Free Return To Forever by James Frishkey Page A

til the end. The night before he was to pick up his bike, Joe rented a van and loaded his clothes and other possessions and moved out. His mother was heartbroken and his dad just ignored the event with his usual indifference.
    It was late when he finally returned the van and he and his new roommate cracked a six-pack and jammed til the wee hours. Joe was beginning to understand why Clark never wanted to sing. He was tone deaf. He relied heavily on sheet music to learn a song but he couldn’t carry a tune to save his life.
    Bright and early the following morning Clark drove Joe to the Triumph dealer to pick up his prize. The burgundy and silver Bonneville was ready to go. After signing the paperwork, the salesman led Joe to the bike to show him the controls and features. He asked Joe if he had ever ridden a motorcycle before and when Joe said no, he suggested Joe practice in the large open field adjacent to the dealership before he jumped on the highway to head home.
    In the field, Joe just couldn’t get the hang of shifting without stalling out. Over and over he tried and failed. He finally reached his frustration limit and was ready to walk back to the salesman and ask for his money back. One last try, he thought, gently releasing the clutch and, miracle of miracles, it didn’t stall and he was able to shift through the gears and on to the highway…scared shitless. Like a kid on a bicycle for the first time, Joe had a sense of freedom and exhilaration he hadn’t felt for many years. The ride home cleared his head of Mary…for a while.
    Another benefit to living with Clark on his family’s estate was being able to fire a weapon safely without prompting complaints to the police. Joe still had his issued .45 from ‘Nam which he was able to smuggle out with help from some friends. Clark had a Ruger Blackhawk .22 and they would spend a Sunday afternoon plinking at cans and bottles. It didn’t take long for Joe to feel the pinch of shooting the expensive .45 round and he decided to purchase a Ruger like Clark’s. It also didn’t take long for Clark to discover his roommate’s proficiency with a weapon and he started inviting a few friends from law enforcement to join them. One of these friends brought an AR-15 from his patrol car and Joe put on a show with it.
    For the next few months Joe’s non-working hours were divided between developing his band and riding his Triumph. He was also getting bored with his job and began looking for something else to do. While the music was getting better, the band was still in need of more practice to justify a club’s paying them to gig on a weekly basis. True to her word, Clark’s sister did sit in with them a few times but became bored quickly and bowed out. “God, she’s beautiful,” Joe thought but that was a fantasy he would soon get over as she became engaged and moved in with her boyfriend.
    By the end of summer Joe quit his job with the carpet installation company. He had a little money in the bank and decided to try his hand on a “Then Came Bronson” road trip across the state. He had made some upgrades to the Bonneville which now resembled a chopper more than a British road bike and he was eager to show it off on the open road.
    On a crisp Saturday morning, Joe packed a few things in a back-pack, tied his sleeping bag to his sissy bar and, almost as an afterthought, he put on a shoulder-holster with his loaded .45 cocked and locked. He did not have a concealed carry permit but decided he would feel more secure on the open road with Mr. Colt’s protection at hand. His plan was to sleep under the stars, weather permitting, but he had enough cash to pay for a cheap motel room if necessary.
    He decided his first stop would be Caseville, on Lake Huron. It was a straight shot north and would take about three hours unless he detoured to some place interesting. It was sunny but a stiff wind was blowing south the entire way, turning Joe’s face beet red with wind burn and