Riding the Universe Read Online Free Page B

“reckless.”
    For being Seth’s sister and hailing from a family of Harley riders, that is some serious blasphemy. She insists I will understand the dichotomy when I have carried children inmy womb, given birth to them through tears of resignation and joy, and nourished them from my own body. Then, she says, I will start to see Lolita as death on wheels. Once, I told her that I did understand her “giving birth” scenario, because Seth and I ordered six-piston chrome bagger calipers for Lolita, then waited nine weeks for them to arrive, but she didn’t think that was very funny.
    The thing is—she should know better than anyone—once a biker, always a biker.
    There comes a magical moment when you just get the connection that happens between human and machine, and that’s when you become a biker for life. Lately, I’ve started to wonder if I got this affinity for motorcycles from just hanging out with Seth, or if my birth parents were the same way. I’ve always accepted that I’ll never know, since my adoption case was closed, which means my birth parents and adoptive parents know nothing about one another. But I know there are ways to try and locate them. If I ever decide to, that is.
    If only I could without hurting Mom and Papi.
    Finally, the sun begins to descend behind the strawberry fields by my house. Lolita’s tires cut through inches of this afternoon’s rain, and the droplets fly up, striking my face like super-fine acupuncture. Gotta squeeze in at least one adrenaline rush before I get home. I up-shift to fifth and take the last stretch of straight road at sixty-five.
    â€œAaiieee!” My scream blends with the screaming of the engine.
    Somewhere in my head, I hear my uncle’s tenor-smooth voice laugh. Atta girl, Chlo.
    Â 
    Our driveway is full of stuff that Papi’s trying to sell as part of his New Year’s resolution. But after three nights now, it’s still around. His quest to empty our garage of my mother’s junk while she is distracted with postnatal life is failing miserably. Pre-babies, she never would have allowed such a thing, but at the moment, she is nursing two three-month-olds and is too hormonal to even care. Besides, who would want a velvet portrait of the twelve signs of the zodiac, especially one with a coffee stain in the bottom left-hand corner? Salvation Army, Father, Salvation Army.
    I ease Lolita in between a shrunken head torchière and a six-level shoe rack holding a library of bills older than I am. On a folding chair next to it, Papi sulks over the enormous task of feeding old bills one by one into his new paper shredder.
    â€œHow was the dock, linda ?”
    I pull off my helmet and scratch my head. “I wasn’t at the dock. I’ll go after dinner.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t be riding late every night.”
    â€œIt’s not that late, and it’s not every night. At least you know where I am.”
    â€œHmm,” he says over the shredding noise. He knows I’m not a difficult child and that all I ever ask for is to ride. Overall, I am one cooperative kid. “Mira esto.” He changes the subject. “It even shreds credit cards. Isn’t that great?”
    â€œIncredible.” I bend over to kiss his cheek. His white Hanes T-shirt smells like gasoline, fish, and the open sea. I could smell him all day.
    â€œHow’s Lolita running today? Did you and Rock tune her up yet?”
    â€œNot yet. Next time he comes over, we’ll get started.”
    â€œTell him about the leak.”
    â€œHe knows, Papi.” The sad fact is I can’t take care of her the way Seth did. Sure, I may have learned a thing or two from being around him all the time, but I need Rock supervising my tinkering to make sure I’m doing it right. I already tried fixing the leak twice, but it’s still leaking. “Mom inside?”
    He nods, but before I can take another step,