Miss Julia Hits the Road Read Free

mind.”

Chapter 2
    “Now get in the house,” I said, “before half the town sees you in that get-up.” I opened the door and gave him a little push toward it. It was the first time I’d been on the porch without having a sinking spell at the sight of Pastor Ledbetter’s Family Life Center looming above us from across the street. I’d been too taken up with the amazing spectacle that Sam had presented to give the building a second thought. Not that it deserved one, for it was the bane of my existence.
    “I can’t stay, Julia,” he said, going in anyway. “I just came by to show you my new Harley-Davidson Road King.”
    “I’ve seen it, which is more than I ever wanted.” I motioned him to my Duncan Phyfe sofa, now covered in a bright yellow chintz instead of the maroon velvet that my lately deceased husband, Wesley Lloyd Springer, had thought appropriate for our living room. I sat in the matching Victorian ladies’ chair across from Sam and studied him. “What in the world has possessed you, Sam, to get on such a machine as that life-threatening thing out there?”
    “Oh, just one of those things I’ve always wanted to do,” he said as he leaned back and made himself comfortable. “And I decided that if I don’t do some of them soon, I never will. We’re not getting any younger, Julia. Have to do them while we can.”
    “Well,” I said, with a glare at Lillian, who was standing in the arch to the dining room, still admiring Sam’s leather outfit. “That’s the second time today I’ve been reminded of my age, and I’ll thank you not to bring it up again.”
    Sam laughed. “That’s the thing, Julia. We’re both healthy and active and interested in what’s going on in the world. But if we just sit down and rest on the past, we’ll grow old in a hurry. So I decided to try something new and fun for a change.” He patted the helmet in his lap and smiled in a dreamy sort of way. “Always wondered what it’d be like to take a Harley out on the open road and ride with the wind, free as a bird.”
    “I say, free as a bird.” I shook my head at such an irresponsible notion. “You are a grown man, respected and admired by everybody who knows you, and by many who don’t. And to suddenly want to have fun, why, Sam, that is not the be-all and end-all of life, as you well know. Why in the world would you want to turn back the clock and turn yourself into a Hell’s Angel or something?”
    “Lots of people ride, Julia, and they’re not all Hell’s Angels—or anything like them. I’m joining a motorcycle club that has a lot of professional men in it, all just liking to ride and enjoy the great outdoors.”
    My skeptical look must’ve stirred him, for he went on. “They do a lot of good, too. They have charity runs, for instance, raising money for any number of good causes like St. Jude’s Hospital for Children and Toys for Tots around Christmas. You’d be surprised at what all they do.”
    “I probably would, seeing that I’ve read about those so-called motorcycle bashes in the newspaper. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you, Lillian?”
    I turned to her for confirmation, but she just shrugged her shoulders and said, “I got beans to see about,” and left for the kitchen.
    “Now, Sam,” I continued, knowing that he needed some straight talking to get him back on track. “That’s not the kind of thing you ought to be involved with, I don’t care how many good causes those people support. They used to have those Woodstock kind of conventions over near Asheville until the city council put a stop to them. Thousands of motorcycle people from every state in the union gathered at a camp-ground, and they just tore up jack. I saw it all on the news, so I know what I’m talking about. I tell you, they disrupted the whole city something awful, all that loud music and swarms of cycles roaring and popping on the roads, tying up traffic and, would you believe, cutting up with such antics