As Time Goes By - Georgetown Book III - 6. ATGB VI

With the sun low on the horizon making it difficult to see through the glare, CJ carefully steered his father’s Ford F-350 through the motel’s parking area. A casual observer might have found it hard to believe the vehicle was ten years old. The pristine black and orange paint of the Harley-Davidson Edition truck gleamed in the late afternoon light.

After slipping his feet into flip-flops, Owen opened the passenger door. “I’ll make sure the trailer’s not blocking anything.”

The chilly, late-winter weather in Washington dissipated as the truck gobbled the miles heading south on Interstate 95. They left the nation’s capital soon after sunrise with the temperature hovering near the freezing mark, stopped somewhere in North Carolina at a roadside barbecue stand for lunch, and arrived in Savannah some ten hours after their departure. It was thirty degrees warmer.

Looking in the rearview mirror, CJ saw his boyfriend give him the all-clear with a thumbs-up. He turned off the ignition, stepped out of the truck, and locked the doors. “Thanks, babe. Let’s get our luggage and check in. I’m ready for a shower and a good meal.”

They considered staying at a hotel by the interstate, but CJ thought the extra half-hour drive was worth the opportunity to walk around Old Town in the Georgia city. A meal at Paula Deen’s The Lady and Sons restaurant was part of the plan. They fell in love with the southern coastal town during their previous visit and had wanted to return since. It was hard to believe that stopover had been almost three years before and Liz was with them then. Thoughts of Owen’s deceased sister always brought a smile and sadness.

 

CJ glanced at the vehicles in the service station and shook his head. “Ummm, I’m not sure I wanna do this again.” They woke up early and were on the road soon after breakfast. Having crossed the state line into Florida, Owen pulled into a gas station to top the truck’s tank, refill their coffee travel mugs, and switch drivers.

“What do you mean? There’s so many motorcycles on the road they’re getting me all excited.” The Australian’s comment was on point; the closer they got to their destination, two-wheeled vehicles threatened to outnumber the four-wheeled variety. “I’m thinking I want to go to motorcycle rallies every year.”

“That’s just it, Ozzie. Everyone seems to be riding motorcycles. I don’t see a lot of people trailering them. And did you see that guy’s t-shirt? It says DAYTONA BIKE WEEK and I RODE MY OWN on it. I’m embarrassed we’re not riding.”

“Oh bloody hell. Get over it. Your biker card may get creased a bit but it won’t be revoked. Your man card’s also safe.” Owen rolled his eyes; it was not the first time he slapped down CJ’s macho self-image. “Our bikes aren’t touring models. We would’ve been uncomfortable halfway through the first day. And it would’ve taken a hell of a lot more time getting down here and back. No way could we’ve traveled all those hours we did yesterday on the bikes. And we’d missed even more school days than we already are if we wanted as much time in Florida as we’re having.”

“Yeah… I guess…” They spent most of CJ’s spring break the previous week in New York City. After the Georgetown Hoyas lost their game in the Big East Conference Tournament at Madison Square Garden in Manhattan, they hopped the train to Brooklyn and the Barclay’s Center to watch the University of Miami play in the Atlantic Coast Conference tournament the following day. After both teams he rooted for dropped their games, they returned home to ready themselves for another trip.

“I’ll fill up the truck. You go get us coffee while you think on it. Knowing Harley, he’s getting ready to start texting, asking if we’re there yet.”

Owen’s prediction came true after merging onto Interstate 4 on the outskirts of Daytona Beach. Their hotel was near their friend’s apartment and Harley was waiting for them outside when they arrived. “Bruh, about time you guys got here!”

CJ chuckled while shaking his head. “Good to see you too, Harley. Yes, we had a good drive. Thanks for asking.”

“Oh heck, CJ. I already know that. Ozzie texted me while you were driving.” Harley’s hangdog expression came and went in the blink of an eye. “I’m sooo psyched you’re here. Wasn’t all that construction on I-4 a pain? We’re gonna have a frickin’ awesome time. Do you know what you want to do today? After we go eat, I mean. Are you hungry? Oh, I went to Neiman Marcus yesterday and they measured me for the wedding. What else do I have to do? I can’t believe that’s what we’re wearing! Are the dads wearing the same thing? They told me you paid―”

“HARLEY! Mate, give it a break. Let us check in first. You come to our room while we change and then we’ll take the bikes out of the trailer and go find you food.”

After lunch, Harley took the lead and guided them towards the campus of Motorcycle Mechanics Institute for a quick look at where he was training, and then by the complex where he shared an apartment with a fellow technician. The remainder of the afternoon they rode winding country roads southwest of the airport, circling some of the myriad of lakes dotting the Central Florida area.

After showering and changing, they met again for dinner. “We’re taking OBT.” Harley bounced around all afternoon, proof he was excited at having his friends with him. “We’re going to my favorite restaurant in Orlando.”

“What’s OBT?” Owen shifted his eyes between CJ and Harley waiting for a reply. CJ was as confused as his boyfriend and turned to Harley.

“Oh, that’s what the locals call Orange Blossom Trail. It’s the name for US-441 through most of Central Florida. It goes all the way to Colonial Drive where the restaurant’s at.”

CJ was puzzled when Harley turned first on Holden and then Orange Avenue instead of Colonial. The confusion cleared up when he glimpsed a corner lot surrounded by green canvas construction fencing. Rising near the property’s edge like a sentinel guarding the area, stood the PULSE sign. The jumble of emotions threatened his concentration. Harley turning right and stopping was a welcome respite.

The gay nightclub was the site of a massacre almost two years before. Forty-nine men and women gunned down by a radicalized American terrorist who answered ISIS’ call. The event, combined with the shooting of several police officers in Dallas less than a month later, threw CJ into a funk he did not shake off for a while.

“Thank you, Harley.” Owen’s gratitude echoed CJ’s multitude of feelings. “I’m surprised you found it so easy.”

“I’ve… I’ve been here before.” Harley focused his attention on a couple of pebbles he kicked against the curb. “I was curious so I rode by, saw people were still leaving signs and flowers, so I stopped. Thought of you guys a lot then and once we got on the road I figured you wouldn’t mind a short detour. They’re turning the place into a permanent memorial. I sent them twenty-five bucks.”

CJ found his voice. “That’s awesome, brother.” With a sad smile he returned his attention to the two banners hanging on the fence while wiping a tear away. One had the PULSE logo, the other one, an architectural rendering of the proposed memorial. Both had contact information about the foundation spearheading the commemoration effort and encouraged visitors to write messages on them. His grin matched Harley’s when his friend handed him a black marker. CJ added his own and signed with his and Owen’s names.

“I came prepared.” Harley may have sounded close to smug.

“Harley, you’re the greatest. CJ and I will definitely send in a contribution. Thank you for thinking of us.”

 

“Is this section all Asian?” CJ was somewhat surprised noticing the Colonial Drive neighborhood was chockful of Viet, Thai, Chinese, and Japanese eateries.

Harley suggested Little Saigon Restaurant for dinner, claiming it was the best Vietnamese food he had found in the area. CJ salivated anticipating a bowl of Pho.

“Pretty much. I don’t come out here that often but I’ve eaten at most of these restaurants at least once over the past couple of years. I think this one’s the best.” Harley did not bother with the menu placed in front of him. He seemed to know what he wanted.

CJ decided the time was right to ask what he and Owen had talked about during the drive from Washington. “Is that because it’s Vietnamese? Same as Kim Hoang? What’s the deal with you and her?” Why pussyfoot around? Might as well ask a direct question.

“I…” Harley faltered for a moment, intent on studying the chopsticks he kept twirling. Kim was CJ’s co-chair on the Gay Straight Alliance at School Without Walls his last year in high school. She was younger than others in the group and would graduate from Walls at the end of the current semester. “Maybe a little. I like her, CJ. You know I’ve never been that crazy about women or sex before. The girls I did it with during the summers in Wisconsin always complained about me being too big―”

“Oh, now you’re bragging. That poor girl’s so small you’ll gore her if you ever do it with her.” Owen’s comment earned him a punch from CJ and a bright smile from Harley.

“We already have. We did it while I was home over Christmas. It was the bestest! I finally figured out why you guys like it so much.”

“Sooo…” CJ tapped the table with the tip of his own chopsticks. “Is it serious? Do you have a girlfriend?”

“I… I’m not sure.” Harley became subdued for a moment. “I’ll be back home in June and I’ll start working soon after. She’ll be around for the summer before she starts college. We’ll see what happens. But I asked her to be my date at your wedding, okay?”

 

The Motorcycle Mechanics Institute accommodated their students and staff’s interests by cancelling classes on Monday and Friday during Daytona Bike Week. It meant those associated with MMI could enjoy two consecutive long weekends at one of the country’s oldest motorcycle rallies―the one in Laconia being much older and the one in the South Dakota’s Black Hills having been held one year longer than the Florida one.

“You guys should wear your full helmets this morning.” Harley insisted on an early start; the friends met for breakfast and were ready to head over to Daytona Beach. “We’ll use city streets to get past downtown and most of the construction crap. Then we’ll get on the interstate for the rest of the ride. Since none of our bikes have windshields, the wind’s a bitch hitting your face while doing eighty or ninety. We’ll take back roads on the return and can ditch the brain buckets.”

“No go, Harley. I don’t care if Florida doesn’t force you to wear a helmet. In Australia, we’re required to. It’s how I grew up. I’ll keep mine on the entire trip. I’m already unhappy CJ didn’t wear one last night.”

“Drop it, Oz. We’re not arguing over this again. We’re on vacation and arguing’s not allowed. Anyway, you know how I feel about the government forcing us to do anything.”

“Even if it’s for your own good?”

CJ raised his voice in displeasure. “I said drop it, Ozzie. Please? If I crash and die, I crash and die. In the meantime, let those who ride decide.”

“You and your bloody jingles! Fine, I’ll drop it. The two of you are idiots as far as I’m concerned.” Owen did not sound happy. “Don’t expect me to stop wearing one any time soon.”

Avoiding the worst of morning commuter traffic, near Sanford they joined the I-4 for the final leg to the Daytona International Speedway. Harley had scoped out the exhibits’ layout on Saturday and had a detailed plan of what they would be doing. The high-speed ride towards the coast was exhilarating; CJ could not stop smiling. When a good-sized insect splattered against the helmet’s visor spilling its internal fluids right in front of his nose, he started laughing. He used a gloved finger to wipe the bug juice, flicked it off, and pumped a fist in celebration.

The closer they got to their destination, the more motorcycles they encountered until bikes nearly outnumbered cages. Riding in the highest possible gear, the left hand wasn’t needed on the clutch; CJ’s arm dangled at his side greeting bikers traveling around them. Finger waves and victory salutes were common whenever one encountered a fellow biker, but this was beyond anything CJ had experienced. He felt connected to other riders while on Hunter much the same as he did to other Jeep drivers when in Defiant. It was a feeling of brotherhood with complete strangers few who did not ride could understand. It’s a Jeep thing and it’s a Harley thing were more than simple jingles.

“Let’s sign up for test rides and then we’ll walk around. We can look at the Jap rice burners and the Euro-trash scooters afterwards.” The grassy fields surrounding the racetrack were chockful of tents and motorcycles as far as the eye could see. It was early enough there were but a handful of people ahead of them on the list.

They had an hour before the scheduled test ride time and Harley insisted they stop at one of the tents selling biker apparel. Each of them picked up a T-shirt and then stood in front of a table displaying embroidered patches. CJ held one up for Owen to see; it read DAYTONA BIKE WEEK 2018 – I RODE MY OWN. “No more trailering, Oz. Next time we ride all the way.”

“Not sure that’s a good idea, CJ. Our bikes aren’t the right models.”

“We’ll just have to get windshields, buy new ones, or borrow Dad’s and Papa’s. Anyway, I’m getting a DAYTONA 2018 patch for my vest but I’m also buying a couple extras. In case I want to put them on something else in the future.” CJ had the small emblem sewn on his vest on the spot; right next to the Rolling Thunder 2017 one he purchased the previous year during the annual gathering in Washington. He looked forward to the day his vest would be covered in mementos from different motorcycle events.

CJ test rode a 2018 Road King 115th Anniversary Edition with the latest Harley engine, the Milwaukee-Eight. César owned the same model, but eight years older. The ride was noticeably different thanks to the new, larger engine, improved brakes, and better suspension. He was tempted to place a deposit and order one on the spot but decided he would wait to make a decision on a new motorcycle until later.

Owen also signed up to test ride a new Indian Chieftain Elite and endured one of Harley’s tirades as a result.

“At least it’s American steel. But you can’t trade yours in if you buy it. Unless you want me to mess the Indian up when I service it. I mean, you could buy it but you also need to own a Harley. And since I hope to work for an HD dealership, you couldn’t just bring it in. I would have to work on it on my free time. Maybe we could use Danno’s warehouse.” Harley took a breath, pouted, and his tone became whiny. “It’s like you don’t wanna be my friend anymore. Why would you want something without my name on it?”

CJ’s laughter made it hard to speak. “Really, bro? You’d drop him as a friend if he bought anything but another Harley?”

“Nah… I’m stuck with him ’cause he’s your boyfriend. But I put my foot down on him buying a Jap bike. Even if he did own one in Australia.”

“So you would never own another brand?”

Harley hesitated before grinning. “Okay, fine. I might consider an Indian. But maybe a Scout from the forties. Those are cool. Or an old Brit Norton. Only ’cause they’re like collector pieces, you know?”

“Mate, relax, I’m not buying anything. But I want to see what it rides like. And you can keep your ancient bikes to yourself. You can fix them if something goes wrong. But CJ and I aren’t that mechanically inclined so a classic one would mean always paying for repairs.”

“Like that’d be a problem for either you or CJ. Go ride the darn bike, you traitor.”

 

“I’m hungry.” Harley had removed his helmet―the motor company required them on all test rides―and guided his friends towards their own bikes to drop them off. “Let’s eat and then we can check out the scooters from other companies. There’s a food truck selling breaded, deep-fried pickles stuffed with a hot dog. I had one Saturday and they were awesome!”

“That sounds disgusting!” CJ modified his opinion after trying one. Still, not something he wanted to eat on a regular basis. They spent the rest of the day browsing stores, checking out motorcycles, and talking to people from all over the United States and several foreign countries.

Since Harley had to be in school the following day, they rode back to Orlando and called it an early night after making plans to meet the next evening. CJ and Owen spent Tuesday at Universal Studios; after school was finished, Harley joined them for dinner at the Hard Rock Café within the theme park.

 

Once past Kissimmee, the congestion of motels, restaurants, and shops catering to Disney World visitors diminished. The ninety-minute ride south from the hotel was glorious. Secondary roads coursing through the Florida landscape bisected smaller towns like Haines City, Lake Alfred, Auburndale, and the one CJ insisted on taking selfies in front of their road sign: Davenport, Florida. Seconds later, it was sent to Brett.

Ancient oak trees cried streams of Spanish moss along the way, while majestic slash pines soared over scrub brush in the background. This was a different Florida. An older landscape. A slower pace of life within the Orlando megalopolis. Houses appeared as they entered another city. First, smaller Craftsman-style homes hemmed in together on narrow lots. Then grander ones with large lawns sloping towards the road circling Lake Hollingsworth.

Their destination for the day was Florida Southern College, a small, private university located in the city of Lakeland. CJ became aware of the institution while reading one of the books he purchased during his visit to Frank Lloyd Wright’s home in Chicago. The school boasted the largest single-site collection of Frank Lloyd Wright architecture in the world and was designated a National Historic Landmark by the National Park Service of the U.S. Department of the Interior.

Rounding the lake, CJ’s excitement grew. They approached school buildings and his eyes kept darting between them and the road. Immature landscaping and vibrant paint not yet bleached by the Florida sun were clues these were newer structures, but they had a Frank Lloyd Wright feel to them. The first one they rode by had tubular supports painted sharp red and what he would later find out were dormitories had large expanses of matching red-framed glass windows facing the lake.

He turned right on Johnson Street and a block later pulled the motorcycle into a small parking lot adjacent to the visitors’ center. It looked like a typical southern home with painted siding and a wide front porch facing a water feature and a bronze statue of Frank Lloyd Wright. Inside, the open space served as a museum of sorts, displaying items related to campus construction, and a shop selling goods inspired by the famed architect’s work.

CJ booked them on the behind the scenes tour that took visitors to spaces not included on any of others, including the interior of the lone planetarium designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. He thought it a stroke of luck when they ended up with the Director of Operations for the Frank Lloyd Wright Visitors Center as their guide. Her knowledge was encyclopedic.

“Not all buildings designed by the famous architect for what he called the ‘Child of the Sun’ campus were built. And most of those that were constructed deteriorated over time due to lack of maintenance.” The group of tourists gathered around the statue was older; CJ thought he and Owen were the only two without gray in their hair. “In the last decade, interest in this magnificent collection was renewed. Repairs and upgrades were made to existing structures. Misguided modifications were reversed, and a new building erected. Quite a lot accomplished thanks in part to generous donations from the public. If you’ll follow me…”

“Can we get something like that at our house?” CJ pointed at the multi-tiered structure with water cascading down its sides into the shallow pool of water in front of the center.

Owen nodded as they followed their guide towards the building on the fountain’s other side. “Considering we rented the house for two years a week after we bought it, we have time to figure this out. Let’s take pictures but this might work on the side yard.”

The tour group reconvened a few minutes later in the carport of what was without doubt a Wright designed house. “At the end of the nineteenth century, the beginning of the twentieth, a movement arose concerning the use of Americans to designate United States’ citizens and even about the use of America in the country’s name. Because there was a United States of Venezuela in South America, some though our country should be called the United States of North America.

“And some thought Americans was an unfair designation for us because Canadians and Mexicans were also Americans. The term Usonian—derived from Unites States of North America—was suggested as an alternative moniker. Wright latched on to it and labeled his architecture as such. The Usonian homes he designed with the middle class in mind stripped away embellishments in an effort to create affordable housing. Let’s head inside and take a look.”

CJ’s smile grew as they stepped into the house. A short hallway separated the entrance from the main living space with a wall of the same textile bricks with colored glass inserts used in the other Wright buildings on campus.

“Mr. Wright designed this house and planned to erect twenty of them to house faculty members. None were built until we decided one should be to complement what already stood. You’ll notice the use of concrete, glass, and wood throughout. Staple construction materials in everything he created.”

When the three-hour plus tour ended, they went to lunch, returning to explore a couple of the structures in more detail. “You know something? If this was in Washington, I’d almost be willing to get married inside a church.” One of the buildings CJ insisted on spending more time inside was the Annie Pfeiffer chapel―the larger of two Wright-designed places of worship on campus.

Completed in 1941, the chapel was the first Wright design built. The exterior was a collection of geometric shapes juxtaposed at angles, which drew one’s sight towards the steeple rising above the roof. Far from traditional, openings resembling butterfly wings pierced the concrete tower in several spots. It surrounded a core of steel beams painted red, which climbed through the walls as if a trellis waiting for creeping ficus to conquer them.

“Okay, let’s forget DC and come down here to get married.” They were standing outside and Owen smirked at his boyfriend while running a hand over the surface of a textured brick. “I can’t believe all these bricks were made by students. Could you imagine if one of our schools required us to work as tradies as part of our education?”

“Don’t push it, Oz. I said I’m almost willing to get married here. Not that I would agree to it. Too late anyway. We have the perfect spot for the ceremony already and the dads would kill us if we changed the arrangements now.

“And as far as working as part of the education, it might not be too bad an idea. People like you and me, the privileged crowd with smooth hands, might benefit from a little hard labor.”

“Asshole! I’ll have you know I spent plenty of hours toiling in the vineyards under the hot sun. I have the calluses to prove it. Privileged, my ass!”

“Wait, wait. Let me get out my violin. I’ll agree with one thing: your ass is privileged. Why do you think I like to visit on a regular basis?”

 

The following day they rode to Winter Haven and spent the day at LEGOLAND Florida. Although geared towards young kids, they had a good time scrambling around the different lands but the cold weather kept them away from the water park. The scent of orange blossoms permeated the air while riding through citrus groves; both men spent the time traveling to and from the park inhaling the heavenly aroma as deep as possible.

Harley joined them once again on Friday and the three returned to Daytona. They found the carnival-like atmosphere they encountered at the start of the week in and around the speedway duplicated in the streets. The number of motorcycles around them seemed to double with each city block until they were immersed in a rumbling mass of metal with its own life. They were segments of a millipede crawling along towards the ocean.

“Let’s walk across the street to the park. There’s another Harley Owners Group tent there. We can get the Daytona 2018 HOG pins you forgot to pick up on Monday.” Harley led them through the maze of riders and pedestrians and found them parking spots next to the original Harley-Davidson of Daytona building.

“Are we going in there?” Owen indicated what a sign proclaimed as a museum and shop with his thumb.

“Yeah! I’ve been in it a couple of times.” Harley stuck his hand out to stop traffic and, like a mother duck with ducklings following, walked to the street’s other side with a line of fellow bikers trailing behind. “They have some neat stuff.”

A few beers and food truck tacos later, they headed out to ride the Daytona Loop. A must-do for riders, the Loop began with a trek alongside the water. Going north, a cathedral of trees shaded their way up to Highbridge Road where they changed course and headed west. Crossing the bridge over the Intracoastal Waterway, there were several places to stop along the way to enjoy views of the Florida countryside. When they reached Old Dixie Highway, a turn south led back to their point of departure. Along the way, photographers were poised to snap riders’ pictures, which they later posted online and made available for sale. One showing all three bikes in lockstep would end up hanging on the basement wall back at the Georgetown townhouse.

CJ suggested a return to the same Vietnamese restaurant they visited before with an ulterior motive in mind. He wanted to stop somewhere on Orange Blossom Drive for a pre-dinner cocktail.

“I’m not sure what I was expecting, but this looks just like a regular motel. What makes it a gay one?” Harley locked his bike and glanced at the lake before turning around and staring at the two-story structure.

“Dude! You see any women around?” Dragon had told CJ no visit to Orlando was complete unless he played Balcony Bingo at Parliament House. They were here to determine how true the statement was.

“I saw one when we rode in. Wearing really high heels and a really short skirt.”

Owen chuckled and shook his head. “That was a man, Harley! Didn’t you notice the Adam’s apple? Or the wide shoulders?”

“Really? That was a dude? So why are we here?”

The walkway in front of them showed a series of doors with large, glass windows next to each room’s entry. Men strolled on both levels casting peeks into rooms with open doors or curtains. “It’s as good a place as any for happy hour. We’ll take a look around, have a couple of beers, and then we’ll go to dinner. The restaurant’s close enough we can catch an Uber there if we get tipsy.” CJ looked in both directions, trying to figure out which way to go before turning right and heading towards one of the two staircases at either end.

“Okay, Harley. Don’t be shocked by anything you see, got it?”

“Sure, but why―bruh, is that guy standing in the doorway of that room wearing just a jockstrap?” Harley’s mouth hung open as they watched the man he pointed out grab his crotch with one hand and motion for a passerby to approach.

The backslap Owen gave him was sufficient to snap the straight boy out of his shock. “He was advertising. Since the other guy went in the room with him and closed the door, it worked. CJ, is this what Dragon meant when he said we had to watch a balcony bingo game?”

Delaying further exploration, CJ leaned against the railing and stared at the placid lake behind the shabby property. The setting sun reflected off the water and the gazebo on the small sandy beach created and idyllic setting. Parliament House was an older motel. It had seen better days, but there was an energy to the place screaming good times. He could see it in the eyes of the men walking around.

“I think so… but I didn’t think it’d be so blatant.”

“What’s this balcony bingo thing?” Harley’s gaze shifted from the lake, to the parking lot, and then to the men walking around. Quite a few were shirtless and in shorts, their hands scratching chests or groins.

“When I told Dragon Ozzie and I were coming to Orlando, he told us we had to stop by here. He said any self-respecting gay man had to at least see what went on, if not experience it.”

“Come on, CJ. If we’re gonna walk around, let’s do it. Ready for a beer? We can educate Harley as we walk.”

“I… I’m not sure how much education I need.”

“Oh, come on, bro. It’ll be an experience. Anyway, this place’s supposed to be like a whole entertainment complex. A bunch of bars, a pool, a theatre for drag shows…”

“Are we gonna see one of those?” Harley moved out of the way when a very hairy, muscular man wearing boots, jeans, and a ball cap looked him up and down, licked his lips, and smiled.

“Don’t think so, bud. I looked online and the shows are later in the night. Ozzie and I want to get an early start tomorrow. Anyway, the balcony bingo thing is people walking around, looking into rooms, and often hitting their lucky number. I’ll bet there’s a lot of sex going on.”

“Bloody hell, look at that!” Owen pointed at the open curtains of one room; they could see a man kneeling on the floor in front of another one. “A little exhibitionism? I think they’re looking for more participants.”

“We should knock on the door and push Harley inside.”

“No way! I don’t mind you guys doing whatever you do. But forget it if you think I’ll suck anybody off.”

“Don’t worry, Harley. I think if you showed them your hose, you’d end up being the suck-ee, not the suck-er.”

They had their beer sitting in front of the Bear Den, one of the bars in the complex, and watched men cruising them and others. A handful approached the three friends and appeared disappointed when informed they were there for a couple of drinks and would not be hanging around.

The unmistakable sound of motorcycles took them by surprise; it enveloped them as it rose from low thunder rumble to ear shattering roar. The first bike entered the courtyard from the building’s far end, followed in quick succession by several others. When the lead rider slowed down and backed his bike against the railing surrounding the pool, the others followed suit forming a row of scooters in perfect alignment.

CJ’s smile was the largest as a familiar teal and white Road King brought up the rear. The man riding sweep was an old friend. “Can’t say I’m too surprised, but it’s a small fucking world after all.”

“Bruh! Isn’t that the same guy we’ve—“

“His name’s Carlos, Harley.” Owen stood as the man the three friends were staring at approached with a huge grin on his face.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my three pups from Washington.”

“Pups? Does that mean you’re an old dog?” CJ’s teasing was met with a middle finger from the older biker he first encountered at Shenandoah National Park years before. “I should have known you’d be up here during Bike Week. How the hell are you, Carlos?”

Carlos lived in the Fort Lauderdale area but CJ and Harley met him during a ride on the Skyline Drive with César and Brett. The following summer, they ran into him again at the Harley-Davison Museum in Milwaukee. They traded contact information at the time, remained in touch, and CJ’s fathers had gone riding with him and the Stonewall Knights—a gay men’s motorcycle club—during at least one of their trips to South Florida.

The rest of who CJ presumed were club members slowed down by their table on the way to the bar or their rooms. Most had comments.

“Damn, there goes Carlos again.”

“Why does he always get the hot young ones?”

“He got three of them this time. I think I should help him out.”

“I’ll take the blonde.”

“I think I want the tall skinny one. They always have the longest dicks.”

CJ could not stop the peals of laughter. Somehow, he was able to wheeze out a few words. “I think that means you’re stuck with me, bud.”

Carlos slapped hands with all three men and sat on the bench next to Harley. “Ignore them,” he said, waving an arm to encompass the other bikers surrounding them. “They’re a bunch of jealous bitches who can’t get laid on their own. They always fight over my leftovers.”

“Cunt!”

“In your dreams!”

“Eat me, faggot.”

“If you had a real dick instead of that little peanut, your boy-toys wouldn’t come running to us after you fuck them.”

“Y’all are dismissed. Go douche in case you get lucky tonight.” The bikers laughed and dispersed. Carlos remained. “What the heck are you boys doing here? And why didn’t you call me?”

“I live here. At least for another few months.” Harley appeared to lose the nervousness plaguing him since soon after arriving. “I’m training to be a motorcycle tech.”

“And CJ and I came down for Bike Week.” Owen drained the remainder of his beer and stood up again. “I’m getting another round. What do you want, Carlos?”

“Corona. Lime. How long you in town for, CJ? Wanna go riding with us tomorrow?”

“Fuck! We can’t. Ozzie and I’ve been here all week. We leave tomorrow morning. We have plans in DC Sunday. This sucks.”

“Oh, well. Another time. By the way, wedding still on? I was a good boy and followed instructions. I saved the date as told.”

“Asshole! Yeah, still on. We’re finishing up the guest list and sending out invites when we get back home. Rehearsal dinner’s Thursday night even though there won’t be an actual rehearsal. You’re invited to that too. The dads will love to see you.”

“Sounds like a plan. Hey, let me go shower and change. We’re going to Hamburger Mary’s for dinner. The three of you are coming with. My treat. And I’m not taking no for an answer.”

 

CJ and Owen watched TV in their hotel room for a while after saying goodbye to Harley following dinner. They planned on being on the road no later than sunrise the next morning and driving straight through. The trip was a blast but after the test rides at the beginning of the week, CJ was determined to purchase a new bike soon. He planned to keep Hunter, but he wanted a touring model for longer trips. He refused to be seen trailering his motorcycle again.