Narrative

Imagining himself leaping over a bronco , Chris swung a leg over his bike , primed the kickstarter with his right leg , and kicked in . The motor sputtered and coughed , belched smoke , throbbed and whined angrily before it settled into a throaty purr . Chris twisted the throttle a few times , turning the whine into that of a snarling cat . Chris wished she sounded more like a real racing machine . Well , soon he would have a real shiny bike , one of those Japanese models with twin pipes jutting out of their seats . Cool , man , he thought

. He saw himself gliding through the streets , swiveling around corners , the wind sucking the tears out of his eyes . But then his mother spoke

Could you bring me home something to read ? Some old magazines perhaps ' He almost could not hear her through the din , but he knew what she was saying . She was small and frail and her skin was ashen in the morning light . She had been confined once for schemia and told to refrain from hard work . Having toiled at home endlessly until her first attack , she hated being a cripple

Chris nodded , blew her a kiss , and released the clutch . The rear tire spun and kicked some dirt and off he rumbled to the factory where he worked as maintenance man . Being the family breadwinner gave him a measure of pride . His younger brother Elmo delivered newss every morning , but it hardly helped . Five years ago , their father who was a truck driver met an accident where he was clearly at fault . He got nothing from insurance . Luckily he died . Chris could not imagine him a proud man , endure the torture of being strapped to a wheelchair while his family starved due to his carelessness . But Chris who was sixteen by then gamely took over the task of earning for themselves by whatever jobs he could find before he was employed in the factory

Chris parked his bike where it would not be noticed . His co-workers roadbikes were parked nearby : flashy cruisers , faired motorbikes , bulky tourers , and he paused to examine each , admiring the technology that produced such exquisite machines that enabled men to wander the earth at their leisure and pretend they were wild and free

Hey ' Chris turned and saw the muscular form of Rip . He was clad like himself in denims and a leather jacket . He had a bandanna on his head . Want to see my new baby ? Come on , let me show you ' He could see Rip was terribly excited , dancing a jig as he led him to a gleaming new chopper

Rip stroked the bike lovingly . Here she is . A hundred cubic inches of brute power . State of the art . Customized to perfection . Except the factory parts , all hand-made . You won 't see a single cable sticking out

Chris gawked at the monster in front of him , its fat wheels twice the size of his thighs , its flowing fenders curved back like a Kraut helmet the exhaust...