She's A Vandal (The Bikeriders)

A missing spark plug

I chose this way of life a long, long time ago. And once I even tried to walk away from it all. But after many years and after many miles, after all the roadrash and all the toothless smiles. I will still choose this way of life, I will choose to ride amongst the two wheeled pilots of this land - forever.

(Adeline's P.O.V.)
With my hair pulled back, and my leather bomber jacket, denim jeans untorn except for the knees. I jump on my Triumph and kick it into first gear. My destination unknown, not that I cared really. The triumph roars to life as I take off. Second, third, fourth and fifth gears all to familiar. Gloved hand on the throttle, I'm shifting gears, as the wind blows through my hair. And with a contentfull sigh, all my troubles seemed to just disappear. As I listen to the thunder that shoots from the exhaust, it begins to cloud up. Dark clouds loomed over me, threatening to spill its rain any second now. But I don't mind, I have been here before and I'll ride through the rain again. The engine roaring at top speed, heart filling with the thrill and adrenaline. My hands reving eagerly to go at the green lights. Passing by many onlookers who turn their heads at the unuasual sight of a girl riding a motorcycle. Long hours pass by and the sun begins to go down as I try to find what I'm looking for. I ride the lonely streets till I find it, one day I will surely find it. Luckily, I am not in a rush.

As the afternoon begins to role in, I stop at a bar called the Junker's Tavern, wanting a much needed drink to lessen my thirst. I walk into the bar, looking around as I take my gloves off. The bar has some occupients but not a lot. I move over to the bartender and ask for a drink. Once recieved, I take my place at an empty table that stood away from the walls, yet not completely in the middle of the room to grab the attention of the other bar guest. A familiar sound catches my ears. I look out the windows of the Tavern. It's a sixties sight to see, all American made Harley's parking side by side in front of the bar. No, these guys don't ride nothing Japanese or European made, only American, that was clear as day. The bikes are all oily, smoky, proper big boys' toys if you will. All with of the bikes had their own personalities. A 1964 Harley with a 40's engine and 50's steering. An Harley with a handle to shift it into gear instead of the foot paddle. You could hear these bikes from a half a mile away. And when these big loud Harley's passed you'd even smell the noise. Harley's all bloody Harley Davidson's, a death trap for me and my english made Triumph. "Well shit" I curse umderneath my breath. Both companies have rivalled one another for many years and that included their riders. I'm no fool, I know if I stay here then there would surely come trouble my way. They had already eyed my lonely bike as they passed it. But seeking no owner they ignored it, for now atleast. Some of the Harley owners soon begin to drip into the bar. The previous serence silence was now interrupted by whistles and hollers from the men and women walking inside. I cast my eyes down not needing the attention of the club members. I had seen their jackets and read their colors: The Chicago Vandals. Luckily with how I was dressed I wasn't to concerned they would immediatly target me. Some might sya I could pass as one of them, but without their jackets. I grab my glass and take a drink quickly, an urgency to leave this place. Placing it down to take a breath, I notice a group of the 3 Vandals. They notice me looking and throw their arms over one another before whispering about me amongst themselves. I role my eyes and turn away "pigs" I scoff turning away from them. I cast my eyes away to nowhere in particular. Suddenly a chair is moved to my left. I slightly turn my head and watch as a handsome young man sits down on it. Leaning his toned forearms over the back of the chair. The blond looked up at me before introducing himself.