When Roses Collide

Chapter Thirty-Six

Harley let her thoughts and worries drift behind her as she raced the wind. She loved the time she spent on her bike. It was just her, the road and being surrounded by nature. Unlike a car, where you watched it roll past through a frame, on a bike...you moved through it. Became a part of it. In Harley's mind, therapy was expensive, wind through your hair and the exhilaration of freedom that came from it...cheap, but priceless.

Everything just looked better from inside a motorcycle helmet. Or it did, until she spotted a large, black SUV swerving precariously behind her. Shifting down, Harley slowed a bit to allow it to pass. Keeping her eyes on the fast approaching car in her mirrors, she waited for it to speed by, but to her horror...it kept hurtling straight towards her. Doing the only thing she could think of, she jerked to the left as the SUV lurched to the right, missing her by inches, but not before it forced her to the soft shoulder of the road.

The front tire of her bike spun on the loose gravel, making her weave unsteadily and throwing her off balance. She tried to regain control, but between the momentum caused by passing SUV and the gravel...she was going down and there was nothing she could do to stop it. The world seemed to shift into slow-motion as she felt herself fall and the last thought she had was how much this was going to hurt as the bike laid over.

The sounds of ripping metal filled her ears. The low melodious growl of her pipes, replaced with breaking glass, crunching plastic, shredded chrome and the friction of gravel as it tore up the bike and bit into her skin. Landing hip first, Harley and her bike skidded across the asphalt and loose rocks before ending up wedged under a guardrail.

For a moment, she just laid there, panting and shivering from the adrenaline rush of the accident. Then agony hit as her brain started function on all cylinders. Pain slashed through her left hip, thigh and shoulder. She had felt pain before, but there was something which frightened her more than the throbbing...and that was the image of the doctor leaning over her hospital bed with a grave look on his old, tired face.

Of all the things she remembered from her fall in Vegas that memory was the most clear and haunting, sticking with her over the years as she recovered. Bit by bit, she had rebuilt her life along with her body, but that one afternoon when the doctor had warned her one more hit to her back and she would never walk again...always remained with her.

Biting her lip to keep the panic at bay, Harley concentrated on her feet. Closing her eyes, she wiggled her toes and breathed a long drawn out breath of relief when she felt them move inside her boots. Pain didn't mean diddly squat. Cuts, bruises and the road rash from hell she had was nothing in the grand scheme of things. All of it was a welcomed sign she was still alive and would heal.

Rolling over, she groaned as she sat up. Course, a little less pain would be nice, she thought, wincing as she pulled off her helmet and inspected the damage. Seeing the deeply etched grooves and dents it had taken instead of her head, she couldn't imagine why people refused to wear them. Tossing it to the side, she looked at the damage she'd sustained.

Her jacket was ripped and bits of dirt and gravel clung to the bloody raw patches of skin showing underneath. It was the same on her leg and hip, but it could have been worse. The leathers had done their job and took the brunt of the fall. Her skin could have been as easily shredded as the leathers, but instead, thanks to them...she only had minor scrapes and scratches.

Easing herself to her feet, she limped over to her poor bike which still purred and vibrated though it was jammed tight under the rail. Reaching down, she killed the engine before the heat of the pipes started a fire. From what she could see the forks were bent as were the handle bars. The clutch handle laid glinting in the sun a few feet behind her along with pieces of her windshield and blinkers.