“Where are you from?” I ask as I fix my helmet.
“San Francisco,” he looks at his friends, “This is the best biker’s meetup we know.”
Damn, they do have a reputation that travels miles ahead of them.
“This is cool that you took the time to come here.” Slidingmy key in the ignition, I’m ready to hit that starter. “I’m a local so that doesn’t count.”
“Yeah, this place is worth it and the company is just too good to miss,” Brook motions with his head to a few bikers who laugh out loud and tell jokes.
“Can’t argue there.”
“Nope!” His buzz cut fades at the sides, creating that masculine frame atop his head and his bright blue eyes shine like crazy. “Are you here with friends or something?”
“I’m replacing my Dad, the famous tattoo artist, Jim Wilder.”
His eyes go wide, “Oh shit, you’re Blakely Wilder?”
“In the flesh.”
“My friend showed me your work, and I signed up to get a tattoo from you this summer.”
“That’s great! I’m looking forward to it,” I grin back, “Care if I join you guys?”
“Absolutely!” He excitedly nods his chin up and down. “Hey guys, let’s go! And say hello to Blakely, she’s riding with us.”
“Sweet,” one of them says while the rest greet me.
My gorgeous red Ducati roars as I exit the parking lot and go for a night ride. The camera I attached to my helmet captures the journey perfectly. I go under the nameBikerGirl99. Thousands of followers enjoy my biker content on my social accounts. I’m a biker girl who enjoys making them.
I swerve in my lane, enjoying the sound of freedom.
The adrenaline kicking in my system. My arms strum the wind before they return to grip the handles.
This group is wild.
They love to go fast and loud and wheelie every few miles.
I’m laughing to myself as I enjoy the sound of the exhausts encasing me. They seem to be about my age or a bit younger and they constantly check in with me, ensuring that at least one of them stays next to me.
My first group ride and it feels awesome.
The miles keep piling up and tail lights move from side to side and back and forth as the hot wind caresses my skin.
Out of nowhere, like a freaking tornado, a bike passes us at the speed of light and my first instinct is to catch up with him.
Twisting the throttle, I detach from the group and speed toward that sick bike which I already recognize the sound of—that was the beast from earlier today, the expansive one that caught everyone’s attention.
After a few long miles, he comes into view not far away in the distance, easing up on the gears.
My curiosity grows as I level my bike with his and give him a friendly nod. I get goosebumps just from watching it gliding along the road and creating those beautiful sounds.
We swerve our bikes in sync, gliding and teasing each other as if we had practiced this a thousand times before. My bike crosses his, and his bike crosses mine. We’re not speeding, just enjoying the ride for a few minutes until he signals me to do a wheelie.
He raises his bike, popping a wheelie in seconds, andanother one, showing off and probably thinking I can’t wheelie my bike.
Guess what… I can tame a beast.
I balance myself, take a deep breath, and pop the front wheel up for long seconds.
