They were on their way home from shopping in town. It was about a half hour drive on a winding country road. The Boy was sitting in the back. At times he had stomach troubles on the curves and he had just eaten some chicken nuggets, French fries, a Coke, and a scoop of Rocky Road ice cream in a sugar cone… so he was feeling a little edgy.
Mama didn’t want to stop, so she told him to roll down the window and get some fresh air. After about ten minutes, Sonny still didn’t feel well. Just at that moment a biker turned onto the highway behind them. He was following pretty close taking advantage of the wind break the car ahead of him provided.
Sonny Boy began complaining, “Mom, I really don’t feel well. Pull over! I think I’m gonna puke.” There really wasn’t a good place to pull over with a big ditch on one side and a steep cliff on the other. They were driving about 55 miles an hour with the biker hot on their trail.
This was no ordinary biker, but a larger than life three hundred pounder riding a three wheeler with raked handlebars. He wore a long Fu Manchu mustache, a horned metal helmet, and his colors, of course, lounging all the way back on his bike having a pleasant country ride.
“Ma! The biker…!” Sonny insisted… and then he blew it out the window. “Ma!” The Boy pleaded, “Pull over!” and he retched again as he continued to empty the contents of his stomach out through the window.
The biker began weaving back and forth behind the car trying to avoid the pieces of chocolate, almonds, marshmallows, and chicken nuggets hurling at him as he advanced. His mustache was blowing in the wind as he continued weaving trying to avoid the flotsam and jetsam attacking him in the jet stream.
“Just hold on and breathe, Son,” Mother said. She was proud of him. Not even one drop of vomit got in or on the car, but that biker was probably pulling chunks out of his mustache all night. The Boy was fine. He ate two hot dogs and some tater tots for dinner.
(First published 4/26/12)
