Despite his fatigue, Jake woke up in a fantastic mood. His relationship with Holly had been going much better than he could have ever imagined and the locals seemed to be willing to support him. Taking advantage of the unusually warm, sunny day, he drove to Clay’s workshop. Jake hadn’t regretted his words the night before. He had no way of predicting the outcome of his party, and he was unable to guess the locals’ intentions. In his mind, becoming a member of a motorcycle club was not the most prestigious job in the world, but it was a living. He liked the idea of joining. The camaraderie among members somehow reminded him of his career in the marines. However, the stiff look on Clay’s face had come as a major surprise. He was the one to suggest him becoming a member previously, and yet, for some reason, he didn’t appear to like that idea at all when he mentioned it the night before.

The stocky biker was waiting for him on the small driveway outside his workshop. He brought his car to a full stop close to Clay, as his friend hopped off his black Harley.

“Hey, man.” He cast a happy glance at him. “Get out of that boxy piece of shit.”

“Hi, Clay,” Jake said with a nod. “You said you wanted to show me something. What is it?”

“That,” stated Clay as he pointed down at an electric-blue Harley, parked just a few feet away from them. It shone under the bright sunlight. “What do you think?”

“It’s a beautiful machine.” Jake commented.

“Machine;” Clay’s hoarse voice was dripping with sarcasm. “It’s only a machine until you ride it, pretty boy. Then, it becomes part of you. You know why? It’s got a soul. Now, get out of that car. We’re going for a ride. You know how to ride, don’t you?”

“I sure do.” Jake said, stepping out of his car. “I’m a little rusty, but I think I’ll manage. Where are we going?”

“To the summit,” Clay responded sharply. “It’s short, I know, but this particular ride helps me clear my head. The key’s in the ignition.”

Intrigued and delighted by his friend’s idea, Jake mounted the beautiful motorcycle. He picked up the black helmet from the handlebar and put it on. The ground vibrated, as the powerful engine roared into life. The telltale sound of the Harley ripped through his ears, raising every hair on his body. Jake rode off, following Clay, feeling the freezing wind against his skin. He couldn’t help but smile to himself. Riding that motorcycle gave him a sense of freedom, unknown to him up until that point. He had owned two bikes in the past, but neither of them compared to it.

“Maybe it’s the exhaust pipes. Maybe it’s the position of the handlebars or the power of the engine. Or maybe it’s what Clay said. This bike’s got a soul. It could be all of the above, I don’t know. All I know is that it would be amazing to ride this baby every day. She’s pretty: she’s comfortable; she gives me goose bumps.”

Jake began having a state of wonder: the feeling became much better and more intense, when the two men left the town of Adams behind. They had a perfect chance to speed up the narrow, mountain road and they didn’t let it go to waste. With the air beating against his face, Jake leaned more and more on the throttle, stealing glances at the landscape around him: snowy, balsam fir trees; red spruce; and river valleys underneath Mount Greylock. The two friends took the last, windy hairpin. A few seconds later, Clay rode across a rocky ledge, slowed down and eventually stopped, a few feet away from the edge.

“Look at that.” He pointed down at the scenery, pulling his helmet over his head, as Jake’s Harley rolled to a halt. He turned it off and dismounted it, gazing out at the breathtaking view. The snowy forest on the mountain slope and the few river valleys at the bottom literally blew his mind. The sun shone on the snow, with the scent of wet soil lingering in the air. It was so peaceful and tranquil that Jake’s ears picked up the sound of a tiny stone, rolling down the edge of the cliff.

“There’s only one word for it,” Jake’s baritone tore the silence, “Majestic.”

“I call it ‘the end of the world’,” Clay said with feeling. “No more roads, no more people, no more problems.”

“Why did we come up here, brother: for the view?” Jake wondered, a touch of irony in his voice.

“Believe it or not, the view is a great reason to ride all the way up here.” Clay spoke his mind. “Did you know that you can look into five different states from the summit? You’re right, though. We didn’t come here for the view. What you said last night got me thinking.”

“I was a little surprised by your reaction, Clay,” Jake confessed, a hint of disappointment in his tone. “I thought you’d be happy to have me on board. I mean, that’s what you said the other day.”

“Did you notice the pictures on the living room wall; especially the one on the left?” Clay asked.

“Yeah,” Jake nodded. “Who are those people?”

“Fallen brothers,” Clay lowered his head in sadness. “Did you see how many there were?”

“Quite a few, I think.” Jake sighed.

“Thirty-six,” Clay declared. “The oldest was 41 years old: the youngest only 23. Is that what you want for yourself?”

“No.” Jake shook his head, as dark sorrow filled his eyes. His friend’s revelation had shaken him to his very core.

“It’d be great if you joined. It really would.” Clay’s voice was bass-deep, with a hint of change behind it. “We’d have tons of fun, we’d go to bars, find ourselves some women, get wasted… You’d like the guys. They’re all pretty crazy, wild, some of them can’t think straight, but they’re good. I’m sure they’d like you, too. You’re a standup guy. But, you wouldn’t like the responsibility that comes with this.” He pointed at his leather jacket.

“Care to elaborate on that?” Jake requested.

“Well…” Clay gave a snort of amusement. “I don’t know where to start. I founded this club back in 1992. Everything was pretty great at first. You know, some guys just hanging, going on road trips on weekends. But then, a couple of these guys were laid off from their work. They were broke. We were close; we wouldn’t let them or their families starve. We started to steal. And we couldn’t stop. In 1996, we entered the guns trading business: lots of money, but a shitload of responsibility. You see, the IRA supplies us with guns, and we pay for them in advance. We sell those guns to gangs: Mexicans; blacks; Chinese. They all want them. But, if their business is bad, they can’t buy. We’re stuck with them and the IRA doesn’t give refunds. That’s the financial bit. Don’t get me started on the gang-related shit. We’ll stay here for hours.”

“What about shootouts?” Jake interjected another question.

“More like wars.” Clay attempted an emphatic tone. “You just don’t get to see them in Adams. We protect the town; we don’t let our problems cross its borders. Now, if you like to ride, get yourself a bike. But, become a member? I don’t think so… too many risks.”

“Thanks a lot for this, Clay.” Jake patted him on the back. “It’s been…” He faltered. “Educational.”

“I had to let you know, pretty boy.” Clay smiled. “Let’s go. It’s getting cold out here.”