Best Triumph

'So what happened next?' asked the young boy

The storyteller shifted in his seat and looked up.

'Well they all lived happily ever after of course. It's the way all
good stories end.'

The boy was called Trent and the storyteller was George, his
grandfather. Trent was spending a long weekend at his house while his
parents were away at a friend's wedding.
They had given Trent the option to go if he wanted to but he preferred
to spend the weekend with his Grandad.

'Come on young Trent, it's time for bed,' said George shutting the book
he'd had open on his lap. 'If you want me to show you that badger set
tomorrow, we both need to get a good nights sleep. It's a fair old walk
across the fields and we have to make an early start.'

'Okay Grandad,' said the boy. He'd been looking forward to seeing the
badger set since his Grandad had told him about it, a month or so ago.
When the chance to come and stay had arisen, he'd jumped at it. Who
wanted to go to a silly wedding anyway? Not him, that was for
sure.

Trent ran upstairs, followed by his Grandad at a slightly lesser pace.
He climbed into bed and smiled as George's head appeared round the
door.

'Warm enough?' asked George.

'Yes thanks,' said Trent, 'will we see any badgers?'

'Oh I doubt it, they're mainly nocturnal animals, but Tom at the Post
Office said that he's seen some deer in the woods alongside the fields,
so we might be lucky and catch a sight of them. Now go to sleep. I'm
just going to make some sandwiches for tomorrow, then I'm going to bed
too.'

'Alright Grandad. Goodnight.' Trent shut his eyes. George turned off
the light and pulled the door to.

George went back downstairs. He picked up the storybook and put it on
the shelf. As he did so, a small piece of paper fluttered through the
air and floated to the floor.

He bent to pick it up. It was an old photograph. He assumed he must
have used it as a bookmark sometime and it had lain forgotten between
the pages.

He looked at the photograph and smiled. The picture showed a young man
sitting proudly astride an old motorcycle.

George remembered that bike. A 1957 Triumph Thunderbird. It was his
favourite of all the bikes he had owned. And he'd had some good ones
too, the pinnacle of which had been his Vincent Black Shadow. But he
liked the Thunderbird the best. He propped the photo on the mantelpiece
and went into the kitchen.

He'd just started searching the cupboards for sandwich ingredients that
he could use for lunch tomorrow when he heard music playing. Trent must
have turned the radio on. He was just about to shout up to him when he
remembered that the only radio was in his room. Maybe the alarm had
been set wrong.
That was it.

George went upstairs. He peered into Trent's room as he passed. He was
fast asleep already. George continued into his room to turn his radio
alarm off. When he got there he was surprised to see that the alarm
wasn't on. He stood and listened. He could still hear the music. It
seemed to be coming from downstairs. He was sure that he hadn't left a
radio on, but he couldn't be sure.

Halfway down the stairs he recognised the song. Shakin' All Over by
Johnny Kidd and the Pirates. The song woke up some distant
memories.

At the bottom of the stairs, the music was louder and gave the
impression that it was coming from outside. He went over to the kitchen
window and looked out. There was nothing out there. He took a key out
of the drawer by the sink, unlocked and opened the back door.

The moon was full, and the garden was bathed in a white misty glow.
George noticed that there was a thin layer of mist floating above the
lawn. This gave the whole place an eerie, slightly magical feel.

For some inexplicable reason, George felt the urge to go outside. He
stepped onto the path outside his back door. The music was
louder.

Much louder.

He breathed deeply, taking in the cold night air and looked
around.

It was then that he saw it.

Standing next to the passage that led through the terraced houses to
the road was a motorcycle. Not any old motorcycle though. It was a
Triumph Thunderbird. More than that, it was a 1957 Triumph Thunderbird,
resplendent in its gold livery looking as though it had left the
Meriden factory only a few hours before.

'My old bike,' George whispered to himself, and walked across to it.
'Hello old girl,' he said as he ran his hand over the tank.

The bike itself was illuminated by a faint glow that seemed to emanate
from the very metal itself. George slung a leg over the machine and sat
there remembering his youth. He listened to Johnny Kidd, still playing,
and reminisced about how they would put it on the jukebox at the all
night cafe, where he and his fellow bikers hung out. They would then
race to see if they could get to the bridge and back before it
finished. He also recalled, sadly, the ones that never finished the
race.

Although it was late and the sky was clear, George didn't feel
cold.

He looked down.

He was now wearing a leather flying jacket. For some reason the sudden
appearance of this piece of clothing didn't strike George as odd.
Neither did the fact that a pair of leather gauntlets and goggles were
now sitting across the headlight nacelle.

He picked them up.

'I wonder?' he muttered. He leant over and fiddled with the
carburettor. 'Let's see if I've still got the old touch.'

He pulled the clutch lever in and pressed down the kick start. Then he
let the clutch out and kicked again. The engine fired into life. George
sat down on the saddle, a huge grin beginning to form across his face
as the engine made its own kind of music.

He put the gauntlets and goggles on and pushed the bike off its stand.
Carefully he guided the bike through the alleyway to the road. He sat
for a moment looking around, then kicked the bike into gear and
released the clutch.

Despite the fact that he hadn't ridden for years the bike moved off
smoothly and he kicked up through the gears enjoying the feeling of the
wind rushing past him. He was young again. Out of the corner of his eye
he saw another bike coming along side him. He looked over and saw that
the bike was a BSA.

The rider saluted. George recognised him.

'Titch!' he shouted. 'What a great night!'
Titch pulled up along side him on his Gold Star.

'We're all here,' yelled Titch 'lets go to the beach.'

George looked around him. There were half a dozen bikes behind him, all
ridden by faces he recognised. There was Titch on his Gold Star, Dave
on his Ariel, Spider on his Norton, Curly on his Tiger, Brian on his
Thunderbird and Tom on his old AJS.

Then he heard it.

The distinctive sound of a v-twin.

From out of nowhere, it seemed, Norm appeared on his Vincent Black
Shadow.

George looked at it. The Black Shadow was a masterpiece and could
outrun anything on the road.

'This is the life, eh George?' shouted Norm over the rumble of the
engine. 'Just one more to come, then we'll have the ride of our
lives.'

George felt something grab him around the waist. He started slightly
and looked round into the blue eyes of Margaret, his wife, looking as
beautiful as she did the day that they were married.

'We're all here now,' shouted Norm. 'Lets go!'
George dropped a gear and the Thunderbird lurched forward, its front
wheel threatening to leave the ground. He heard a little cry from his
pillion and the hands moved around his waist gripping him
tighter.

The bikes roared off into the night, their lights reflecting in the wet
road.

George didn't know how long he was riding for, down twisty country
lanes and along straight carriageways where Norm would show the
superiority of the 120 miles per hour Vincent.

Eventually they arrived at the coast and stopped.

'Wow,' said Titch. 'I haven't had that much fun in years. Its great to
see the gang together one last time eh Georgy boy?'

He nodded.

'But its late now,' said Margaret. 'And we've got to go.'

'Go?' asked George

''Fraid so my love.' She kissed him.

'But?' A lump was forming in his throat. He could feel his eyes
beginning to burn as they began to fill with tears. 'I don't want to
lose you again. Its... its been so long.'

'You'll see me again, you know that now,' she said comfortingly.

'When? How long before...'

'I can't tell you that,' she said. 'But I'll be there waiting -
providing you promise to take the bumps a bit slower in future.' She
smiled.

George laughed and Margaret leant over and kissed him.

'Goodbye, my love.'

The next moment George was standing at his back door, the rays of the
new sun breaking the horizon. He could remember everything, but knew
that it couldn't possibly have happened. He'd blacked out, that must be
it. He'd had some kind of seizure that had left him standing by the
door all night. And yet he felt strangely relaxed and refreshed as
though he'd had the best nights sleep ever. Maybe it was real, he
thought to himself, but no, it couldn't be. He would remember it as a
nice dream.

He was just about to shut the door when he glanced over to where he
remembered the Triumph had been parked. There, on the ground, was a
patch of oil, still wet.

'British bikes,' he muttered to him self, smiling.

*

It was a gorgeous day for the walk to the badger set. George had woken
Trent and they'd set off early with the food and drink packed in his
old army knapsack. That was what he'd told his grandson, anyway. He'd
actually bought it a few years ago down the army surplus store.

George felt his coat being tugged. 'Sorry Trent,' he said. 'I was miles
away.'

'What were you thinking about Grandad?' asked the boy.

'Just my old mates that I used to hang about with when I first met your
Gran.'

'Oh,' said Trent noticing the glint of a tear in his Grandad's eye.
'What happened to them all?'

'They all lived happily ever after,' said the old man, smiling.

THE END