Page 61 of Nuts

And the latter was going to be impossible for me to make a celibate 3,000-mile trip with.

Chapter Twenty-One

Joey

I’m sure many would have found the heat unbearable, the noise intolerable, or the wind simply too brutal.

I, on the other hand, viewed everything about riding as rewarding. Traveling in a car was quiet and simple. A sense of taking part in the journey came with riding on the back of the motorcycle.

It was as if I was earning each mile I traveled.

I leaned against the backrest with my hands folded in my lap. As much as I wanted to hold onto Percy’s waist, I’d realized I didn’t need to. At least not on the highway. Our steady speed made any movement of the motorcycle quite predictable, leaving me comfortable in my relaxed state.

He tapped my leg with his left hand. “We’ll be stopping in Mesa. About five minutes.”

“Okay.”

I found the thought of stopping unsettling, but knew we wouldn’t be stationary long. Mesa, Arizona was one-fourth of the way to Kansas. We’d traveled 350 miles, yet in many respects, I felt like we’d only begun.

He pulled up alongside the gas pumps and shut off the engine.

“Stretch your legs,” he said. “Next stop will be Holbrook.”

“I’ll just sit here.”

He pushed the kickstand down and stepped off the bike. “You should probably take a piss.”

“I’m good.”

I gazed across the highway. The desolate land was nothing but uninhabited desert. An occasional cactus and a sea of sand were all that was offered for scenery. In the distance, a few hills gave some shape to the horizon.

From my vantage point it was beautiful.

“You sure you don’t need to piss?” he asked.

“I’m sure.”

He filled the tank with gas, went inside, and then returned holding a bottle of water. “Sure you don’t need anything?”

I grinned at the sight of a tumbleweed rolling alongside the highway, then turned to face him. “The wind on my face. That’s all.”

My response made him smile. He reached in his back pocket, and then handed me something.

“What’s this?”

“Jerky.”

I turned the package over and studied the contents. “Looks like a random piece of meat.”

“That’s what it is.” He chuckled. “You’ve never had jerky?”

“I’ve heard of it. I’ve never had it, though.”

“It’s part of traveling,” he said. “A biker staple.”

I wondered if my father ate it when he rode.

I questioned whether he’d ever been on the stretch of highway we were on, and, if so, if he’d ever stopped for gas where we’d stopped.