“We started riding.”
Hank smiled faintly.
“Mostly because you were unbearable when parked.”
Graham laughed once.
“True.”
Then his face turned serious again.
“On a bike, everything got simple.”
“Road.”
“Engine.”
“Distance.”
“Next turn.”
“Nothing behind you mattered until you stopped.”
He looked toward Cassie.
“That’s how it started.”
Hank stood.
He was sixty-nine, with a deeply lined face and a limp in his left leg.
“The girl wants to understand.”
He looked around the room.
“Maybe that isn’t the worst idea we’ve heard in here.”
Derek shook his head.
“It’s club history.”
“Exactly,” Hank said.
“Not school entertainment.”
Cassie faced him.
“I agree.”
Derek looked at her.
“You don’t even know what that means.”
“Then show me.”
A few eyebrows lifted.
Cassie continued.
“You’re worried I’ll make you look stupid.”
“I’m worried you’ll make us look like a costume.”
“Then don’t let me.”
He laughed without humor.
“That simple?”
“No.”
She held up the notebook.
“That’s why I asked to ride.”
Maria finally stepped forward.
Her leather vest carried fewer patches than most.
But several were old enough that the thread had faded almost white.
“How long?”
Cassie asked.
“Project?”
“Three months.”
Maria looked at Graham.
“Your idea?”
“No.”
“You support it?”
Graham exhaled.
“I support her earning the right to do it.”
Cassie looked at him.
He had not said that part at home.
Graham continued.
“Being my daughter gets her through the door.”
He looked directly at Cassie.
“Nothing after that.”
She nodded.
“That’s fair.”
Derek said:
“We’re not slowing down for a high school kid.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“No special stops.”
“Fine.”
“No whining.”
Cassie smiled slightly.
“I’ll try to keep up with you.”
Several people laughed.
Derek did not.
Hank lifted his beer.
“I say one trial ride.”
Maria nodded.
Another member raised a hand.
Then another.
No formal vote happened.
The room simply stopped objecting.
Cassie felt something release in her chest.
She thought the difficult part was over.
It had not begun.
The first ride started at 5:45 the following Sunday morning.
Cassie hated mornings.
Graham knew this.
At 5:10 he stood in her bedroom doorway and switched on the light.
She buried her face under a pillow.
“No.”
“Up.”
“It’s dark.”
“Remarkable observation.”
“Dad.”
“Bike leaves at five-thirty.”
Cassie sat up.
“Meeting time was six.”
“Meeting time is six.”
“Then why—”
“You wanted to document.”
Graham walked away.
“Document punctuality.”
Cassie dressed in layers.
Jeans.
Boots Graham had insisted she borrow from Maria.
A riding jacket too large in the shoulders.
Gloves.
Notebook wrapped inside two freezer bags.
She had imagined the first ride many times.
Sunlight.
Open road.
Wind.
Freedom.
Reality began with cold air entering every opening in her clothing and a helmet that made her head feel twice its normal size.
Graham looked at her gear.
“Gloves tighter.”
She adjusted them.
“Helmet strap.”