CLEARER THAN MUD
The
first meeting with Ian Dafog
By
Hamish
I
remember that day in early summer when it all started to become clear to me. It
was years ago while driving my 1978 Harley Low-rider on a drizzly, fog laden
coastal highway; in fact it was the same day that I met Ian Dafog.
I
was having nothing but bad luck that day; I had worked all day repairing an old
barn roof, our equipment kept breaking, then I got stuck working two hours overtime, fixing the
companies same crappy equipment, I left for home much later than I had planned,
now I was looking at a two hour drive. I
had covered forty miles of bad road with the sky getting darker as each mile
passed, it began to drizzle, get colder, then the fog began rolling in. “I have
to get home, it’s her birthday, besides I haven’t seen her for a week”, I said
to myself.
We
only moved to this area a few months ago, mistakenly I thought this road was a
shortcut, but I must have taken a wrong turn a few miles back because nothing
looks familiar, I better turn around up ahead. “That job is the shits”. “I’m away from home for a week at a time, the
pay sucks big time, and my boss is an asshole, three good reasons to start
looking for another job”.
“Oh
crap, what’s up now” went through my mind as I coasted to a stop while pulling
off to the side of the road. Getting off
the Shovelhead, I quickly checked over the rear section of the bike. The drive
chain of my Harley had broken; it had jammed between the counter sprocket and
the case. It was my own fault, I had put a cheap chain on the bike last month
meaning to replace it with the good one I had bought from the Harley dealer but
I had been overly busy at work today, I just started to clean up to go home
when Brutus, my boss asked me to stay late to catch up on a few things. I ran
out of time; resulting in me forgetting to install the chain. I’m screwed blue
and tattooed. “Why me Lord, why now?” “There’s no need to answer that, it was
my own fault”, I said out loud, I should have put that new chain on when I
bought it.
This
is just lovely, out in the middle of nowhere, cold, soaked to the skin, then
Mr. Cheapo Chain decides it wants to go south. Well pitter, patter let’s get at
her. I’ve got that brand new Harley chain and masterlink in my saddlebag, I
thought as I pulled off my wet leather gauntlet gloves, I then wrapped an old
rag around the chain so I could get a good grip, but after much tugging, pulling
and cussing, I realized that my efforts were in vain, that chain was really
jammed up in there. I’m royally screwed. I’m off the main drag; I haven’t seen
any people, cars or houses for a long time. I’ve got to think of something fast
because I stopped having fun, a few minutes ago.
What
are my options, I asked myself? I can walk into the woods, make a shelter and
try to stay warm or I could leave the Harley here and walk down the road to
look for a house. I turned the petcock off, reached into my saddlebags, pulled
out some waterproof matches, my flashlight, my Buck knife along with a big hunk
of dry salami that I had bought from the German butcher shop near where I work
then I proceeded to enter the woods when I heard the sound.
“Is
that thunder,”? No, that’s a Harley, its getting closer I said to myself
turning, then running back to the road waving the flashlight in the direction
of the approaching bike. I can see the bike headlight, the sound is almost
deafening now, I thought as the light grey Harley Decker pulled up beside me,
the driver was a man of medium build,
medium height, sporting a short white
beard.
“How’s it going mate?” he asked.
His
big smile was contagious, I was so happy, I laughed out loud. ”That’s a beautiful Harley you got there buddy
and I sure am glad to see you.” My name’s Angus MacKay, my chain broke then
jammed up but I couldn’t pull it loose to fix it. I was ready to bed down for
the night in the woods next to my bike”, I told him.
“I
am Ian, Ian Dafog, I have some tools with me to free up that chain, I
appreciate the comment on my ride”, he said.
“I call her Grey Lightning after the Lockheed P-38 Lightning, the World
War 11 American fighter aircraft. My uncle Buckshot flew one of them during the
war; years ago he sent me a picture of it.”
“O.K.
Angus the old chain’s freed up, I’ll put that new chain on that you gave me. My
place is close by, why don’t we head over there, you can dry off, I’m sure the
weather is going to clear soon.”
“Sounds good to me” I said as I started my bike. “I’ll follow you.”
I
never thought much of it at the time but soon as Ian started to drive away on
Grey Lightning the fog lifted just enough so we could easily drive along at
forty MPH, within fifteen minutes we came to a dirt road on the right that led
to Ian’s home. The road to his house was just a narrow half mile long dirt
path, the path had lots of water filled pot holes that made it difficult for me
to drive on but Ian had no trouble at all. We parked the bikes, walked through
some bushes then in a small clearing I saw a small cottage that wasn’t much to
look at, it looked more like a camp than a house, once inside my opinion
changed, I liked the log cabin look of Ian’s home but best of all it was warm.
“Change
into these dry sweat pants and shirt, I’ll dry those wet clothes of yours by
the wood stove” he told me. Do you take
a drink if it’s offered, he asked me while passing me a half full glass of a
clear liquid? What is it? Nothing, just a bit of moonshine, he replied. For
about forty five minutes we talked about my Low-rider, traveling, motorcycles
in general, and my daughter’s eighth birthday today.
Oh,
Oh.
”My
wife will be worried sick because I phoned her from the truck stop about an
hour ago, so I better get going before the rain starts or the fog rolls back
in”, I told Ian.
“Put on your dry duds, tell me where you live, we’ll
get you back to the main road then lead you home so you can see your daughter
before she goes to bed.” We fired up our
machines, Ian stayed in front, with me following his taillight until I was in
my driveway.
“You
bought the old Kate Bungay home after she died, she was a friend of my Aunt
Heather, I knew her well”, Ian said.
“Ian,
the fog has gotten thicker since we arrived here so please stay for awhile,
until the fog lifts.”
“Another
time my friend, wish your little girl a happy birthday from me, here’s my card
if you want to get in touch of me. It’s
my Uncle Joe’s phone number, just leave a phone number with him; he will
contact me, pronto. I’ll be off now.”
I
tried to convince him to stay but I was drowned out by the thunderous sound
coming from his twin exhausts, he quickly vanished into the fog.
A
few days later I looked for but I couldn’t find the road to Ian’s house.
I phoned the number on the card for Ian’s Uncle Joe,
the number was disconnected.
Months would pass but our paths would cross again
before the end of the summer.
TO BE CONTINUED
2ND PART – AT THE CROSSROADS
DUE TO A GLOBAL FINANCIAL CRISIS THE NEXT PART
OF THIS SERIES IS DELAYED UNTIL THE END OFJANUARY.
HAMISH DECIDED TO RIDE OUT THE FIRST PART OF
THIS FINANCIAL STORM IN THE SUNNY, WARM SOUTH.