The Life and Times of Johnny Plotpoint

The wind roared in Johnny's ears as he rode down the highway. He had no idea how long he had spent riding around the countryside on his motorcycle. Some part of him seemed to know where he was going, but he couldn't say for sure. To him, this wasn't strange. He never even wondered that it should be.

He hit the clutch and downshifted, then flipped the switch for his turn signal and slowed down to turn into a gas station along the highway. This was the place.

He parked his bike next to the pump, heeled down the kickstand, and walked up to the building. The whole place was dusty and seemed a little bit greasy, with a smell like old tires. A young man walked out of the garage, wiping his hands on a rag. He was tall with close cut hair and a moustache. Johnny knew immediately that this was the guy he was looking for. He had never seen him before, and he didn't know his name, but this had to be the guy.

"How you doin' today? Lane. Lane Edwards, chief mechanic, head cook and bottle-washer." He shook Johnny's hand. "What can I do for you, sir?" Lane didn't look any older than Johnny did-early twenties. He was well-muscled, but thin with a kind smile.

"Just a fill-up and clean the bugs off the headlamp, if you could, please. I'll go on inside and look around a bit."

"Be done in two shakes," Lane said. Johnny went into the store. Inside, there were shelves lined with canned goods, sacks of flour, balls of twine, quarts of oil, and other miscellaneous items. Johnny found some canned fruit and soup and took them up to the counter, then he grabbed two packs of smokes and threw them next to the canned goods - for his trip. Lane finished filling up his bike and cleaning the headlamp and came into the store to ring up Johnny's purchases.

"That's a pretty nice bike you got there," he said, wiping his hands on the same oil-stained rag.

"Thanks," Johnny said, "I just got her." He lied. He had no idea how long he had had the bike. He knew it was his, but he couldn't remember where it came from. He just figured that he was supposed to have it, so it was his.

"That's an Indian. What year is it?" He glanced out at the bike again.

"It's a '35," Johnny said, recalling the fact from somewhere.

"It must have cost you a pretty penny," Lane said.

"Not as much as you would think."

"You fix her up yourself?" Lane asked as he rang up the canned goods.

"Nope. I didn't do a thing to it."

"You better hang on to that. I don't think they're going to be making those very much longer, and one in that kind of condition could be worth money in a few years."