Just 8 Miles

Murphy's Motorcycle Law ~ If you leave your gear behind, it will rain.

Well, I'm sure it goes something like that.

It was just 8 miles. It had been cloudy in York, PA for two days and we hadn't seen rain in over 38 hours. We knew we were taking a short trip to see our clients, which is why we came to York, and then shoot back to the hotel.

"Are you taking your jacket?"

"No," Highway replied.

I wondered if I should take mine. I thought about it for a long time, looking at it.

"If I don't take it, it'll probably rain," I chuckled to myself.

"I'll risk it."

A few hours later we sat with our clients and noticed the lightening out of the windows. We all joked and chuckled as Highway and I mounted the bike in the light rain and backed out of the driveway. Since it was so close, I just rode with him, seeing no need to waste gas on Katie. Besides, I still love riding with Highway. It gives me a chance to squeeze on him.

As we hit the streets in their little town, I hurriedly buttoned up my denim jacket and tied my two bandannas on. Securing one on the top of my head and the other around my face was not a way to stay dry, but to keep the rain from pelting the shit out of my skin. I donned my sunglasses and squeezed Highway tight as we approached the Interstate onramp.

"Just 8 miles. . ." I kept telling myself.

"Only 8 miles."

The night sky was pitch black, becoming only darker behind my sunglasses.

"Are my headlights on?" Highway asked. He stood on his pegs and leaned forward to check them.

Indeed they were working, but I couldn't see them on the road either, even with the sunglasses off and sitting still. Roads black as coal, wet with the downpour, seemed to soak up the light and swallow it down into Hell, revoking it's existence.

Huddled up tight behind the windshield, the two of us hunched over as Highway plowed ahead on the drenched asphalt. Moving at approximately 45 mph he struggled to occasionally lift his glasses and see the invisible road, trusting only the white lines to guide our way. Fortunately the rain was neither cold nor coming down very hard. But with Highway wearing only a T-shirt and jeans, and me in little more, getting soaked took only moments.

Arriving at the hotel I began to laugh. The rain had saturated the bandanna on my head to the point of being useless, releasing the floodwaters directly into my eyes. Blinded with mascara, eyeliner and rainwater, I peeled off my glasses and dismounted. My poor, drenched husband parked the motorcycle as I laughed at myself. He didn't seem to mind the rain, seeing it only as a mere inconvenience.

After all, it was only 8 miles.

With smeared makeup and covered in soaked clothing I couldn't help but chuckle as I opened the hotel room door to be greeted with my leather jacket and helmet on the bed, right where I left them.

Sometimes Murphy knows a thing or two about motorcycling, the annoying rat bastard.