He turned a left and paid the toll, up the northern road he drove. The sun was setting for what seemed a long time and in the crevices of the night he remembered when she'd held him tight, her fingers laced like windswept clouds across the embers of twilight. The road turned first to his right and then to his left and without much care led into a back and forth series of curves. This was the type of road found out west.

For at least an hour he traveled, with almost no one on the highway, save for a few locals, a couple of semis and some late tourists who'd piled their gear up high on their roof racks. He settled into the hypnosis of large passing shadows and highway signs reflecting back fractions of his headlight. He touched the handles through the skin of his gloves, he felt his feet in the boots and before he'd stop for the night he pulled over to the filling station at the base of the heavier ascent that marked the way to the lake.

The smell of bitter coffee mixed with a creamer and he curled his nose at the sweetness. Sugar and corn solids coated the back of his throat. He drank slowly while the tank took its fill and when he heard the beep he took back his card. He tucked his smile into his collar while he looked up at the security cameras. He'd committed no crime but still it made his wonder if the man behind the counter inside was eyeing him with suspicion. He drank a bit more then dumped the rest. He returned the mug to the space inside his pack and got himself in gear. The engine came to life again and together they left the counter man to his paranoia and plethora of lottery tickets hanging from racks in large rolls, sitting behind plexiglass.

He wasn't sure why he was headed this way. It had been a while. He'd been traveling so long it seemed necessary to his survival since he'd gotten the news. Only three days ago had he come in from the road, his tie hanging around his neck and his stylish shirt only half buttoned. It was a blink of the eye and his bag was packed and the bike, not the sedan, was moving from the driveway. He looked back once after turning off his phone and in an act of defiance he left the charger at home. Silently he led the bike away, its chrome shining with decorative flood lamps and street lights from above. Finally, at the end of the block he was assured that it could still run as the chrome roared to life.

I got up from the couch and poured myself a drink, watching and thinking this man was terribly sexy with all of his freedom. He was eco-friendly and clearly self-determined. He was somewhat pale but very well defined in his all-black riding outfit. I came back to the couch, to see the scene where he makes it to the open sky. I watched him enter the park and build his campsite. My phone buzzed and in a moment of distraction I missed the shooting star that had come across his sightline while he breathed in a deep thought. A song faded in, something I recognized, I joined the singing about Bobby McGee, but with no idea of what was going on, so I found the remote and hit rewind.