Gliding Through the Cool Autumn Air on a BMW with No Sufficient Head Gear

The couple were headed to a bikers' convention a couple of states over - about a 350 mile trip with a hotel stop or two along the way. They were riding a BMW. The man, Tom, loved his new BMW motorcycle that he'd ordered off the Internet. The woman, Doreen, couldn't care less what type of motorcycle it was, she just loved to ride. The only bad thing about riding with Tom was that on turns he would not simply rotate the handlebars in a certain direction, but instead he would lean over very far sideways to turn the bike; and it felt like he was trying to tip the motorcycle all the way over with you on the back, going down so low it felt like you would soon be skidding over the pavement or eating gravel. But the tires of the bike never lost traction and Tom never went all the way down.

The first night the couple stayed in a small dirty hotel room with large cockroaches spotting the yellow smoke-stained walls. But they enjoyed a steak dinner at the restaurant across the street which made up for the foul room. Next morning they started off early. Tom wanted to get to that bikers' convention as soon as possible. The convention had already begun and he had missed a lot. He didn't want to think about all the good times and fun that he'd already missed. He'd even worn his new leather jacket with the large skull patch that he'd sewn on the back himself. With his Fu Manchu mustache and tall angular frame, Tom looked exactly like a tough gang member when he wore his jacket; and he couldn't wait for everyone else to see him at the bikers' convention.

But Doreen didn't care about the motorcycle convention at all. She simply loved to ride on the back of the BMW, holding on to Tom's waist, smiling and observing the beautiful scenery. Gliding over the hills in autumn was wonderful. She could see a plethora of thick trees - yellow, red, and brown foliage flashing on the healthy branches, squirrels diving from tree to tree in search of pecans and acorns, small lakes and ponds visible in the background, Doreen even saw a windmill once and she was thrilled. At another point in their journey Tom noticed a small sign with an image of a waterfall and he followed a dirt road for three miles and found a small ten-foot waterfall and they took pictures and had lunch next to the falling water and then got back on the BMW and resumed their ride to the bikers' convention. The trip had been great so far. Doreen loved seeing the beautiful outdoors and she loved to ride.

But then a problem occurred: They had been riding down a lone highway for over three hours when a cop on a motorcycle flashed his lights behind them and turned on a low whirring siren. Whooo, whooo.

"Oh, crap," Tom said. "It's the fuzz."

Doreen squeezed his waist tighter. "What did we do? Why is he stopping us?"

"Don't know," said Tom, gearing down the BMW and steering it over to the shoulder of the road. "I'm sure he'll let us know what the problem is."

The policeman took his time getting off his motorcycle, he was slightly overweight from excessive snacks and very little exercise. He took out a pen and clipboard and strolled up to the BMW hesitantly. "Nice day for a ride, isn't it?" he said in a voice that commanded authority.

"You bet," Tom said. "Did we do something wrong, officer?"

"Well, feel the top of your head, sir. Do you notice anything?"

Tom stared up at the cop's helmet. "I'm not wearing my helmet?"

The officer cracked a smile. "That's correct. Nor is your wife. Do you know the riding laws in the state of Oklahoma, sir?"

"Umm..."

"All riders must have sufficient head gear in this state. You both need proper helmets."

Doreen, still sitting on the back of the motorcycle, spoke up: "Ah, yes. We forgot to wear our helmets, sir. I knew something felt abnormal here. Usually we wear our head gear all the time. We have both helmets in the little compartment back there. We just forgot to slip them on is all. Grab the helmets, Tom. Quick. We're safe riders, officer. You don't have to write us a ticket, do you?"

The policeman bit his lip sceptically and lowered his clipboard. "Where are the helmets? Get them out."

"Mine's in the storage compartment back there," Tom said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder to a large black plastic container on back of the BMW. "Hers is in there too, I think."

"Well, get them out and put 'em on. Don't just sit there."

Tom knew he only had one helmet in the compartment, and he didn't want the officer to see it. "With all due respect, officer, would you mind if we put them on later? It's just so hot now. We'll fry our heads off wearing them. You see, we're trying to get to a bikers' convention, and..."

"I don't care where you're going or what your body temperature climbs to. Do you see my helmet? You think I'm totally comfortable wearing this heavy thing? It's not about comfort levels, it's about protecting the old noggin when going 70 miles per hour down a narrow strip of highway. Now get that head gear on, or I'll be forced to write you a ticket."

Doreen got off the back of the BMW, went around and opened the black container and lifted out one large yellow helmet with red flames and silver stripes running down it. "Looks like we only have one helmet here, Tom," she said.

The cop raised his clipboard and started filling out the ticket form.

"Hold on a second," Tom said. "We only have one helmet, I admit that, but isn't there something else we can do, officer? I can't afford a ticket. We're on a limited budget for this little vacation. I don't want to ruin it by paying a heavy fine that we can't afford."

"You need another helmet, sir!" the cop yelled in a sudden bi-polar like outburst, spittle spraying Tom's face.

Tom stared at the cop in surprise. "Right, officer. I know. But how about we drive into the next town and you can follow us on your little bike there, and I can purchase another helmet at some store in town for her to wear. Sound all right?"

"Well, okay, I'll follow you in. But stop at the first store you see. Since the weather is so nice, I'm in a good mood, so it makes me more lenient."

"We appreciate that, officer," Doreen said, climbing back on the bike and snuggling in close to Tom.

"I'll follow you into town and make sure you stop at that store," the cop said. "I'll be right behind you." The officer turned, went back to his motorcycle, mounted it and kick-started the engine with one thrust of his heavy leg.

Tom looked down at his gas tank and shook his head. This was a definite setback in his plans to get to the motorcycle convention. Also he would now have to spend a few bucks, and he detested spending money for any reason. Nevertheless, Tom knew he had to comply or the cop would haul him off to the hoosegow, so he pressed the auto start button on his BMW and revved it several times and told Doreen to hold on and they took off toward the next town. He checked his rear view mirror periodically for the cop, who stayed exactly two car lengths behind them the entire way. They traveled close to fifteen miles and entered the city limits of Traxon, a mid-sized town in Oklahoma. A small Wal-Mart soon appeared on the left side of the road. Doreen and Tom both despised Wal-Mart and its disgusting monopoly that ruined businesses in small towns and exploited workers both in the US and abroad, but they had to go in and get a little helmet to appease the law man so he wouldn't write them a ticket.

They entered the parking lot and the officer did too and he parked near the entrance to watch them go in. Tom and Doreen dismounted the BMW and walked sullenly through the greasy parking lot and the electronic doors swung open and they were greeted by an elderly retiree and Doreen slipped a buck into his clean blue smock and Tom said, "Let's go over this way," and he went over to the toy section and began looking for head gear.

"Where are you going, Tom?" said Doreen, staring at some little plastic dart guns. "We're in the wrong section. We need to be in sporting goods. You're in the kids' toy section here."

"I know that. Hey, I'm not spending a bunch of money on a freakin' real helmet. Do you know how much a good one costs? What do you think I want to do, blow all our trip money before I even get to the bikers' convention. Come on. I'll bet they have helmets on the next aisle over."

Tom stepped around and noticed some little football helmets made out of red plastic. He picked one up and examined the price and handed it to Doreen. "Try this on."

She shook her head in disgust. "You can't be serious, Tom."

"Go ahead, see if it fits," he said.

Doreen put it on and the tiny red helmet barely came down on her head, sticking up several inches above her forehead, and the white bars of the face mask distorted her vision.

"Perfect, that'll work," Tom said. "Let's go."

"Are you kidding me, Tom? This doesn't even fit. I can't even see. The cop will know it isn't real."

"It's fine, it's fine! All we have to do is make it past the cop. He's far back in the parking lot. He won't notice a thing."

She took off the helmet and turned it over in her hands and stared at the Oklahoma Sooners logo on the side. "Please, Tom. Don't make me wear this. Let's go get a real helmet in the sporting goods section."

Tom's eyes turned to a menacing squint and his bottom lip quivered. "No, Doreen. You're wearing that helmet right there. Now come on. We've wasted enough time in this disgusting place already."

They paid for the toy helmet and went out of the store into the parking lot and the cop was waiting and he looked at them and Tom said, "Put the helmet on now, Doreen" and she complied and the football helmet barely went down on her head and the white bars were in front of her eyes and she could barely see the heavy officer in the distance but the cop waved at them and smiled and gave her the "thumbs-up" and he started his motorcycle and revved it three times and pulled out of the parking lot headed toward the highway.

"It worked," Tom said. "See, I told you it would be okay. Now keep the helmet on because he may start following us again."

They got on the BMW and drove out onto the highway. Doreen felt ridiculous riding with the toy helmet that didn't fit her head and she could still barely see a thing. Tom headed into town. They drove for awhile and soon Doreen noticed a few people on the sidewalks staring at her. Tom stopped at a stop light and Doreen saw a woman pointing at her helmet and giggling. They drove down Main Street and more people noticed the ridiculous helmet and the pedestrians realized it was a tiny toy plastic helmet instead of a real one and they pointed and laughed at Doreen and Tom was still driving completely oblivious to it all and he said, "Now keep that helmet on, Doreen, that cop could still be following us," and numerous people lined the sidewalks to look at the strange sad woman on the back of the large BMW motorcycle wearing the small child's football helmet and Doreen started crying and she shook her head and the entire trip was now ruined.

-end-

Jason Earls is the author of the books Cocoon of Terror, Red Zen, How to Become a Guitar Player from Hell, Heartless Bast*rd In Ecstasy, If(Sid_Vicious == TRUE && Alan_Turing == TRUE) {ERROR_Cyberpunk(); } and 0.136101521283655... all available at Amazon.com and other online book stores. His fiction and mathematical work have been published in Red Scream, Scientia Magna, three of Clifford Pickover's books, Neometropolis, Wretched & Violent, Mathworld, Chiaroscuro, Switchblade, Dogmatika, Prime Curios, the Online Encyclopedia of Integer Sequences, OG's Speculative Fiction, AlienSkin, Escaping Elsewhere, Werewolf, Recreational and Educational Computing, Thirteen, Theatre of Decay, Nocturnal Ooze, Prime Curios, Bust Down the Door and Eat All the Chickens, Swallow's Tail, and other publications. He currently resides in Texas with his wife, Christine.