“They're not open yet…” He interrupted, with an indignant snort,
“No… Not that instant muck…” He shook his head in disgust, “I've got a percolator on the stove back at my tent… By the time I've had a leak, it should be nicely bubbling away to itself… Decent coffee… I can't live without it… Well, what do you say?” Against what she thought was probably her better judgement, she found herself agreeing,
“OK… You're on”. She smiled at him. He smiled back,
“Right then… I shan't be a moment… Just gotta make room for it”. She looked puzzled, till he added, “Make room for the coffee… I'm still full of used cider from last night…” He grinned, then turned towards the gents' end of the toilet trailer, casually calling over his shoulder, “Won't be two shakes… I'll be back soon”.
For a brief moment, Lena considered making a run for it, but it wasn't really her style. She waited. He wasn't gone for long.
As they walked across the wet grass, she stopped,
“Hang on a moment… I want to change into my boots… My feet feel like ice in these, they're soaking wet”. She pointed to the rope soled canvas shoes she was wearing. He laughed,
“Not really the best choice of footwear, Lena… are they?” She shook her head sheepishly,
“No… I wasn't really thinking when I put them on… I wasn't properly awake”. She walked across to her tiny tent.
He followed, his eyes caught sight of the neatly 'bobbed' BMW twin parked alongside. He could see that the tent was only big enough for one. He nodded towards the bike, “Yours?”
She nodded, “Yeah… All mine”.
He smiled approvingly, “Nice… Very nice”. He walked around it, bending occasionally to take in the little details, “You don't see too many of these being bobbed, or even chopped… that's really tidy, I like it… Did you build it yourself?” He wasn't a chauvinist. If a woman rode a bike like this, then why shouldn't she be capable of building one.
“No, Tony… Unfortunately I have neither the skills, nor the facilities… It was built for me, but to my design… I gave him some sketches of how I wanted it to look, and he turned it into reality…” Tony began to open his mouth to speak, but she anticipated his question, “I had it done a couple of years ago by a little custom shop over Bridgwater way…” she turned to her tent, “I won't be long”. She opened the zip and ducked inside. He could hear her thrashing around as she moved her discarded bedding aside to rummage for her boots, and for a towel to dry her feet with before putting them on.
* * *
As they sat drinking the coffee he'd brewed, they talked. It seemed that apart from motorcycles, they shared a lot of opinions and ideals. They liked the same kinds of music, the same kinds of foods and both despised the artificial over hyped, but infinitely inferior, versions of age old drinks that were being marketed so heavily. Both of them liked real ales and ciders, but disliked the pasteurised fizzy ones that were promoted everywhere, and both detested the rash of brightly coloured disgustingly sweet alcopops that were so obviously aimed at young, even underaged, drinkers. Neither of them were fooled by the manufacturers claims to the contrary, and by the appearances of trendy 'twentysomething' professional types having immense fun in some of their advertisements.
Their conversation was interrupted by a shout of horror from beside one of the other tents, followed by a man running over towards them. Another was running along the line of tents in the opposite direction. As the biker came closer, they could see a concerned look on his face,
“Did either of you two see or hear a little dirt bike leaving here last night… or maybe early this morning?” They both shook their heads. The man went on to explain that his son Sean's bike had been stolen under the cover of that almost total darkness that could only be found deep in the countryside.
It was the boy's first time at a rally under his own steam. He'd been to several in the past on his dad's pillion but having now reached seventeen he had bought his own machine. His father, and their friends had even tailored their route to avoid using motorways in deference to the lad's bike being slower, and him being still a learner and therefore not allowed on them.
The kid was distraught at the theft of his pride and joy. He'd been saving up for it for several years, and had bought it as a cheap unloved wreck long before he was old enough to ride it on the road. It was an old Yamaha DT 125. He'd resisted the temptation to buy a moped or 'twist and go' scooter at sixteen, instead continuing to use his mountain bike for transport until, at seventeen, he could ride the little trail bike on the road. He spent all his spare cash from his Saturday job and the money he made from selling his no longer required possessions on Ebay, to restore it to something approaching its former self.
The mountain bike had even been sold, to be replaced by an old, no longer used, bicycle of his mother's from the shed, despite it bringing ridicule from his more style conscious school mates.
The finished DT wasn't perfect, and certainly not completely to its manufacturers original specification, but it was tidy, roadworthy, and most importantly it was Sean's own bike. But now it was gone.
His father and their friends were incandescent with rage. By this time several others were running from tent to tent asking everyone if they'd seen, or more likely heard, anything untoward during the hours of darkness. It might be a field full of bikes, but few of them made the distinctive sound of a small single cylinder two stroke trail bike.
Others were going off on their bikes to look around the lanes. There was a slim chance that the thieves had pushed the bike away, to avoid being heard, then had failed to successfully hot wire the ignition to get it running, and had dumped it in the hedgerow.
It was unlikely, as they'd been able enough to break the padlock and to force the bike's steering lock before taking it away, though they may have left the lock and chain around the back wheel and simply carried the locked bike off between two of them. The little Yamaha didn't weigh too much and there was no sign of the discarded chain. Once away from the site, it could have been loaded into a van, or even wheeled away by youngsters in a hand cart or wheelbarrow.
Although the field was a temporary home to some far more valuable machines, they were far harder to steal, and more importantly they were less suitable for teenaged tearaways to use for thrashing about in the woods, or round a farmer's empty field.
A Harley-Davidson or a big Japanese superbike - even one of the large so called 'adventure bikes' that were supposedly capable of off road use - were all much too heavy and unsuitably configured to be used by kids as a field bike.
This bike almost certainly hadn't been stolen to sell on. It wasn't worth enough on paper, even broken up as parts as it was too easy these days to be caught out selling stolen used spares. To its heartbroken young owner though, it was everything that he'd worked so long and hard towards and was priceless. He just wanted the little bike back in one piece. He just wanted to be able to ride it.
* * *
Lena finished her third cup of Tony's excellent coffee. She now felt fully awake and ready to face the day. The patches of mist over the open grass had almost all burned off as the morning sun rose higher into the sky.
She excused herself from her new friend. She wanted to take her bike to the filling station so it was tanked up ready for the later ride out.
She was pretty sure though, that she'd be seeing more of this man, but not in any romantic way, and probably not as a client either, now that they'd become friends socially.
The fact that they'd had sex together only a few weeks beforehand was completely immaterial. That had been a purely business arrangement. Lena had been providing a service as a part of her job. Tony had been nothing more than an extremely satisfied client. Besides, she'd only been working at the parlour as a temporary favour to Annabelle, and she didn't see Tony as being the type to pay the high price for her usual, exclusive, high end type of service.
Nevertheless, it felt to her as if they
'd been good friends for years. There had been no undercurrents of sexual tension between them, just simple friendship and camaraderie. They just seemed to be able to communicate, and to understand each other perfectly. It was nothing more, and certainly nothing less, than that.
6 - The Girl in the Road
Lena turned out of the gateway and headed off down the lane towards the main road. The bike was running sweetly. She thought it felt as if it was revelling in the clean morning air, but she realised that it was more likely just that the longer journey had given it a chance to clear any stale fuel from the tank.
Shorter runs during the week would only use a smaller proportion of the bike's tank capacity. She'd still put in the odd gallon to keep it topped up, but it meant that there was always a proportion of the fuel that was stale.
Unfortunately, modern unleaded fuel went stale in a vented tank a lot quicker than the old stuff. It had new additives, to replace the benzine that used to be in the mix before benzine was found to be carcinogenic. However, the new additives seemed to evaporate out allowing the fuel to become stale. This isn't so much of a problem with a modern bike's or car's one way vented tanks that have little air in the space over the fuel, only petrol vapour. Fuel in those vehicles stays fresh a little longer.
Rounding a bend in the narrow lane, Lena found her way blocked by a tractor and trailer. A wheel had come off the trailer and the driver was waiting for assistance. Lena turned the bike around, rather than wait. She was pretty sure that she could find an alternative route out to the main road by following her own in built sense of direction.
At a fork in the lane, she turned left, then left again at the next turn. Around the next bend she saw a bike, stopped, in the middle of the road. She assumed it to be someone else from the rally, who was also trying to find another way out.
As she got closer, she could see that it had a passenger on the back, a young girl, but she didn't appear to be wearing a helmet. Lena pulled up behind the bike and immediately saw its rider look back, but she wasn't prepared for what happened next. The rider turned and pushed his passenger sharply off the back of the bike, leaving her sprawling in the roadway, as he sped off down the lane in a haze of two stroke smoke.
As the passenger staggered to her feet, Lena pulled up alongside the girl. Lena looked at her, realising that she was only a kid.
“Are you OK, love?” The girl nodded. Lena kicked down the BMW's stand and dismounted. The young girl began to swear viciously, screaming out loudly to no one in particular,
“The fucking bastard… I'll so fucking kill the little sod if I get my fucking hands on him… The fucking shit… I'll… I'll… I'll…” She kicked out at the grass bank in anger. Her obviously fake branded trainers looking ridiculously big against her skinny ankles.
Lena tried to calm the girl down. Even with the things that she'd seen and heard, she was shocked by such language from one so very young.
“OK… OK… Calm down, love… What's up?… Boy trouble?… They're not worth it y'know… Honest”. The girl calmed down a little, as she stood there rubbing her thigh and her backside through her short denim skirt. Lena looked concerned, “Are you hurt?” She shook her head. Her pride seemed more hurt than her body,
“No… But thanks… I'll be OK… Thanks for stopping”. Lena smiled,
“I didn't have much of a choice, did I?… You were on your arse in the middle of the road”. She laughed, as Lena continued. “So… what was that all about, eh?” The faint smell of two stroke smoke lingered in the air. It triggered something in Lena's mind. The boy from the rally's little DT 125. “Well?… Why was he in such a hurry to do a runner then?… Eh?… Was the bike nicked?… Didn't he have a licence?” The girl nodded,
“Yeah… Nicked… Well I think so, anyway… He was riding it in the field… He ain't old enough for a licence… There was two of them, but his mate went off earlier 'cos he was on his pushbike… I was just… like… watching them… Y'know… Ridin' around… They wouldn't let me have a go”. She only looked about thirteen at the oldest. She'd probably thought the lads with the bike were really cool, exciting even.
Lena persisted with her interrogation,
“Listen… D'you know what kind of bike it was, love?… I mean, what make?” She saw that the girl was thinking about the question.
“Er… Suzuki… I think… Yeah, it was a Suzuki… I remember 'cos my dad had a Suzuki when I was a kid… A big one though”. Lena felt deflated. For a moment she thought that she'd stumbled across the lad's missing bike,
“You're sure… I mean it wasn't a Yamaha… was it?” She watched the girl's reaction.
“No… Deffo a Suzuki, though his mate who he was riding with said something about some Yamaha what they'd just got hold of”. Lena's interest was rekindled.
“Really?… OK… So… You want to get him back for dumping you in the road then, do you?” The girl nodded enthusiastically,
“Do I?…” She grinned. “Like… I so, so, want to get him for it… Of course I do… No one does that to me… No one”. Lena smiled,
“Do you know where they live?… or where they keep their bikes?” The youngster nodded,
“Oh yeah… 'course I do… It's an old shed… We all go there to smoke and get wrecked… Snog a bit… a little bit of messin' about… y'know…” she grinned, blushing, “Anyway… I think it belongs to one of them's uncle”. Lena made a decision. She turned her bike around in the narrow space and got on it,
“OK then… Hop on the back”. The girl didn't question. She just climbed on, as Lena started the engine.
Aware that her passenger was wearing a skirt, and wasn't even wearing a helmet, Lena kept the speed down as she made her way back to the rally site.
On arrival, she rode over to where the father and the boy were stood talking. Switching off, she called over to them,
“Any news?” They both shook their heads,
“Nah… We've phoned the police… Given 'em the reg number an' a description… They're gonna send someone down later, but they don't hold much hope”, he shrugged, “They've just given us a crime number for the insurance, for what good that's worth”. Lena smiled as she saw her new friend, Tony, walking over. She continued,
“Well, I might just have a lead… thanks to this young lady here… Has anyone got a spare helmet she can borrow?” The boy, Sean, quipped,
“She might as well take mine… It's no fucking good to me now”. Lena shook her head,
“No, Sean… You hang on to it… You might be needing it sooner than you think”. She told the girl to get off, then kicked the stand down and got off herself as Tony arrived.
She went on to tell them all that she knew. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the girl looking interestedly at young Sean. She was flirting outrageously with her body language. Lena thought that she might be just a little too precocious for her own good. Fortunately, Sean showed absolutely no interest whatsoever. He could see that, pretty or not, she was obviously much too young for him.
Tony went back to his tent to get his spare helmet, along with a woollen knitted hat. He thought that his helmet might be a little big for the girl, but the hat would help fill it out.
Within five minutes, a small group of bikes were leaving the site and turning out into the lane. They all followed Lena's BMW as her passenger guided her to an abandoned cluster of farm buildings just outside a nearby village. A large shed stood with its doors open. Loud pop music boomed out from a portable music system, drowning out the popping sound of a small generator. There was a bicycle leant against the open door.
Inside were two lads working on a dirt bike, a yellow Suzuki TS 100. They both looked up, a frightened look on their faces, as the small posse of bikes pulled up in the doorway, seeming to blot out the sky. Some of the pillion passengers were dismounting almost before the bikes came to a standstill, followed immediately by the riders.
Lena had held back, stopping her bike out in the lane so that her passenger's
identity wasn't seen by the two teenagers. She thought it better if they weren't made aware of how they'd been rumbled, if it was in any way possible.
One of the boys tried to make a run for it, but was stopped by the immovable object that was known to all across the rally going fraternity as 'Bull'. He was in fact a gentle giant, but surprisingly nimble on his feet, and somewhat like a wall of solid flesh to run into. He grinned broadly as he grabbed the boy with hands that closely resembled a baseball catcher's gloves, and held him fast.
“You, my son… ain't goin' nowhere… OK?” The kid looked up at the huge looking bearded face that seemed to tower above him. He gulped nervously,
“Yes… Nowhere?… OK… Fine”. Bull held him firmly but gently. The boy was quite right. He was going nowhere. Not for a while anyway.
Tony smiled as he witnessed the encounter. He knew that Bull wouldn't harm the kid, but thought that the terrified face of the teenager looked vaguely familiar.
Then it came to him. He'd been one of the two lads that had asked him for a light last night. They'd probably spotted the little trail bike then, and had returned later once the lights had been turned out and people were sleeping.
Of more interest than the two lads, at least to one of the new arrivals, was a splash of red and white that could be seen in the shadows of the darkest depths of the building.
Sean ran forward, pushing past the Suzuki, then gave out a whoop of delight as he gazed upon his missing pride and joy as it leant against the bench at the back of the shed.
Apart from a forced steering lock, and the two wires pulled from the ignition switch, the bike was in the same condition as it had been when it had been parked up for the night. It was certainly in a good enough state for Sean to ride back to the rally site.
If they were quick, by cutting across country, they'd all be able to catch up with those on the ride out at the lunchtime pub stop.
The two lads were stripped down to their underwear. The word 'thief' was written across their chests with a marker pen. Then they were photographed, with the threat of those pictures being made public, before being set free.