For When Traffic Stops, I Always Imagine a Line of Motorcycles.

I was five when it happened.

It was a normal day, I was with my mom and dad and brother in the car. We were cruising smoothly down the highway when we began to slow.

I peaked over my mom's seat on the passenger side, wondering what was holding us up.

There was a man, tall and bearded. Him and a woman, his wife or girlfriend I assumed, stood in the middle of the highway, a black motorcycle parked behind them while they halted traffic.

We pulled to a stop several meters in front of the couple.

"What's going on?" my older brother, Jason, asked.

My father scowled. "I'm not sure."

A few minutes passed, and then a rumble started up. My brother and I leaned towards the window on my side. Jason had taken his seatbelt off to see.

The first one to appear was red, shining in the 6 pm sun. The next blue, then black, gray, another red, they kept coming. Some carried two people, others only one.

The thunderous boom of thirty or so motorcycles shook the air, but Jason and I watched, memorized.

"What's happening?" I wondered aloud as one motorcycle, an orange one, pulled a trailer behind it.  

The trailer was a black, shiny material, maybe wood. It was accented by golden designs. On the inside, where was box, about human sized. Around it there were flowers, powerful gold, vibrant red, bluebell blue, fanta orange. It was gorgeous.

My mother had put a hand to her mouth, and my father day in silence. The couple ahead of us had turned to watch, the woman videoing while the man had removed his hat.

"It's for a funeral, sweetheart," my mother explained, not taking her eyes off the line as it turned slowly from motorcycles to cars.

"What's it for, though?" Jason asked.

"They're taking the body to the cemetery." My father answered this time.

I continued to watch, my awed expression turning to one of sadness.

"I wonder how they died," I murmured.

"I don't know, but whoever it was certainly had a lot of friends." someone replied, I wasn't sure who.

The whole thing only lasted about five minutes, but I never forgot that moment.

Though I was only five, I remember the day as though it were yesterday. Even today, thirteen years later, I still think about it.

I wonder who the couple that stopped traffic are. Are they still together? Did they get married? Did they have children?

I also wonder about the man who died. Was he once one of the riders? Was he a family member of them?

I'll never know.

But even still, at eighteen years old I think.

I think of scenarios of how the person died. Think of what their name may have been.

I never saw another one quite like it, but I think it it's what inspired me to get a motorcycle today. I ride when I'm sad, happy, angry, or just to ride.

It was a saddening moment, but I'm glad I saw it.

For When Traffic Stops, I Always Imagine a Line of Motorcycles.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The image above is not from the actual service, but it's basically what it looked like. I recounted as best I could from memory, but I only saw a video.

My dad's friend, his club name is Baywatch, was the one pulling the casket, and I haven't seen him since he got the news of his dad dying.

This little one-shot is dedicated to him.

I know it's short, but I wrote this as soon as I watched the video. I might go through and rewrite it later, but for now, this is it.

I hope you all have a good night

~ Jay