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THE TEQUILA SHEILA STORY By Bumper Smith Sample |
The following is a sample of the novella. Feel free to read it over.
Click Here to Tell Bumper What You Think. |
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The countless miles roll by, and yet, you push yourself and your machine to what surely must be beyond endurance...but you did that four hours ago. Now you're really out in no man's land, where riding your motorcycle becomes a job...no, an addiction. You're a slave to the grind, but you don't care. The road is your home; it's where you love to be. And the people, God how you love the people. Some of them you only meet for a few brief moments, but you carry them with you in your memory for years. Their smile or kind deed is imprinted on your memory and in your heart. Your mind, your heart, and your soul all come together when you're on the road. And your body becomes part of your machine, the steady rumble of the engine like your heartbeat. Mile after mile, hour after hour, you push yourself, exposed to the elements of heat, rain, wind, and cold. Those who don't understand might call it insanity, but to you it is perfectly pure, clean, sane, and, above all, FREE. There is no sense of freedom like the freedom of a bike cruising down the highway. God, how you love this freedom, out here on the road. |
--Bumper Smith, 1994
I wrote that sitting at a truck stop in Amarillo, Texas, at 3 a.m. while drinking coffee, trying to stay awake. The memory is a wonderful thing. The story I'm about to embark on is my memory of a road trip that started in May of 1993. It was the road trip on which I was to meet for the first time one of my present day best friends, and one street lady I would never forget. This story is dedicated to her, one fine lady of the street: Tequila Sheila.
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The grip of winter had finally loosened on this May of '93. For me, it had been a long, hard winter spent recuperating from a motorcycle wreck. The wreck had been in November of 1992 on my way back from southwestern Texas. The wreck hadn't been my fault, just some sixteen-year-old girl in her daddy's car was not watching what she was doing and ran into a motorcycle tramp-namely, me.
Well, recovered for the most part I was, and it was time for my amigo, the motorcycle, and me to head off once again. I was supposed to take the trip with a biker buddy of mine, but at the last minute his live-in girlfriend basically told him he shouldn't go, and if he did, his clothes and other belongings would be out in the front yard when he got back.
"Bumper, did your old lady ever tell you that when you were ready to leave on a road trip?" he asked.
"Yeah, she did one time," I answered. "I told her before I headed back home I'd call and ask where my things were, in the closet or in the yard."
I guess I always figured if they were out in the yard, I'd just keep on going and make the road trip last until I died. That was a gamble my not-so-free brother wasn't willing to take.
So, off I went on my own. It was still cool in northern Illinois, but the day I left, the sun was shining and my black leathers soaked it up, making me feel warm, except for the wind stinging my face.
I headed east across Illinois, trying to make it to the Indiana border. That's where I'd pick up Route 41-straight south.
God, it felt good to be out on the road again. The natural free high is one you really can't explain in words; you just have to experience it.
It didn't take too long to get to 41. Once on it, I picked up speed, hoping to get as far south as possible.
It seems like I meet a lot of really interesting people whenever I am out on a road trip. God seems to put people in my path-some who I've helped, some who have helped me.
It is amazing how people will reach out to a complete stranger. One guy let me crash in the storage room at a truck stop for free. Another guy gave me a job for a day and paid me way more than I ever expected. The list is endless. There may be hope for humanity after all!
There were three stops that I had to make on this road trip. The first was Anniston, AL were I needed to see an old friend. The second was Homestead and Florida City, FL where, when I was younger, I had spent 6 winters escaping the cold harshness of Illinois. In my youth, while in south Florida, I had worked at various jobs, mostly as a dock worker. As I got closer to Miami, my mind drifted back to when I was young and doing a lot of drinking & drugs. The people I used to party and run around with from that area, they were mostly bikers and guys I worked on the loading docks with. Of course, that was before our heavy use of alcohol and chemicals became a problem to most of us.
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