When it ran well, he called it his black stallion.
When it broke down, he called it words that made churchgoing grandmothers turn their heads.
But he never sold it.
Never traded it.
And never seriously considered replacing it.
He once told Rusty that the motorcycle had carried him through every important chapter of his adult life.
His first ride to California.
His marriage.
The birth of his daughter.
The loss of his wife.
His retirement.
And countless miles alongside the men who became his second family.
When Dutch died three months earlier following a long illness, the motorcycle was one of the few possessions he specifically requested remain with the riding club until his estate was settled.
He wanted it maintained.
He wanted it ridden when appropriate.
And he wanted the people he loved to remember the roads they'd traveled together.
Gravel had insisted it lead the memorial procession.
Rusty agreed.
At the time, it seemed simple.
The engine had been running well the previous year.
Dutch always maintained it carefully.
A full inspection and ordinary servicing should have been enough.
Now Jackson stood beside the trailer looking worried.
“We tried another battery.”
Rusty nodded.
“And?”
“Same thing. The starter turns, then it kicks backward like something's fighting it.”
Rusty frowned.
“That doesn't sound good.”
Jackson looked toward the garage.
“Can you fix it?”
The mechanic studied the motorcycle.
For a long moment, he remained silent.
Then he nodded.
“We'll find out what's wrong.”
Jackson looked relieved.
“Gravel says the memorial ride is Saturday after next.”
“I know.”
“He wants Dutch's bike at the front.”
Rusty looked toward the tank.
“Then we better get to work.”
The motorcycle was rolled carefully into the center bay.
Rusty assembled his usual crew.
Big Dave Mercer, a large, heavily tattooed mechanic who specialized in engine rebuilding.
Tyler Brooks, thirty-one, with short dark hair and a reputation for meticulous electrical diagnosis.
Nate Holloway, a veteran Harley specialist whose quiet manner concealed an extraordinary amount of technical knowledge.
Paul Serrano, who handled machining and precision measurements.
And younger mechanic Evan Price, who had been learning the trade at Apex for six years.
Together, the six men represented well over a century of motorcycle-repair experience.
They were confident.
Perhaps too confident.
The first day, they assumed the problem was straightforward.
A weak battery.
A poor connection.
A fault somewhere in the ignition system.
But the ordinary checks didn't reveal an obvious explanation.
The next day, they examined other systems.