“Pie”
by “Big” Al, Motorcycle-Journal member
“I think we’ll have another slice of pie”, as he cuddled with his new wife having swapped out the old wife 2 years before meeting and falling head over heels for this, his second. Quite an upgrade in the looks department and a biker to boot I thought. Their love was still fresh, and tart and hinted of renewal like the last bite of summer blueberries lying on the plastic plate.
What the hell I thought sitting back down into the tattered rattan chair and scanning the hillside as it disappeared into a thick tangle of trees and vines. My mind clouded by the meal of greasy cheeseburgers, limp French fries, and diet coke chilled by ice smelling of sulfur. This trip may become a motorcycle ride if we could stay away from the inns and dives always offering the best of something. The best blueberry pie in this case, the best hot coffee in the previous and the absolute best biscuits and gravy at the one before this.
On this trip I moved at a pace set by others. Instead of long hours leaning into tight turns at speeds that challenged my skills I melted into cheap restaurant furniture trying to avoid the stares of strangers. Me in my rough-cut leathers, red flannel shirt, heavy boots and black head scarf with images of long dead pirates. All 280 lbs, gray beard, clean shaven head and nose red from to many rounds at the bars I spent most of my time in at home my blue jeaned bottom strained the over-stretched woven cane. The lovers still embracing shared every bite of food, speaking together in soft voices just loud enough to acknowledge my presence but broken and coded to avoid any interruption. Glancing over her shoulder the departing waitress looked right though me focusing more on the Boston Fern hanging over my shoulder than expecting an answer from me. “You want anything”? In one of those moments where I chose to select my words carefully instead of tossing the quick witty remark that would aptly describe my feelings I stared back at her, burning a hole through the plastic lens of her glasses. Point made and point taken, the waitress retreated to her red stool by the bar.
“You sure you don’t want a piece of pie? You really need to try the pie, you don’t know what you’re missing, and this really is the best darn blueberry pie I have ever eaten”. “Yes”, a softer, definitely female voice offered, “you really should try the pie”. “No guys, I’m fine, just ready to get back on the road and back to camp before it gets dark” I replied. “We’ll only be a moment longer,” she added. “Joe loves good pie and I must admit this is some of the very best pie I have ever eaten”. “Judging from the damage he did to that first piece I’d have to say it must be pretty good pie” I offered.
Conversation distracted the attentions paid to each other long enough to produce a break in their embrace. Leaning way back in his chair stretching his arms toward the fading sun a huge grin filled his face. “Does it get any better than this,” he beamed, “that’s what I love about these motorcycle rides, the time we spend together as friends”. For a moment I could see why Gay fell in love with my friend. He valued the people in his life more than anything else, often putting the needs of his friends ahead of his own needs. “Yes, I’m so glad we have spent the last couple of days together”, that soft delicate female voice whispered. “You really get to know people when you travel together” she added.
The waitress returned with the warm blueberry pie. As she laid a new plastic plate in front of Gay, her left hand extended the plate full of pie towards Joe. His eyes grew with anticipation and then disappointment. “What, no ice cream? I’m sorry, did I forget to ask you to add a scoop of that vanilla ice cream? Would you mind adding a bit of ice cream, it’s not to late is it?” “No Sir, I’ll be happy to get ice cream for you, stay right where you are and I’ll retrieve it right now for you”. Flashing across my closed eyelids, like the credits of a movie ‘stay right where you are’ bore into my brain. Fifty-year-old fingers protruding from my gloves tried to massage the words out of my head to no good purpose. Stay right where you are she had said, damn, we sure ain’t getting out of here until we get the pie thing right I replied with words that never passed my lips.
Opening my left eye just enough to fein a headache I noticed the pie begin to sink under the weight of the thick dough crust, forming a pool of blueberry innards that inched toward the edge of the plate. Strictly the passive observer I watched as the plate filled with warm blue ooze, and wondered how the vanilla ice cream would change the color of the white paper tablecloth as it was added to the pending overflow of mashed blueberries.
Tablecloth catastrophe was averted when the ice cream in it’s own deeper bowl was placed on the table and Joe’s plastic spoon retrieved half a scoop of the blue and then half a scoop of the artificially colored yellow. The spoonful of sweetness brought a smile to Gay’s face as she enjoyed the treat. The food brought them closer again, he moving his chair to be nearer to her, she swinging her left arm around his shoulder.
“You know, we almost missed this place, I’m so glad we stopped, aren’t you honey”. Her response was a smile not quite wide enough to expose what I was sure where blue stained teeth. “I’m sure glad I put new brakes on the Goldwing;” he offered to the table, “we really had to lay down on them to make that turn into the driveway”. “Yea Joe, that was quite a maneuver, I saw your brake lights just about the time I looked up from my speedometer. That would have been hard to explain to the police, biker killed trying to get a piece of pie! I’m just glad you made the turn to the left and got out of my way cuz I had this vision of flying over my handlebars and ending up in Gay’s lap.” “Sorry brother, didn’t realize it was that close.” “Seventy miles an hour to a dead stop in the middle of the highway kind of got my attention but what the hell that kind of stuff happens all the time, right Joe.” Just thinking what this lunch could have cost me made my hands sweat.
“You guys about ready to hit it? I’d really like to get back on the road,” I said as I slowly pulled myself out of the deep, cane chair and pushed my hands toward the ceiling. Stretching all 6ft 2inchs felt good after the long lunch and I was looking forward to getting back to why I came on this trip. Putting the rubber to the Arkansas asphalt between Hot Springs and Russellville. Another couple of hours of verified great motorcycle road, then an hour or so to the campground. I was looking forward to the cool air and smooth highway to clear my mind. A deep yawn that ended up sounding more like the roar of a caged lion blew any chance I had of remaining anonymous to the rest of the diners and startled Joe and Gay.
“Ok, I can take a hint” Joe laughed, “let me hit the men’s room and pay for lunch; we’ll meet you outside.”
The pathway to outside and freedom was cordoned with working folk and tourists trying to get a bite to eat before returning to the tasks they had planned. An elderly lady sitting with friends and sipping iced tea from a heavy tumbler averted her eyes and pulled her purse closer as I neared. I tried to think as she was thinking. Pulling the purse closer, was that an instinctive response to fear, the purse acting as a shield or was she simply making room for me to pass? I sensed her lowering her voice and mentioning to her friends that the roaring lion in leather was getting to close for her comfort. I could see her veined fingers clutch the purse even tighter. Her back stiffened as she leaned into her friends seeking the safety of the group.
Bending over as I passed her I paused, just a slowed step actually but staying long enough for her to look up at me out of the corner of her eye. I knew she was trying to ignore me but she was trapped in the open like an injured fawn, a meeting she couldn’t avoid, a confrontation she hoped would be fast and painless. Before she could ask what I wanted, before she could protest my invasion of her personal space I leaned deeper, a knight’s bow to his queen’s grace. My lips parted, a wide smile showing my cracked, smoke stained teeth as our eyes met.
“Mam , don’t forget the blueberry pie, I understand that it’s quite good”.
