But he loved the way his father's face changed when he explained something.
Arthur became animated.
Excited.
Like a person sharing a secret.
Mara sometimes watched from the kitchen doorway while they sat together at the table, surrounded by paper diagrams and harmless model parts.
She'd smile.
Then ask, “Do either of you plan to eat dinner?”
Arthur would look up.
Leo would laugh.
And the evening would continue.
Dutch Sullivan was part of those years.
He and Arthur had been friends long before Leo was born.
Dutch was older by nearly thirty years, but the age difference rarely mattered.
Arthur respected Dutch's extraordinary knowledge of motorcycles.
Dutch respected Arthur's ability to solve problems other mechanics avoided.
Together, they had rebuilt engines, fabricated special components, and spent long evenings discussing ideas that probably sounded absurd to anyone who didn't love motorcycles.
The black FXR became their favorite project.
Dutch bought it new in 1986.
Over the years, he modified it repeatedly.
Some changes improved comfort.
Others adapted the motorcycle to the way he rode.
And several were repairs made after incidents that might have caused another owner to retire the machine.
The most significant modification happened after a race gathering near Reno many years earlier.
Dutch damaged part of the engine.
Replacement parts weren't readily available in the configuration he wanted.
Arthur proposed a custom solution using carefully adapted components from different Harley engine families.
The project was unusual.
Difficult.
And completely unlike what a factory service manual described.
Arthur spent weeks measuring.
Making drawings.
Consulting other specialists.
And fabricating parts.
Dutch complained through most of the process.
Then, when the engine finally ran properly, he laughed so hard he nearly dropped his coffee.
“Arty, you beautiful little genius!”
Arthur smiled.
“Don't call me little.”
Dutch slapped his shoulder.
“Then stop making miracles in small packages.”
The modified engine became one of the private legends of their friendship.
Most people knew it wasn't stock.
Very few understood how extensive the changes were.
Dutch liked that.
He joked that the motorcycle was part Harley, part stubbornness, and part Arthur Hayes.
Arthur insisted the modifications be documented.
Dutch promised to keep the records.
For years, they did.
Then Arthur became ill.
It began with fatigue.
Headaches.
Unexplained weakness.
At first, he dismissed the symptoms as the result of working too much.
Mara insisted he see a doctor.
The diagnosis changed everything.
Arthur had a serious medical condition that required prolonged treatment and eventually became life-threatening.
He reduced his work.