Hard Ride Home (Tiger Snakes Motorcycle Club)
“At that rate, with the factory mufflers in place, the bike’s powerful motor was nearly silent. He grinned at the shocked expressions from some of the people on the sidewalks as he passed by. The bike looked like a cop bike, and basically it was—even down to the black and white color. But the clean look and crisp lines of the ST contrasted greatly with Ron’s ragged jeans and thick, slightly dirty, white T-shirt. Even those, however, looked new compared to the ratty black denim vest which covered the shirt.
On the front of the vest were two columns of year dates, beginning with the year Ron graduated from high school. There were five in the first column and four in the second. The last year was eight years ago—the same year that Ron sped out of town on the very same highway. That day he wasn’t riding a cop bike, he wasn’t doing the speed limit, and the back of his vest wasn’t blank.
Back then, he was on a fully-chopped Harley with high handlebars and no mufflers.
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