Veronica Sets My Feet Back On The Golden Path

70 Into The Sunset

I will go and find
that golden road
where fear has no name
and life has a meaning
-- Kasia Fedyk, --
--"The Golden Road" --

I've been too long away from my beloved Veronica. She's waited for me all these months as I've wandered lost and afield, dining at tables and visiting places above my station, greasy leather trying to be suede, pounding square pegs to fit till I'm worn down to a nondescript stub that fits nowhere.

She was covered in dust -- I would pass her sometimes on my way to some place or another, and I know it's only imagination, but I'd swear by any gods you care name that I sometimes saw her almost quivering at my approach, then collapsing hard into her springs and frame in disappointed despair as I'd continue on by. 

"Tomorrow," I'd promise, I'd lie. Even though I meant it when I said it. The lie is in the doing, not the saying.

She was sullen, brooding there in the dark when, geared and leathered, I finally came back to her early this morning. 

I didn't blame her. I've been treating her like shit, ignoring her as I chased unattainables, borrowing energy that would otherwise have been hers. 

"Hi, Ronnie," I said. She pouted. I pushed her out of the garage into her honored place on the gravel. She was having none of it, paid no attention to me at all. "I'm sorry," I said, "I was wrong. But I'm back now." 

I knew that wasn't going to be enough, but there was nothing else to say. I grabbed the bucket of soapy water and stroked and cleaned her, massaging a bit of leather treatment into her saddle, whispering that it was time for us to go, time for us to be again, tsking and apologizing to her again every time I cleaned another pile of neglect out of some small corner. I pulled the seat off and cleaned the secret hidden places, oiled places that needed to learn to flex again. I gave her a brand new battery, top of the line. She didn't need it, really, but it was my gift. 

I started her, and she growled and rumbled under my crotch, rough, still undecided whether she was going to play or tell me to fuck off and make me work for it. 

I let her warm as I strapped the small luggage to her, sliding broad nylon straps around restraints, locks snapping into place, ratcheting down, tight, tighter than need be, really. But she likes to know she's secure, safe, that I've taken care to strap her down into her place so she can release her attention to the road, to us on the road. It lets her know I care. 

Her rhythm smoothed and deepened into a breathy rumble as I finished my prep tasks and threw my leg over her. Kickstand up, we sat there for a minute, Veronica and me, just breathing, her heart and blood vibrating up through me in slow, throbbing waves. First gear, nice and easy, out onto the road. Up gently through the gears, playing with her, easy and sweet, warming her slowly as we went to fuel, only the best, top-end gasoline and a small treat of injector cleaner. She quivered and lapped up the new fuel, practically purring for me. And then we were out on the road. 

All day, hundreds of miles, snuggling down into her, laying back against her, letting her pull me through the sodden air, working hard to please me. On long howling stretches my hands would drop from the handlebars and fill with the deep, full curves of her gas tank, sliding down the hot, slick paint, wrapping underneath to the heat of her heart, sweeping down to between my thighs; and she sang to me, long humming tunes, pleased that I was pleased. 

Two-lane twisty roads, light end-of-holiday traffic. 

"Stay with me, baby," I whispered to her, and grasping the handlebars hard, twisted -- she leapt like a thoroughbred under the lash and screamed pleasure as we roared from 60 to near 100 in seconds...my eyes were watering, my breath sucked away in the blast, and Ronnie swept in strutting, regal arrogance past jealous, squat cars, glorying in my pride of her.

The day ending, we turned our face to the setting sun, loafing down the golden path and I took that picture you see up there.

Unless she finally kills me, (which she may yet -- she can be a capricious, jealous bitch, it's part of who she is) I'll never leave her again, not for any reason, not ever.