<\/p>\n Apple pie without the cheese is like a kiss without the squeeze.<\/strong><\/p><\/blockquote>\n Henry Schriver<\/span><\/strong><\/p><\/blockquote>\n Spending the day on his bagger\u00a0out in the country helped eased the pain. Every hard curve he leaned into made him forget a little. So many people died right under him. Gracie was his only solace. She was the bravest soul he had ever met before or since.<\/p>\n The straight pipes brought his focus back. He thought, interface on. \u201cWatcher I\u2019m back.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCristian, how are you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBetter, much better.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat do we have left to do, Watcher?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAssume the life of Robert Mitchum, and we have a building opening to go to. After that, we need Robert to die and will the land and business to you, so we can sell them to the condo developer. Cristian, don\u2019t forget Ezra.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIs that all?\u201d he thought while gearing down for a hairpin and cracking the throttle and leaning hard at the apex to pull himself around the back end of the curve. He leaned so hard, that his footboard threw a trail of sparks. \u201cPretty sure I left a little boot leather back on that curve Watcher.\u201d He smiled a little.<\/p>\n \u201cIf that was your goal, I think you did that well.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThanks, Watcher.\u201d<\/p>\n Just ahead, he saw a little greasy spoon on the side of the highway. There were a ton of trucks and trailers outside. \u201cFood must be good,\u201d he thought.<\/p>\n \u201cThis doesn’t look like a place that would welcome bikers, Cristian.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFuck that, I am hawnngry. I haven\u2019t had a meal since 1914.\u201d<\/p>\n As he sat down, the waitress looked at him like he was a Martian.<\/p>\n \u201cMenu?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNope darlin’ just looking for a cup of coffee and a clubhouse. Maybe add some fries and a smile.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGot it biker.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThanks, waitress.\u201d They both smiled.<\/p>\n The truckers had stopped talking when he walked in and placed his beanie, shades, and bandana across from him on the table.<\/p>\n After a nod from the waitress signifying he was all right, the talking continued as if he wasn’t there. One of the truckers walked by on his way out to his 18 wheels, made a comment. \u201cThat is a really sweet ride man. You build that yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThanks, I did.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNever seen one like it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI like one of a kind. Hate travelling with the herd.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI hear you, man. That\u2019s why I travel the highways.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMe too, be safe out there.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI will, and I will send word that you are okay. Which way will you be travelling?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSouth.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSouth it is. Keep your rubber down, biker.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cVaya con Dios trucker.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWaitress.\u201d She came over worried he was going to complain.<\/p>\n \u201cPass a message on to the cook for me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOkay.\u201d Still waiting for the complaint.<\/p>\n \u201cTell the cook that was\u201d he paused for a quick gulp of coffee, \u201ctell him that was the best fucking clubhouse I have ever eaten in my entire sorry lifetime. Tell him thanks.\u201d<\/p>\n She was surprised at what this biker had said. He meant every word. The clubhouse had been made with fresh cooked turkey and ham, not that regurgitated pre-processed meat made with by-products and chemicals. Instead, of the process almost cheese crap used at most truck stops, there was a good size chunk of real aged cheddar, on hand-cut fresh-baked sourdough bread. He chewed every bit slowly and thoroughly. Cristian really enjoyed good food.<\/p>\n When he was done, the waitress came over carrying a huge chunk of Apple pie, with a fat piece of cheddar melted on the top.<\/p>\n \u201cA gift from the cook, he rarely gets recognition for his cooking.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat’s a fucking crime, he puts a lotta love into his cooking.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYa he does.\u201d She was smiling as she walked away. He was the nicest biker she had ever met. Maybe all of them weren’t assholes, she thought to herself, and he was kind of cute.<\/p>\n He left a twenty on the table scooped up his riding gear and started to head out to the bike, before he got out the door the waitress came over.<\/p>\n \u201cYou forgot this.\u201d She handed him a piece of paper folded over. He opened it while she was standing there.<\/p>\n The note had her name and number with a little flower doodle.<\/p>\n \u201cNext time I am through Annaliza. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”<\/p>\n \u201cThank you, Biker can\u2019t wait.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCristian.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCristian, will I see you again?\u201d She asked coyly.<\/p>\n \u201cThat is a possibility. Maybe we can share breakfast. At your place.\u201d<\/p>\n She blushed a little smile and walked away.<\/p>\n Back on the highway, wind in his face again, he noticed the truckers seemed to wave him through and gave him some room to ride. He would bless them with the sound of wide-open straight pipes as he passed. They would give him a quick blast of the air horns in recognition as he went by.<\/p>\n One trucker was motioning him to slow down, hands pushing air in a downward motion outside his truck window. Cristian pulled up beside him to have a closer look. The trucker was now tapping the top of his head.<\/p>\n Cristian nodded recognition at the trucker. He was speaking highway for police ahead. The tapping was to signify the bubble lights the cop cars of old had on their roofs.<\/p>\n Cristian adjusted his speed and stayed right beside the trucker for a few miles, holding all the traffic back.<\/p>\n When they had all passed the radar trap he sped up a little and pulled in front of the truck to let the others through. No one was upset but waved to him in thanks for keeping their speed down.<\/p>\n A blue minivan passed them and a small boy in the back seat waved and gave him a vigorous thumbs-up as he admired the bike with wide-eyed wonder. Cristian knew a future rider had joined the ranks right at that moment.<\/p>\n Everyone was happy except for the ticket-writing doughnut king, who wouldn’t make his quota that afternoon.<\/p>\n A few hours later, he was back at the cave. He noticed that not many words were thought between \u00a0Watcher and himself.<\/p>\n \u201cI thought you could use some quiet time, Cristian.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThanks, Watcher.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat fresh air has tuckered me out some, I\u2019m gonna grab some z\u2019s. Wake me if there is anything pressing.”<\/p>\n \u201cWill do Cristian.\u201d Within seconds, he was covered in cats and asleep.<\/p>\n <\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" TEMPUS CHAPTER ELEVEN Apple pie without the cheese is like a kiss without the squeeze. Henry Schriver Spending the day on his bagger\u00a0out in the country helped eased the pain. Every hard curve he leaned into made him forget a little. So many people died right under him. Gracie was his only solace. She […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-52","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/P7iYfp-Q","jetpack-related-posts":[],"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/rodbinder.com\/tempusone\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/52","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/rodbinder.com\/tempusone\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/rodbinder.com\/tempusone\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/rodbinder.com\/tempusone\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/rodbinder.com\/tempusone\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=52"}],"version-history":[{"count":12,"href":"http:\/\/rodbinder.com\/tempusone\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/52\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1162,"href":"http:\/\/rodbinder.com\/tempusone\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/52\/revisions\/1162"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/rodbinder.com\/tempusone\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=52"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}![\"prev\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/rodbinder.com\/tempusone\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/9\/2016\/03\/prev.png?resize=95%2C20\")
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