The collector continued.
“Preserve historically.”
Leo asked:
“Would you remove hidden switch?”
“Probably, if not period—”
“No.”
Call over.
Leo kept.
Not because dead men ordered.
Because he wanted machine as history of hands, not object frozen to spec it had stopped matching decades ago.
That distinction mattered.
At twenty-one, he rode the FXR legally for first time.
Not immediately after getting motorcycle endorsement.
He waited until Rusty, Dave, and Jim agreed he was ready.
Not because they owned choice.
Because he respected experience.
The first ride was six miles.
No club.
No crowd.
No camera.
Leo wore full-face helmet, armored jacket, gloves, boots.
Jim complained:
“You look like astronaut.”
Maria replied:
“He looks alive.”
Jim shut up.
Leo swung leg over.
At eighteen? He waited to 21 maybe due confidence. Fine.
He reached hidden switch.
Arthur’s switch.
Flipped.
Press starter.
The FXR came alive.
His hands trembled.
He looked at Maria.
She looked terrified.
He almost stopped.
Then she nodded.
“Go.”
Rusty rode ahead on another motorcycle.
Jim behind.
Leo in middle.
Six miles.
He did not go fast.
Did not need.
At first stop, a gas station three miles away, he removed helmet.
He was crying.
Jim pretended not see.
Rusty said:
“How’s it feel?”
Leo laughed.
“Terrible.”
“What?”
“Clutch heavy.”
Jim exploded laughing.
“Dutch refused lighter.”
“Why?”
“He said weak clutch builds character.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Correct.”
Leo rode back.
At shop, Maria hugged hard.
“Never again.”
“Mom.”
“I’m kidding.”
She was not entirely.
The annual Dutch memorial ride continued.
The FXR led only occasionally.
Leo refused turn it into relic ridden once annually.
He rode moderate.
Maintained.
Sometimes Jim rode with permission.
Every time Jim asked.
Even when Leo said:
“You don't need keep asking.”
Jim answered:
“Yes, I do.”
Because ownership mattered.
Because respect was habit.
Rusty retired when Leo was twenty-four.
The announcement happened badly.
Rusty taped sign on office door:
SHOP FOR SALE. I AM TOO OLD FOR THIS NONSENSE.
Leo read.
“What?”
Rusty sat drinking coffee.
“You can read.”