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Sid finished dressing in his usual: a t-shirt, today's was blue, and his tan cargo shorts. He liked the pockets. A person needed pockets. He tucked his phone into his back right pocket. The keys to his little rented bungalow on the beach, thanks to his friend Jace, into the front left pocket. His wallet found a home in the leg pocket on the right side. And he had some loose change that landed in the left leg pocket. He liked hearing it jingle as he walked.
A quick look at his profile in the full-length mirror on the closet door, showed his belly had grown soft and his hair was streaked with gray. He was good with that though. At fifty-one, he still looked better than many. And, he'd worked hard to stay minimally in shape. Actually, he didn't work that hard, he just struggled to be hungry.
He shrugged and stepped outside. The small porch attached to his bungalow kept most of the sand out of the inside. His eyes focused first on the water. The morning sun always looked soft on the water. It was the setting sun that dazzled. No boats were visible yet today. No bikini-clad women hanging out on the sandbar. They'd come in droves this weekend though. That was his favorite part of visiting here. That, the low rent on the little bungalow, and his friends, Jace and Quinn close by.
He walked across the sand to the road out front, then set his pace to walk the length of Main Street, around to a back street or two, then make his way back. He always tried to put in two miles in the morning. But, soon he'd need to figure out how long he'd be staying here and where he'd go next.
Turning the corner, he stepped onto the sidewalk on Main Street. He set his pace for his normal stride, eager to see the sleepy town early in the morning. He hadn't ventured this way since he'd gotten here this week. The roar of motorcycles disturbed the quiet morning as they neared. The far end of town rumbled with their motors. He huffed out a deep breath. He loved a Harley or two, but goodness, this morning he was looking forward to the peace and quiet of this little town and the jingle of the change in his pocket.
He stepped off the curb at the first intersection, which was only controlled by four stop signs. The bright red octagon signs seemed out of place in this little town. They should have been muted colors and made of wood. It would fit the aesthetic better.
Moving to the next section of sidewalk, he stopped when he saw an old 1935 Harley Davidson Knucklehead sitting outside of an old garage. The large white peeling sign above the garage door said, Garage in large cursive letters which used to be blue. Sid chuckled. He turned his eyes back to the Harley. It had seen better days. The seat was cracked and peeling, the seat pan showed through, and rust had covered the exposed area.
He squatted to take a good look at the old Knucklehead motor. It was always his favorite. He'd always wanted an old bike like this to scoot around on. But, his ex-wife refused to hear of it and he'd caved to her pressure. Then she left with nearly everything they owned, he kept all the money he'd earned, and he'd only rented places since. No place to work on an old bike like this.
An older voice broke into his musings. "That old bike has been sitting in that spot right there for about twenty some-odd years now."
Sid turned to see an old man, gray hair that sprung from his head at odd angles. His old, wrinkled thumbs hooked onto the straps of his bib overalls. His wrinkled hands wore grease and smudge from working on the vehicle on the hoist inside.
"Why is it sitting here?" Sid asked.
"Ah, well, the owner dropped it off, right where it sits right now and asked for it to be fixed. The motor seized up and he didn't know what to do about it. He and his buddy loaded it up on a trailer and brought it here. I told him it would cost a fair amount, and usually a seized motor stays just that way. He didn't have the money and didn't want the bike back. I always thought I'd fix it, but never had the danged time."
Sid walked around the old bike once more and nodded. "I get not having the time. It would take a bit of work, but I can get that bike running."
The old man laughed. "It would be a miracle if you could get that old thing running again."
Sid chuckled. He held out his right hand toward the old guy, "My name is Sid Hoffman."
An old, wrinkled hand grabbed onto his hand and shook. "Name’s Cooper Wolf."
"Nice to meet you, Cooper."
"It's nice meeting you, Sid. So you like old bikes?"
"I like this old bike."
Cooper stared at the bike for a long while, Sid did too. "As I said, it'd be a miracle."
"I'll show you a miracle."
Cooper burst out laughing. His hands held his rounded belly as he did. "Okay, Sid Hoffman, miracle worker. You show me what you've got. If you can get it started, you can keep it."
Sid held his hand out again, "Shake on it?"
Cooper chuckled once more and shook Sid's hand. "Good luck, miracle worker. You're free to use my tools and my garage. Whatever you need, help yourself."
"Thank you, Mr. Wolf."
"Cooper or Coop."
Sid nodded as Coop limped back into the garage. The man must have been in his upper seventies. Still worked for a living. Typical of his generation, they didn't know how to not work. But, they were a dying breed for sure.
He inhaled deeply, then looked at his new project. Excitement coursed through him at the possibilities. He could see the finished bike in his mind and knew he was going to love cruising on her, the first chance he got.
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