Suspension.
Emily held up one hand.
"Stop."
Everyone stopped.
She crouched beside the motorcycle, then caught herself and smiled.
"Old habit. Somebody bring me a stool."
Cody produced one from the support truck.
Emily sat.
"Mason, tell me when you feel it. Not what you think it is."
"Around fifty-five. Worse when I roll off."
"Braking?"
"Not really."
"Steering input?"
"A little."
"Any recent work?"
"Front tire two weeks ago."
Emily examined the wheel and fasteners, then had Reese help raise the front safely using equipment from the support vehicle. She checked movement and alignment rather than launching into a dramatic roadside repair.
The problem turned out to be simple and important: a fastener associated with recent service had not been secured to specification and had begun loosening.
Emily corrected it with the proper tools, then inspected adjacent components before clearing the bike for a short controlled test.
Mason looked embarrassed.
"I should have caught that."
Emily wiped her hands. "Maybe."
"That's it?"
"What do you want me to do, humiliate you so you remember?"
He shrugged.
"Some people teach that way."
"Does it work?"
"I guess it makes you scared to miss things."
"Fear makes people hide mistakes. I want you to report them early."
She pointed toward the wheel.
"What matters is not that somebody missed the fastener. What matters is that you felt something, said something, and we checked before the vibration became a failure."
Cole watched from several yards away.
A year ago, his own shop culture had rewarded certainty and punished hesitation.
Now the head mechanic was teaching riders that saying "something feels wrong" was competence, not weakness.
The irony was not lost on him.
They reached the memorial stop shortly after noon.
The route had included the place for years. A small stretch beside a desert overlook where the group remembered riders who were gone. No speeches were required. Names were spoken. Small tokens were placed beneath a weathered marker. Some people stood alone.
Cole walked to the edge and stared across the valley.
Emily stayed several feet behind him.
She knew better than to fill silence simply because it existed.
After a while, he spoke.
"Tank's chip is still on the bike."
"I know."