First Ride


“Didn’t know they made motorcycles in 1914,” Henrietta said, hoping to get the gaunt man’s attention in front of the exhibit.

“Oh yes,” he replied. “Owned one myself.”

“You collect antiques?” He was becoming more interesting than Henrietta had hoped.

“No. I was a boy at the time. I remember my first ride, down a dirt trail near my family’s lakeside cabin. I thought if man could build such a wonderful machine, there was no limit to what we could achieve.”

“That’s… impossible.” He looked no older than thirty.

“Not at all,” he replied, turning to Henrietta with red eyes.

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