Travels - 3. Cross my Heart

Friday, 27 June 2014

“Damn…” CJ allowed his softly muttered curse to drag out, staring at the phone in his hand which had just chirped, without saying anything else.

“What?” Harley held his phone ready to snap pictures of the spectacle his friend had promised was about to take place.

“I think I’m turning into my Dad. I’m on vacation and I have a list of places and times I’m supposed to be at today. Feels almost like a class schedule.”

“Bruh, look, look. The thing’s moving!” CJ glanced up from the screen as the majestic Milwaukee Museum of Art brise soleil slowly opened; the graceful movement of the steel construct evoked wings as they unfolded from the body of the structure.

“Come on, bud,” CJ said. “Let’s run over to the other side so we can watch the rest from the shore.”

The boys had been standing on the far end of the suspension bridge connecting the building to the park―where the parking garage they’d left Defiant and Harley’s motorcycle at was located―and to the city’s downtown beyond. They scampered down the stairs and jogged across the lush, green lawn surrounding the art complex until they stood on the banks of Lake Michigan. The morning sun beating down on them combined with the short run, made them begin sweating and CJ whipped off his t-shirt, using it to mop up the beads of perspiration clinging to the hair fanning across his upper chest.

“It does this all the time?” Harley asked, duplicating his friend’s actions with his shirt.

“I forget how fast the wind speed has to be before they keep them closed. But otherwise, they unfold every morning at ten when the museum opens. Then they close and open again at noon. When the museum shuts down, they get closed for the night.”

“And you said this was built by the same guy who did the building you guys went to see when you were in New York? The one Bradley and Chipper kept talking about?”

“Designed, dude, designed, not built. And yes, Santiago Calatrava designed this building―he’s from Spain and this was his first one in the US. And he’s doing the subway station at the old World Trade Towers site in New York.” Once the display was over the boys replaced their shirts and slowly made their way to the entrance; a wide smile was pasted on CJ’s face as he stared up at what resembled the prow of a ship―the building had been designed to evoke a sailing vessel positioned and ready to cast off into the lake’s waters.

“Bruh, do you spend all your surfing time looking up buildings?”

“Nah, just when I’m going somewhere and I try to find out what the most interesting ones are in that place. Or when I see a picture I like and go looking for it. You’ll see what made me look this one up in a minute.” CJ held the door open for his buddy to walk through, paying close attention to Harley’s expression. They moved in unison, stopping at a large circular opening on the floor a few steps from the entrance, alternately looking down at the exhibit space below and upwards towards a large, colorful Calder mobile sculpture hanging over it. When he saw the spark of recognition in his friend, he smiled smugly.

“Hey, I’ve seen this place before. It looked different but I recognize the big space with the glass wall looking out over the water and the funky ceiling with all the light coming through.” Harley stared at the cathedral-like entry, his face split in two by an enormous grin.

“Transformers. The third one.”

“Yeah! That’s it. This was McDreamy’s place. It’s where he displayed his car collection. That’s why I remember. Sick!”

CJ had to cover his mouth after the first gale of laughter; people stared at him when he broke through the low background of muttered conversations. “McDreamy?”

“You know who I mean, the guy from Grey’s Anatomy.”

“Patrick Dempsey.”

“Whatever… My sisters always call him McDreamy.”

“Anyway, you’re right. The museum was used in the movie. Come on, let’s pay to get in, then we can walk around.”

“Just don’t make it too long a visit, okay? I’m hungry.”

“Fine, we’ll do a walk-through, and we can head to lunch. But, dude, your grandmother just fed us a little while ago as if it was our last meal.”

“So? You look for interesting buildings, I look for interesting food.”

“Quoting you: ‘Whatever’. But I reserve the right to come back here if I find something really interesting. And I want to check out the building next door and take some pictures in front of it. The War Memorial was designed by Eero Saarinen.”

“Another foreigner? Don’t American architects ever come up with good ideas?”

“Plenty. My favorite architect is an American―Frank Lloyd Wright. If we’d had time in Chicago, I would have taken you to his house. I saw it last year when I went to visit my cousins for the first time. Oh, and Saarinen was born in Finland but his family moved to the US when he was a kid and he grew up here. I bet you know one of his most famous designs.”

“I doubt it, bruh. I only pay attention to stuff like that when you’re around.”

“Saarinen designed the St. Louis Arch.”

“Really? I’ve seen it. I’ve been in it. I remember riding the little elevator inside when I was a kid and my parents took us on vacation one summer.”

“Well, that’s the same guy who designed the building next door. It’s part of the museum complex and it’s a great example of brutalist architecture which―”

“I don’t want to hear about it. Maybe when we stop by, but for now that’s enough architecture. I can’t think that well when I’m hungry.”

The last tour of the day at the Harley-Davidson Pilgrim Road Powertrain Operations facility in Menomonee Falls, Wisconsin, began after lunch. The boys rushed to the Harley Museum location right after they were done eating so they could be on the bus providing transportation to the manufacturing plant, home of the Big Twin engines and transmissions powering the larger motorcycles that were assembled in Kansas City, Missouri and York, Pennsylvania.

Lasting three hours, the Steel Toe tour shuttled participants between the museum and the factory where they donned safety glasses, ear protection, and a steel contraption which covered the front of their shoes and adjusted in the back via a set of small bungee cords. No pictures were allowed while walking amongst laborers building the behemoths, but prior to walking the factory floor each group of visitors gathered for a joint photograph holding up individual components used throughout the facility.

“Now see? This would be a picture I’d post on Facebook. This is interesting,” CJ said as he and Harley followed their guide and tried to listen to her explanations above the din of machinery.

“We each get a copy at the end. I have mine from last time I was here with my dad,” Harley replied. “I’ll scan it when I get home and post it for you.”

“You know? The hotel has a business center. Maybe we can try there later tonight or tomorrow?”

Although not as savvy in engineering matters as his buddy, CJ thoroughly enjoyed the behind-the-scenes tour of the manufacturing plant. He was fascinated with the way human hands and robotic arms engaged in a complicated set of dance maneuvers. As each motorcycle power train progressed through the assembly line, the industrial ballet was accompanied by a symphony of mechanical sounds, directed by an unseen orchestral director.

“You have any pennies?” Harley asked as the boys stood in the microscopic gift shop at the end of the tour. Found in the small reception area manned by security, it consisted of a few vending machines offering an assortment of souvenirs.

CJ reached in his pocket then extended his hand to display the coins he was carrying. Harley plucked two copper pieces from the assortment. “What are they for?”

“I’m going to put them through that machine.” Harley pointed to a contraption similar to others CJ had seen at other locations. The inserted coin ran through a series of rollers and dies which flattened it, lengthened it, and stamped it with a design appropriate to the venue―in this case one of the large motorcycle engines manufactured at the facility.

“One of those for me?”

“Yeah. They have ‘em at the museum too. I’m going to make magnets out of them.”

“You want a t-shirt?” CJ asked, approaching a tall vending machine like the ones used to sell candy bars and snacks. Instead of food however, it displayed vacuum packed shirts, embroidered patches, and lapel pins. All sales were made with credit cards and depressing the appropriate combination of letters and numbers on the keypad.

“Nope, have one from my last visit. Get me a patch, though. I want to have it sown on my vest.”

“Welcome to the Iron Horse Hotel, guys. I’m Grady. Are you checking in?”

“Hi, Grady. I’m CJ, and that’s Harley. Yes we are. I have reservations for two nights.” CJ already had his credit card and driver’s license out and handed them over to the man standing behind the front desk. What a difference a hotel makes, he thought. “Nice ink, dude.”

The young man’s rotund, bearded face beamed as he reached to touch the neck tattoo of a rose which could be seen above his shirt collar. “Thanks, do you have any?”

“Nope, but one of my dads has a bunch of them.”

“Cool. Let me run your card and I’ll get you guys your keys. If you have luggage other than your backpacks, we have carts for it. Here we are.” He handed over a small paper folder with two plastic key cards in them. “All set. You have a room with two queen beds, for two nights. If you have any questions you make sure to let us know. I hope you have a great visit. Are you guys hitting the museum? You have the right name to get in,” he added, looking at Harley.

“Yeah! And I better have the right name. My dad named me after the bike,” Harley replied with pride. “We did the factory tour earlier and CJ dragged me to the Art Museum and the War Memorial before that, so tomorrow the whole day will be Harley-Davidson day.”

CJ had made reservations at this particular hotel based on his dads recommendation. They’d stayed in it when they’d come on what they referred to as their pilgrimage to Milwaukee―the Harley-Davidson Motor Company’s birthplace and home―which any self-respecting biker should experience at least once in their lives. The ancient warehouse the hostelry occupied had been carved into loft-style rooms, with high ceilings and exposed brickwork. It catered to both business people and motorcycles riders alike. The Iron Horse was close to downtown and a ten minute walk away from the Harley museum.

“So your dads stayed here before?” Harley asked.

“Yeah, Papa insisted we had to. But I think they had one of the real fancy rooms upstairs. I asked for one with two beds and the one they stayed in had only a king sized one.”

“Bruh, this is frickin nice,” Harley said as he manhandled the industrial cart with their luggage into the room. “Check it out, they even have a spot to hang your helmet and jacket and a place for boots right underneath.”

“Speaking of helmets, how come you wore one today? Scared the cops would catch you?”

“Nah… You try riding a motorcycle on the highway without a windshield going over seventy miles per hour. You’ll be wearing a helmet too. When the wind hits you, you end up looking like those astronauts when they train in the machine that spins them around. Your face gets all squished up and it’s hard to see even if you’re wearing glasses or goggles.”

Saturday, 28 June 2014

Trying not to wake up his roommate, CJ slipped out of bed and hooked the boxer briefs he’d discarded on the floor the previous evening with his foot. He flicked them into the air where he caught them while walking to the bathroom―his morning erection leading the way. He used the coffeemaker on the stone counter to brew himself a cup which he sipped while staring at himself in the mirror, trying to decide if he was going to shave this morning. He ran a hand over the stubble on his face and decided to let it go. They’d be spending the day surrounded mostly by bikers. No one was going to complain about him being a little scruffy.

Quietly, he stepped back to the sleeping area, dressed, grabbed his phone and room key and headed to the hotel’s gym. He and Harley had gotten plenty of exercise running around the farm, but he wanted to lift weights this morning. When he returned to the room feeling slightly sore but invigorated by the iron pumping, he was blasted by a cloud of steam emanating from the bathroom. Harley was in the shower and had left the door to the sleep area open.

“I’m back!” CJ shouted, poking his head through the opening and grasping the handle so he could close the door. They didn’t need the entire room being moist from the water vapor.

“Be out in a minute and then you can get in. And hurry so we can go eat breakfast. I’m starving.”

CJ shook his head in disbelief. Harley’s life seemed complete when he was around food or motorcycles. Everything else faded into the background when one of those two was present.

“Okay,” Harley said as he walked backwards. “I don’t know who the heck the architect for these buildings was―”

“HCA Partners,” replied CJ as he put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, turned him around, and kept his arm draped over Harley’s shoulders.

“Figures you’d already know everything about it.” Harley sounded dejected.

“Nope, you’re wrong. That’s all I really know. HCA is a large architectural firm and they’ve designed a shitload of public and institutional buildings. But they’re like collaborators without any star architect present. All I read was a small blurb.”

“Good, then I can give you a little history of the place instead of the other way around. When they decided to build a museum, HD picked this spot because the location was close to the center of the city and because they wanted to be part of the clean-up efforts the government and a bunch of companies were involved in. This was an old industrial place and they brought in a lot of fill to raise the ground so it wouldn’t flood. I forget what you call old industrial sites like this one, but in the old days this was supposedly marshes where the Indians collected wild rice.”

“They’re called brownfields. I’m sure there was a lot of pollution they had to clean up. Do you know what was here before Harley-Davidson took over the property?”

“Yeah, a sand company. See those?” Harley pointed at two giant orange hoppers located at either end of the property. “They’re leftovers from then and were kept as a reminder of the history of the place.”

The museum complex was bounded on three sides by water: the curving Menomonee River and a canal which connected to it. The boys approached the property by crossing the Sixth Avenue Bridge and, at Harley’s insistence, turned right onto the Hank Aaron State Trail which followed the contours of the waterways.

“This is cool,” CJ said as they rounded the corner and approached one of the three buildings on the site from the rear. “I like the landscaping.”

“When I took the tour last time I was here, they told us they’d used native plants to help keep maintenance down and help wildlife. I’ve only seen birds before, but they said they have rabbits, foxes, and deer in the area.”

“I like it. What’s that?” CJ asked, pointing at a curved, rusty-looking wall with rows of sunlight-reflecting metal discs on it.

“That’s where we’re going first,” Harley replied enthusiastically. “Those are rivets. You can buy one and have a message printed on it. They’re sick... Come on, we need to find the one my dad bought. It’s a way of supporting the museum, I guess.”

They found what they were looking for on the ground instead of the wall; the entire plaza was filled with them but there was obviously space for many more and CJ’s mind started churning. He had his friend sit on the concrete, his legs spread, an index finger pointing at the rivet with his name and that of his father and grandfather on it, while giving a thumbs up with his other hand.

“How much does it cost to get one of these things?”

“No idea. But I’m sure you can find out in the store.”

The boys retraced their steps partway, rounded a large sculpture of a rider on a motorcycle climbing a hill, and strolled through the esplanade between two of the buildings. Access to the space was by foot from the direction they came, or by motorcycle from the opposite side. Even this early in the day there was already an incredible assortment of bikes―mostly Harley-Davidson models―parked on either side and in two rows down the middle. No automobiles were allowed in the area.

“Check out that guy’s vest. Look at the two patches at the bottom.” Harley gently elbowed CJ and pointed at a man walking ahead of them.

“Dude, we’ve seen that vest before. I recognize the large patch on the back.” The burly biker Harley had pointed to had distinctive tattoo sleeves on both arms, mostly reds on one and blues on the other one. The large embroidered patch CJ referred to was of a medieval armor helmet on a light blue background with Stonewall Knights on it. The two Harley mentioned were smaller rectangular ones; one read I FUCK ON THE FIRST DATE and the other one IF I WANTED A BITCH I’D GET A DOG.

“Really? Where?”

“Come on, let’s go say hi. See if he remembers us. We met him last year on Skyline Drive when we went riding with my dads.”

“Oh, yeah…”

“Excuse me, sir,” CJ said gently tapping the man on his shoulder. “Do you ride a teal and white older model Road King?”

“Hey, kid. Yeah, I do. Have we met before?”

CJ looked into a pair of twinkling green eyes staring at him. The man’s face was tan, probably from spending a lot of time outdoors riding his motorcycle. The lower portion sported a neatly trimmed, mostly white goatee. His head was covered in salt and pepper hair cut short. Although older than his dads, the man was in good shape and the boy surmised he most definitely took care of himself.

“I think we did. Last year, when my buddy and I were riding through Shenandoah National Park with my dads. You’re from South Florida, aren’t you?”

“I remember you! You’re from Miami originally but had moved to Washington. Did you say those two guys were your fathers?”

“Yes, sir. One’s my biological dad and the other one’s his husband. He legally adopted me after we met you.”

“Well, congratulations then. So you have two gay fathers who ride motorcycles? Here”―the man reached into the inside pocket of his vest―“this is my club’s card. If you guys are ever in the Miami or Fort Lauderdale area, get in touch. I belong to the Stonewall Knights, a gay men only motorcycle group that gets together every Sunday for breakfast and a little riding afterwards. The link on the card is for an article which appeared last summer. I’m quoted a couple of times in it.”

“Thank you. That’s awesome. I’ll give it to them when I get back home. Maybe I’ll convince them to rent a couple of Harleys next time we go visit my grandparents. But if they go riding with you and your friends, you’ll have to put up with me. I’m learning how to.”

Once inside the museum, the number of exhibits and items on display was almost overwhelming for CJ. He didn’t know where to look first after glancing at the floor plan and the exhibit names. He allowed Harley to guide him, as his excited buddy insisted they had to start at the beginning.

“This is the world's oldest known Hog,” Harley said, standing in front of what to CJ resembled a large bicycle with an engine strapped to the frame beneath the seat. Entirely encased in glass, it was lit from all directions including a translucent floor. “They’ve been storing a bike from each year of production since a hundred years ago, and at some point started looking for the ones from the first ten years. This one has a bunch of parts stamped with serial number 1 but it’s not really the first one ever built. Some of the parts don’t jive with what history tells us about the real first one.”

“Did you memorize all this shit?” CJ asked, staring down a long line of motorcycles displayed three abreast.

“Hey, you read about US Presidents and buildings, I read about motorcycles and cars.”

CJ followed his friend as they slowly walked down the long line of bikes, stopping a minute here and a minute there to read the description in front of some, or for Harley to add his own commentary. They spent extra time in front of the first one created for a police department, and then again by the motorcycles used by the armed forces in both World Wars. The boys made sure to take pictures of themselves in front of the one on display from the year they’d been born before Harley dragged CJ away to see the engine room.

Across one wall was the company’s version of a family tree. Set against a wall of orange, the engines on display illustrated the evolution of the Harley-Davidson engine from its earliest to its latest incarnation. According to the description placard, the wall and floor beneath it had to be reinforced during construction to support the weight of all the engines mounted on it.

In a different section, another wall displayed a large number of gas tanks, showcasing different designs and logos used through the years. They stopped for pictures in front of the Captain America display where one of the bikes built specifically for the movie stood, resembling those used during the war. One somewhat more somber display was that of the Tsunami Bike. A Harley-Davidson motorcycle had been recovered on an isolated beach in British Columbia. The bike had drifted over 4,000 miles across the Pacific Ocean after being washed away in a storage container during the devastating tsunami that struck Japan on March 11, 2011. In accordance with the wishes of its owner, Ikuo Yokoyama, the remains of his 2004 Harley-Davidson Night Train was on display at the Harley-Davidson Museum, as a memorial to the tragedy that claimed more than 15,000 lives.

“I love this shit,” Harley said as they stopped in front of a display named the American Road. “They always have new stuff every year.” The blurb in front of this particular exhibit explained the United States had over four million miles of roads―more than any other country in the world―and how that had contributed to make the road trip, whether completed on the saddle of a motorcycle or in the confines of a car, an essential American experience. “And this is us, bruh. In Defiant this year, but one day on our motorcycles. I’ll even let you take me to see whatever buildings you like. Hell, I may learn something. Can you imagine how much fun it’ll be going to motorcycle rallies? Or to visit National Parks? You better marry some guy who likes riding or he won’t be able to come on vacation with us. Hopefully he’ll ride himself, or he can ride bitch. Although most bikers I’ve heard talking say four balls on two wheels’ not a good deal. Hah, but they’re probably all straight anyway. Hey do you…”

CJ had missed seeing motorcycles displayed as works of art at the Guggenheim in New York, but his day at the Harley museum went a long way to make up for that loss. By the time Harley had finished his monologue about the future, CJ knew for certain that he’d return to Milwaukee soon, hopefully with his buddy beside him. There was just too much to absorb in a single visit.

Returning to the hotel at the end of the day, the boys didn’t have a lot of time before the shuttle bus Grady had arranged for them to ride departed. They rushed through showering and dressing before hastening back over to the Harley-Davidson Museum parking lot to catch their ride. They’d scored tickets for the Milwaukee Brewers baseball game at Miller Park that evening; the best part was their seats were in the Harley-Davidson Deck. The space could be rented out in its entirety or when there were no private gatherings, tickets were sold first to Harley Owners Group―the motor company sponsored motorcycle club. Harley’s membership allowed him to get tickets for the game against the Colorado Rockies.

“When did you become a HOG member?” CJ asked as they loaded themselves up with food from the buffet included in the price of admission to the special seats.

“Dad signed me up when I learned to ride. Before I even had my license! Aren’t your dads members?”

“I think so. I’m not sure.”

“You need to join. We can do it tomorrow and then you can sign up for the mileage program.”

“What’s that?”

“You keep track of how many miles you ride, report them to HD and they send you special pins and patches when you get to different levels. I have all my pins on a corkboard at home. You’ve seen them when you’ve been in my room.”

“True dat. But there’s so many damn pins on that thing I don’t remember them all.”

“They gave us that one yesterday when we took the tour, and with the ones you picked up today you already have your own collection. You’ll end up with more than me soon enough. You travel more than I do.”

“Doubt it…”

The boys spent most of their time enjoying the game, but also wandered around the stadium checking out the amenities and the concessions. Even though they’d eaten when they first arrived, by the seventh inning stretch Harley was muttering about wanting to munch on something. Their exploration had CJ inspecting architectural details of the brick-clad structure. It was built as many newer ballparks, with modern features but an old-time feel to it. His friend instead concentrated on the concession stands and their edible offerings. Eventually, CJ agreed to share an item they discovered in section 220: a foot-and-a-half brat topped with shoestring fries, gravy, cheese curds, frizzled sauerkraut, cheese sauce, fried jalapeños, sour cream, and chives.

The game ended with the home team defeating the visiting Rockies, seven runs to four, and CJ complaining about all the fat food he’d eaten. On the ride back to the Iron Horse, he texted a quick summary of the day to his dads, but when he looked in his pocket for the card the biker from Florida had given him to share the link, he couldn’t find it. Cursing himself, he hoped he’d dropped it somewhere in their room but couldn’t find it when he searched for it later. Although he was pissed at himself, CJ was somehow certain he would be running into the biker daddy from Florida again.

“Okay, now I’m the one who’s jealous of our kid,” César said, dropping the phone on the bed while closing his eyes and leaning against the headboard. He’d just read the text from CJ which consisted of a list of locations and one word adjectives.

“Ha!” Brett exclaimed. “Aren’t you the one who made fun of me when I said the same thing before?”

“Asshole! Did you read it? He sent the same thing to both of us. The little fucker’s been to four museums with astonishing architecture and content, a dairy farm, and two baseball games in the span of a week. I wanna go on vacation.”

“Babe? We are on vacation.”

“Okay, let me rephrase that. I want to go on vacation with our son. His seems to be a lot more fun than ours.”

“Are you telling me you’re not having fun traveling with me?”

“Sorry, Jarhead, but spending most of the trip in meetings with realtors, property managers, and financial advisors feels too damn much like work.”

“Cheer up, Emperor. We’re in West Hollywood tonight, and we’re going out on the town. A nice dinner, some late night dancing, and maybe an after-party here in our hotel room when we decide to call it quits at the club. We have nothing to do tomorrow except our flight back home.”

“Have I told you how much I despise catching the red-eye from the West Coast? I’ll barely have time to shower and change when we get home before I need to be in the office Monday morning.”

“Tonight you forget about all that crap. Time to forget about our bodies being temples requiring constant care. Time to turn them into amusement parks.”

Sunday, 29 June 2014

Whereas the Harley-Davidson Museum was a modern structure designed to evoke an industrial feeling with its hard planes and exposed steel girders on the outside, the company’s corporate headquarters was an actual factory where motorcycles had been manufactured for many years. After returning to the hotel the previous evening following the baseball game, CJ had called up a history of the motor company on his tablet. His knowledge of the company’s history was sketchy and he wanted to fill in some blanks.

Harley-Davidson was founded in 1901 by William S. Harley and Arthur Davidson when Harley designed a small engine and attached it to a bicycle frame. In 1903, working from a wooden shed behind the Davidson family home, the first real motorcycle was created with a larger engine. In 1905, they began selling their engines through magazine advertisements, and in 1906, a factory was built on the same location where the corporate headquarters stands to this day. Over the years, the facility was expanded, modified and reconfigured for various uses, with actual vehicle assembly remaining there until 1973 when those operations were moved to York, Pennsylvania.

CJ and Harley drove to the Juneau Avenue location after checking out of the hotel on Sunday morning, spending time walking around the complex of buildings, talking to corporate employees they encountered, and to a group of technicians from several different states who were in Milwaukee for training.

“I’d love to spend a few days in here learning more about the bikes,” Harley said, snapping a selfie in front of the Harley University sign.

“Don’t you have to be an employee to do it?”

“Yeah, that guy I was talking to works in the service department at a dealership in Mississippi. He said he’s been here a bunch of times. I think they send people here whenever they need to learn about changes to the motorcycles.”

“Is that what you want to do? Become a tech?”

“Maybe. The rents want me to go to college and study engineering, but I’m not sure.”

“Whatever you decide, I’m sure you’ll be around cars and motorcycles for the rest of your life. Speaking of cars and motorcycles, I think it’s time we headed back. This is goodbye for now.”

“Damn, you sure we can’t stick around here a couple more days?”

“Sorry, bud, but you’ve seen my schedule. I need to get back to Washington. But this has been a great week. Hell, I enjoyed this vacation as much as I did Australia.” CJ stepped up to his friend and grabbed him in a bear hug. “I’m glad I got to spend all this time alone with you. We’re usually surrounded by all our friends, and this was special.”

“Yeah, I had an awesome time too. I even enjoyed all the architectural stuff. I’ll miss you the rest of the summer.” Harley paused for a moment and stared at his shoes. “Okay, enough mushy stuff. I’m headed back to Oshkosh. Drive safe, we’ll talk soon, and I’ll see you in August.”

“And you have a good ride back. Don’t forget I love you, bud.” CJ wrapped Harley in a warm hug, realizing he did love the boy as a brother. “You’re my closest friend and I plan on doing this type of trip with you for a hell of a long time. Cross my heart.”

Follow the link for the article mentioned by the biker from Florida: Stonewall Knights