And collect small souvenirs from towns they visited.
After she died, the motorcycle became one of the few things that still connected him to those years.
He maintained it carefully.
Or at least he believed he did.
That belief was one of the things that made the fire so devastating.
The old biker trusted his own knowledge.
He'd repaired motorcycles for most of his life.
He knew engines.
Electrical systems.
And the difference between a harmless noise and a mechanical problem that deserved attention.
But as he grew older, he sometimes relied too heavily on experience.
He disliked modern electronic accessories.
He complained that inexpensive replacement components were unreliable.
Yet he'd recently installed an electrical charging accessory to keep the motorcycle's battery maintained while the weather prevented regular riding.
It wasn't installed at a professional workshop.
He'd handled the arrangement himself.
A few days later, he noticed intermittent warning behavior.
The equipment occasionally seemed unreliable.
He told himself he'd examine it properly when he had time.
Then he forgot.
He was distracted by other repairs.
A charity event.
And the practical difficulties of getting older in a body that still expected to work like it had at forty.
The motorcycle was temporarily stored in the family's attached garage because the biker's own workshop roof was being repaired.
The mother had offered the space.
She trusted him.
And the boy loved knowing the old black motorcycle was only a few feet away.
Sometimes, after dinner, he asked to see it.
The biker would sit on a stool and explain how different parts worked.
He taught the boy the names of tools.
Showed him how to recognize basic maintenance problems.
And reminded him never to touch equipment without an adult.
Those evenings became some of the happiest the child had experienced since his father's death.
He loved listening to the old biker talk.
Sometimes the man told stories about the boy's father.
How he'd helped repair a motorcycle during a charity ride.
How he'd made everyone laugh at a diner after getting lost on a mountain road.
And how he always stopped to help stranded motorists, even when doing so made him late.
The boy listened carefully.
He wanted every detail.
Because the old biker remembered things about his father that no photograph could show.
The mother appreciated that.