore. Cylinders. Twenty-thousandths of an inch over spec. You set up the bit with a m-"
"Yup. Thanks, that's all I needed."
Jet shrugged. "So... how long I been here?"
"That's another one that I can't answer for you, because the words have a different meaning here."
"Shit." Jet shook his head hard and leered at Angelo. "You're a real character, you know that?"
"So are you."
"But I don't say a lot of trippy stuff."
"Trippy, huh? Well, I guess." Angelo looked at his watch. "Oh ho. I'm out of here."
Jet stood up too. "Hey. Thanks." He stuck out his hand.
"The best thing to do is the same as whatever you want to do. That goes for all the stuff we talked about here. Learn it, blow it off, or something in between."
"Okay."
"I'll be out this way about the same time you guys get here, the next few times. You wanna talk, about any ol' thing, you just tap me on the shoulder. Anytime."
"You got it. Hey, you'll see Karen then."
"Tell Mike to hold one of the nice rooms for you."
"Huh?"
"Private bathroom. She'll thank you later. Bigger bed, and the rugs are n-"
Jet caught on - and leered, baring his teeth. "Eh heh heh-hhh."
Angelo chuckled at that, and slapped him on the arm. "Lord love ya. Stay happy, Jet."
"Don't mind if I do. Back atcha."

 
No way he was sleepy, after all that. So Jet stepped outside and pulled a shirt out of his saddlebag. He wadded it up and set it on his gas tank and laid his head down, legs hanging down off the back of the seat. Looking up at the same old stars, he rolled himself a joint... but his thoughts were all about what Angelo said, how things used to be, and how they were now.
He laid there and let his mind wander. A lot of what Angelo said didn't make sense. Some of it did. Jet pretty much always knew he had some experience before he started riding here, doing stuff he didn't do anymore. It was all fuzzy, still... but not as fuzzy as it used to be. He felt a big difference between the Kyle-dream and his own past, as he'd heard it tonight.
Jet knew a lot of stuff. Don't eat the Raceway chili. There's no water at the beach you can drink, so you better bring some. How to shorten a primary chain. And now it looked like he could learn a lot more if he wanted.
He thought of Karen and got all warm inside. He loved her so much it was as if he didn't care about anybody else. Only three days west, and he'd be with her, doing things for her. He could tell her about the talk he had with Angelo...
Then he pictured telling Raul. But when it came right down to it, he guessed it was his call. He could do what he wanted.
He could know more things. What would happen, if he did?
"I like what I got goin' on now," he said quietly. "Yeah."

He sat up, stretched and had a cigarette. Looking toward the west, he decided it'd be okay if he came across a stray bolt now and then. Just to remind him he had options.
Jet watched a couple of truckers stagger out of the bar. As they walked off, he thought of the dream again...

That last road trip before the kid got his own bike. Coming out the door - same door, too, it was at Black Mike's - and seeing a couple of guys off to the side there, smoking. Kerry's voice, carrying in the way it always did, loud and rowdy. Kyle, almost as tall as Kerry, getting loud himself, protesting. Both busting up and laughing as they tried to get the last word in...

Jet smiled at the memory. Then he yawned, and went to his room.
 

 
Links woke 'em up. He was in rare form, and they were all laughing pretty loud as they ate breakfast at the bar. Other people kept looking over at 'em curiously, and that was no mean feat at Black Mike's.
They saddled up and raced all the way to Salt Hill Trail. No headlights could been seen either way, so they took the intersection at ninety with their tongues hanging out...

On the way to Deke's, they took it easy. Had a nice little buzz still going, the bikes sang to 'em real pretty, and the pavement swelled and dipped over the long, straight mounds.
Jet counted the hills like he always did. Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three. Then there'd be eight miles of nothing, and the big rocks would show up to the south. He tried to count them too, but always lost track after a hundred. Too many numbers.
He sniffed the air, and cracked his neck. Riding was great, every time... and it was when even better he was pointed in Karen's direction. It felt right.
 

Next day, past Malo's, he sat up straight - didn't know why - and looked at the shoulder. Nothing unusual there... Well, not that he could see as he blew by. Right about here. They'd pulled off around here, more than once. Jet thought he'd stopped here by himself not too long ago. But there was something special about the spot. Not the way it looked... something else. He looked at the other guys, but they didn't take any notice.
Jet mulled it over for awhile. What was the deal with that particular spot? He couldn't quite get it -
And Kerry started weaving around every other white line, looking back at Jet in that double-dare-ya way. Well, that was all she wrote...
 

As they loped into the Big Skillet, he paused. On a whim, he turned and walked across the parking lot and onto the blacktop.
The ground had levelled out, and he could see a long way in any direction. He didn't know why it appealed to him, it just did. The sand went on and on, with a dark two-lane belt splitting it. A gentle wind came and went...
The highway is a promise, Jet thought suddenly. He looked to the west, straddling the center line, and knew every curve to Karen, and beyond her to the ocean. And it was still laid out for him, there to be followed and ridden.

"Sweet-ness," he said happily. Karen turned, beaming. She grabbed his hand, squeezed it and pulled him closer to the people in the booth she'd been talking to.
"You remember Laurie? And this is her brother Sol - and his wife, Jennifer. This is Jet. My husband."
"Howyadoin," he nodded.
"Good to meet you too - Jet, is it?," Sol said. "Like the plane?"
"Yup. Just like."
Karen pulled at him. "I'm going to get your nachos, and tell him what you found," she said to Laurie. "Excuse us, will you?"
Jet nodded and let himself be steered toward the counter. "What's he got on the front of his shirt?"
"It's called a tie. Necktie."
"Huh."
"You're not going to believe this. You see that kid?" She jogged her head toward a booth against the back wall.
"Yeah." Thirteen years old, maybe. Shaggy black hair, slouched over a cup of cocoa or something, watching them watch him.
"Laurie and them were coming back from Arroyo, right down Buckshot Road, and they saw him walking south."
"Walking?" Jet didn't see the point in that.
"Maybe ten miles from here. He doesn't remember where he came from -"
"C'mon."
"Just showed up there..."
"Wow. If anyone comes looking, this is where they'll check. Ain't no place else around. Is he... okay?"
"Seems like it." She snuck a look. "Meiko's going to take him home tonight, get him cleaned up. Go through the old clothes from when her boys were that age. Can't stay there for long, though - you know how small her trailer is." He nodded, getting himself a smoke. "I remembered what you told me, so I put a bug in Tom's ear about the old storeroom, and he said he was meaning to clean it out anyw-"
"Yo! Little dude! Got a name?," Kerry yelled from right behind them.
Karen slapped him on the arm. "It's Ramon, and keep your voice down."
Jet looked at her, then at the kid. "Ramon? You sure?"
"Yeah."
"Well," he said, scratching his belly. He gave Ramon a nod, and got this hesitant little nod back. Then he looked back at Karen and grinned. "Whaddya know."