Claimed by the Biker Giant (Maxine and Tank) novel Chapter 56

Max POV

I could hear Tank’s voice talking when there was a break in the music, and I pushed his voice away, concentrating on the next song. I guessed that he would be talking about business, and listening felt wrong; they had a lot to go over before we arrived at the stop for the night.

The nights for me are fun.

I loved night riding and the surprises.

A lot of things can happen.

The only part I don’t like is the bugs that come out at sunset. We had ridden through a swarm of gnats; my visor got covered in the bugs, and I bet Tank’s were far worse. He had an open face, and his glasses would have gotten covered in them. I have a helmet with a pull-down clear visor. The visor doesn’t close me in and makes me feel suffocated, and I don’t like the wind burn, so this was Grandpa’s idea of a compromise.

Lights from farmhouses and sheds became more frequent before the town welcome sign flashed by. Then we slowed for the town, avoiding the center, and made our way to one of three hotels. This town was on the larger side, with three good-sized hotels.

“You okay with camping under the stars?” Tank asked, looking unsure. We hadn’t talked about where we would sleep when we arrived; it was too late to think about setting up a tent.

“Of course, we are roughing it; a hotel room is not exactly camping. As long as I can get a shower later, I am on board.” I replied, and together we found a nice place and would camp beside the bike, using it for some protection.

We were in line to get food when I heard the bike. I tilted my head for a while, listening to it getting closer.

“Sick bike.” I pushed my plate at him and moved towards the growing sound. I ran to the van and pulled out my tool kit. I never go anywhere without a toolkit, and since we have this van, I brought more than usual.

“Park it under some light,” I called out, pointing to the brightest lighting they had in the parking lot, and walked over to the bike as he kicked out the sidestand. A girl climbed off the back of the bike the moment he stopped the bike and raced inside. I gather he wasn’t the most tolerant out on the road when it started to break down. The girl didn’t look very happy.

“What are you gonna do, girl?” He snarled at me, but I ignored his manner, knowing he was most likely hot, hungry, and frustrated, and a girl isn’t usually the mechanic.

“When did it start? What does it sound like?” I pushed as I squatted down and unrolled my toolkit. He eyed the kit and me for a while before he answered, reluctantly.

“It started, sounding like I was out of fuel, and slowly got worse.” He said as he removed his lid, standing at the back of his bike, watching what I was doing.

“Wow, nice kit,” he said, after I didn’t ask any more questions, and came closer to look at what I had spread out. His tone improved at the sight of the tools.

“Dags, go get something to eat. I am going to have Max eat hers before continuing on the bike.” Tank’s voice rang out to Dags, okay, that’s his name, I thought, who nodded to Tank and left, and I thought about the bike; it was too hot to handle right now, so I might as well eat while it cools enough for me to work on it.

“Sounds like fuel blockage, maybe picked up some dirty fuel,” I answered the question on Tank’s lips, even though he didn’t voice it.

“We are posting guards tonight. Want to join me on my turn?” He asked, I stopped my fork halfway to my mouth, and turned to look at him in shock. He was being serious, his face grim.

“I hear ya, I will be a while here, gonna, remove the spark plugs and check them before I get to work on the carbi, and hunt for problems, his might have used reserve for the first time in a while, and got some dirt in there, it a good thing to use the reserve every now and then, helps avoid this kind of thing, refreshes the fuel in that side of the tank, in this sort of bike,” I replied, avoiding answering his question, because I don’t know how long I will be working on the bike; it could be a quick fix, or something that will take a few hours.

My plate is empty. Tank took it from me.

“Go work on the bike. I can see you are itching to get your hands dirty. I’ll bring out coffee.” Tank left and moved to the bike.

I removed the seat and disconnected the power before removing the plugs. They were clogged up, but I didn’t think they were the main issue. I gave them a clean with a small wire brush and set them with a gauge, before placing them back into the engine. I looked around for a bottle or something to catch fuel. I wanted to see the flow. I found a container and got to work. Checked the fuel line, then got to work on the carburettor. This was going to be a while.

Tank brought out a coffee, and I sat back, taking it from him, thankful.

“Gonna be a while, that okay?” I asked as I took a sip of the hot coffee.

“Sure, I told Bruiser I would take first shift, gonna be here for you, so might as well do a circuit, work out where the holes are.” Tank stayed for a bit longer, finishing his coffee, before moving away with Bruiser to talk about the security for the night, or something like that. I heard a bit of what they said, but tuned it out, as I got stuck into the bike again.

A while later, I had the carburettor off and checked the jets, and general clean up, it was filthy, don’t think the bike had been serviced in a while.

I was in my zone.

My passion for motorbikes and the lessons Grandpa taught me were why I loved doing this. When I am working on a bike, I am remembering him, my Grandpa, and the happier times we spent together, me listening and learning, and he teaching me his passion and growing that passion in me; it was more than just fixing a bike for me. It was my happy place, where I was untouchable; no one can take those happy memories away from me. These inanimate objects might test me, but never hurt me, not inside. I might cut myself or burn myself, and in a way that was teaching me to be more careful, but these machines would never break me emotionally. Only people can do that, and I am working on my demons slowly, trying to erase the bad memories that surface when I least expect them.

“Hey, how’s the bike going?” Dags was back, beer in hand.

“When was the last time you had this bike serviced?” I snapped back, not looking up.

Laughter erupted behind me.

“Told you, man, you needed to give it a service.” A voice said, and more chimed in, razzing him for not caring for his bike. I thought all bike riders took care of their bikes, but I guess some don’t have the same respect. It was their wheels and freedom. But love and care, I don’t think it has even been washed in ages.

I started to put it all back together, having worked on it for a couple of hours, and more had come out to set up tents or lay out their swags for the night. Tank had walked past me a few times on his rounds with Bruiser and Prez. Leaving me in peace to do what was needed.

“Can I unload my bike? I need the swag.” He asked tentatively, his woman close by him, sneering at the grease on my hands.

“Sure.” I waited for him to take what he needed and continued to work on the bike.

I pulled the throttle a few times and turned the key; it started, coughed, and stopped. It did this two more times before it let out a loud pop, and it purred to life, idling a little low. I tinkered with the idle until I was happy with the RPM and let the bike warm up.

“Dags, take it for a spin, will ya?” I didn’t want to take off on it; better the owner does, he knows the bike’s quirks better than I do.

Dags did as I asked and took off Others stopped to watch him go and listened to the engine disappear and later return. To me, it needs a good service, but it was enough to get him home.

While he was gone, I cleaned my tools and slid them back into the pouches, rolled them up, and took them back to the van.

“Sounds a lot better, need a shower?” Tank said as he pulled me to him, kissing my forehead and holding me to him. His hands slid into my jeans’ back pockets.

“Yeah.” Tank let me go, and I grabbed a bag that held a change of clothes, which I was grateful I had packed. I almost didn’t. Tank let me into one of the ground-floor rooms and knocked. Sticks opened the door, took one look at me, beamed a megawatt smile, and moved aside for me to enter.

She put her hand on Tank’s chest, stopping him from entering.

“Alone, I don’t need to hear the two of you in my bathroom.” I chuckled, rolling my eyes. After hearing her go at it last night, that comment made it funny.