A cold hamburger can be reheated quite nicely by strapping it to an exhaust pipe and riding forty miles.

-Unknown.

.

Chapter Twelve

.

{o}-{o}-{o}

.

Creed

.

I had both hoped and expected Dean to be a good ride once he started, but even I was surprised at how fast he took to it. By the end of his first week here, I felt like I was caging him by letting him only ride on the forgotten road in front of the house. So, the second week, we started riding to the Horse's Bass after wrestling lessons. We'd get something to eat and have a couple beers and when it got dark out, head back to the house, training him to ride in the dark.

I knew the only thing he really had to do was keep riding and learn to ride longer trips. Glen came over a few evenings too in that second week and pretty much ran Dean through beginner safety classes and agreed with me. "That guy is born to ride, it's easy to tell you're both blood."

If only he knew how much blood we were.

We started taking longer trips too, which meant sometimes I didn't get my wrestling lessons, but we both figured that once we were visiting his place in West Virginia, he could spend more time teaching me. The most important thing here was to get him in shape for making that ride.

We discussed the trip too. We could take the highways and it would be about a thousand miles and we could take lots of stops. But, I thought we should take some of the back roads, travel by way of Ohio rather than the fastest way.

"It's not just the destination," I said. "That's for car trips. When you're on a bike, the journey is just as important."

We were fortunate enough to have some rainy days, so we could go out in the rain. Riding in the rain can be really frightening the first couple times, and one of those times it was night and I had him riding. But Dean never said no. He slowed down considerably his first night in the rain ride, but he never suggested we should try another time.

By the end of the second week, he got to go to Glen's advanced Safety class on Saturday morning. No, he didn't get an official certificate, but Glen said he could have if he'd been a resident in the state. That night we decided to go to a steakhouse that was located right outside of the city, which meant it would be about a half hour ride. We went into the shop to get the bikes. Dean started to get on the Honda and I shook my head. "You're not riding the Honda," I said, "you get to move up to your bike."

He looked over at the bike my dad had ridden that was now his. "Are you serious?" he asked and I was thrilled to hear the delight in his voice.

"Dead serious," I said. "It'll take a little getting used to, from the Honda, but you can do it. We'll take it slow."

We did start out pretty slow, but as Dean got used to the extra weight and the softer, cruiser suspension, he found his way and started giving the throttle a little more of a work out, which made me smile. I knew he was being careful, that the last thing he wanted to do was dump this bike, so when he started going faster, I knew it meant he was more comfortable, that he was learning to become one with the bike.

We got to the Steakhouse, and it was cranking, with this being a Saturday night, so the two of us decided to sit in the bar area. We had been pretty good when we could, eating a whole lot of chicken and fish cooked on the grill, and seeing this was a special occasion, in its own way, we both went for the bone in rib eye. The big one too, with the fixings. I did get the baked potato, but Dean got a double order of vegetables.

"I envy you, Creed," he said, as I was demolishing that potato. "You're still young enough that you can eat anything and everything and not have to worry about putting on weight."

"Uh, dude, you work out enough, do you really have to be that careful?"

"It's a bit of an issue," He said. "Lot's of protein, light on the carbs and starches. Good carbs, like the ones that come from fruits and veggies aren't bad, but empty carbs aren't. And if you do the good carbs, pick the ones that give good fiber too. It's all a thing with checks and balances."

"Which is why you'll eat eight eggs for breakfast?" I asked.

He grinned. "Yeah, that sounds about right. He would do that too, eat eight eggs, scrambled with a little bit of milk, and that was it for breakfast, besides coffee. I at least liked toast with my breakfast. Or bacon. Okay, especially bacon. The candy of meats. He shifted slightly on the bar stool so he could see me better. "What do we want to get accomplished this week?"

"More riding," I said. "Get you used to your new ride, because you noticed it felt different. Hopefully, we'll get another rainstorm because I'd like you to try it in the rain before we take off. If not, we'll wing it. We'll take a couple longer, day trips too, see how you handle them."

"You've said I've learned faster than you thought I would," he said. "Do you think we'll be able to leave earlier?"

I nodded. "Yeah, we could probably leave the middle of the week after. We'll take a few days, maybe more to get to where you live, so we won't have to burn you out. And, we can stop in Cincinnati if you want."

He eyed me suspiciously. "Why would I want to go to Cincinnati?" he asked.

"Because that's where you're from," I said, shrugging. "I thought you might have friends there you'd like to visit." I didn't say that maybe he should think about visiting his mother, because he could shoot right back that my mom and I weren't exactly cuddly and warm, but he had told me he wanted to have some type of relationship with her. Maybe seeing her without his wife and kids around might help the two of them hash it out.

"Friends, huh?" he mumbled, then changed the subject. "What are you going to do about your house while we're gone? Do we have to do something to secure it? Like empty the well or something?"

I shrugged trying not to laugh. Empty the well? He really didn't understand what it was like to live in the country. "I'll probably ask Janis if she wants to stay there," I said. "The last time I offered to let her use my bike, but not this time. Still, I think she'll do it and if she wants a bike, she can ride the Honda."

He nodded. We hadn't really talked much about my family since the day he'd met Janis and Mom. We had talked a fair bit about Dad, he was curious about the man. He'd also gotten the chance to meet a few of Dad's friends who stopped by. So far, bald Dean in a baseball cap seemed to be pulling off this disguise. Although, I wondered about a couple of Dad's friends, guys he was closer to than others. He might have told him that Dean Ambrose was his son. But, if he did, they played it close to the chest, no doubt figuring if Dean wanted folks to know who he was, he would have told them.

.

Taking the way with the least amount of highways was a bit over 700 miles and according to Google Maps would take over 15 hours. "Let's make our goal 150 miles a day," I suggested. "Give ourselves five days to do it."

"That seems a little weak," he said. "I can ride longer than that."

"I know," I said, although I wondered how he'd feel after a few days. After some of our day trips, I'd noticed he walked a little funny. He never complained, but I knew that bowlegged walk. "But a light schedule will give us a chance to break routine. If we see an interesting road, or we hear about something we'd like to check out, we can. The worst problem we'll have is that if nothing interests us, we'll get to West Virginia early. I know you're eager to get home, but you learned so fast that we'll be leaving early, we've got the time. And as I've said, when you're riding a bike, it's not just about the destination-"

"I know," he interrupted to finish for me. "It's the journey."

I really hoped he'd understand that by the time we took off. There is something to riding a bike and being one with your surroundings. Dad got it, he taught it to me, and I really hoped I could show it to Dean.

.

Our last "Practice" trip was to Lake Michigan. I know, it's hard to live almost anywhere in this state and not be close to Lake Michigan and I could have taken him on a twenty minute drive and we'd be at the beach, but this time we rolled two and a half hours, to one of those little coastal towns that still existed, And, if you were willing to take a long walk through protected forest lands, you could end up almost stumbling across Lake Michigan and areas that were practically deserted. There were much closer "public" beaches that were almost always crowded whenever it was warm, and often even when it wasn't.

But we did the woods hiking thing, and he never questioned where I was taking him, until we climbed up a small hill, and then it was like the forest gave way to the beach. Not a slow give away, where trees got smaller and smaller, this was like forest with tall pines that just stopped where the sand began. He still didn't ask why we'd come here, but I think he understood.

As we walked through the curtain of trees into the bright sunlight, he said nothing, but he stopped and took off his boots. He had a pair of motorcycle boots I'd insisted he buy, and he'd worn them most of the time while he was with me to break them in. But now he took them off, stuffing his socks inside of them and let his toes sink into the pure, white sand, warmed by the sunshine.

There were a couple logs nearby, bleached white like driftwood, worn smooth by weather, and probably the butts of thousands of people who did divert from the path and find this little bit of paradise. I took off my own boots and socks and we put our footwear by one of the silver logs. There was a hill of white sand after the trees, with that hearty beach grass on it. It lead down to the water, but we both sat at the top and looked down over the water.

You have to live near, or have visited the great lakes to really have an idea of how big they are. I've had folks from Cape Cod or other places on the East shore who have told me that there is no way Lake Michigan can be anything like the ocean. Until they see it. When you're one person on the shores, you realize how damned big it is, and it's not even the biggest one. It's a fresh water ocean for all intents and purposes and when the winds came, just like the ocean, the waves get bigger and bigger, depending on the severity of the winds.

Today it was windy, but a calm type of windy, and the waves curled on the beach, tame little curls, washing rocks on the shore. Probably a bunch of Petoskey stones, but, unless Dean wanted to go stone hunting, I wasn't going to mention it. I figured he didn't even know what they were. They're a type of coral fossil that as far as I know, is only found in Michigan.

We sat on the beach together, both of us watching the waves. Neither of us spoke. We weren't sitting on top of each other, but we were sitting close together, toes buried in the sand. I realized soon enough we were breathing in unison.

And we sat there like that for three hours. Three hours where I didn't think about the past or the future, and I don't think he did either. Three hours where we lived entirely in the moment. Three hours where we barely moved, we just existed.

We might have sat there longer, but we'd taken over two hours to get here, a good hour or more hiking through the woods to get to this spot, then three hours sitting, and breakfast seemed like a long time ago. It was pure hunger that drove us up on our feet, as my stomach gurgled.

"What just happened there?" he asked me, once we were back on the wooded trail, headed to our bikes so we could drive into town and find someplace to eat.

"We just were," I said. "Some folks say it's meditation and maybe it is, but my dad liked to call them moments of gold, or just golden moments. Moments when you aren't worried about anything, moments where you aren't your past or your future, you're just you. All the crap that has been going down in your life, all the crap that will go down in your life doesn't matter, because you are fully immersed in the now."

"I would dismiss that as some new age bullshit," Dean said his brows furrowed, I think because he was rolling all of this in his mind, "If I hadn't felt it for myself. Can that happen when you ride? And if it can, is it safe?"

"If you've been riding long enough to feel comfortable, then yeah, it can," I said. "And if you're comfortable and good, it won't take you out of what's happening, if anything you'll be more aware of it. I think being in the moment makes you a much better driver, because all your attention is focused on what's happening. If you haven't gotten there yet, you will. I've told you the most important thing you can do for yourself when you ride, is to ride. Let it all go and be one with the bike, one with the road."

"I think I'm getting close," he said. "But I'm not quite there yet."

"You will be," I said. "If I had to bet, I'd say before the trip ended, if not sooner."

As I was speaking, another of the many black, swallowtail butterflies I was getting awful used to seeing started fluttering around me. There weren't a lot of wildflowers in this part of the woods, mostly pine trees, so I was a little surprised it was here. Maybe it was lost and looking for us to lead it out of here. When it fluttered onto my shoulder and let me walk with it perched there, as if it were trying to do its best parrot imitation, Dean stared at it, then looked at me. "What are you, some butterfly whisperer?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, although I was pretty sure I knew what he meant.

"You and butterflies." He shook his head. "I didn't catch it at first, but later, when I first saw you, when you came running into the garage, scaring the crap out of security, I remembered there was a butterfly hanging about behind you, but keeping up and you were running. I mean, they were hustling me out of there so fast, I didn't really have time to think about stuff, but Roman mentioned it too, later. 'The kid had a butterfly flying around him,' That's when I remembered that yeah, you did. I forgot about it, but since I've been here, I've noticed it, almost every time we go outside, or anyplace we go where we're outside for more than five minutes, one of those black butterflies finds you. I've hardly ever seen a black butterfly before you, and now that's the only type of butterfly I see. So, what is it? Do you naturally secrete some type of butterfly pheromone or something?"

I shrugged. "Did you know that there are a lot of religions and cultures that believe butterflies are the souls of departed loved ones? That they visit us as butterflies."

He frowned. "I might have heard that before, it does sound vaguely familiar. It also sounds like bullshit." Then he shrugged. "No offense if I just crapped on one of your sacred beliefs."

I grinned, noting the butterfly moving over and fluttering by him, not so close he felt he had to swat at it, but close enough that the two of them could be seen as being together. "No, it's okay," I said. "I pretty much agree with you, it's superstitious nonsense. Except that I never had butterflies hanging out with me until my father died. Well, maybe as a kid a few came near me, but nothing unusual. But I had my first black swallowtail hang with me when I was on my road trip to give you the bike. And ever since then, black swallowtail butterflies seem to find me."

"Do you think it's the same butterfly?" Dean asked, head tipped slightly to one side.

The current subject of our discussion decided to rest on the baseball cap he was wearing and I decided not to tell Dean about it. "If it is, it might win a record for longevity. The average life expectancy is ten to twelve days, although there have been some, kept in captivity, recorded to live 35-40 days."

"Did you know all this before you became Lord of the Butterflies?"

I laughed at the name. "No, I admit, when I started realizing they were hanging with me all the time, I did some research on the net. I think I was first trying to see if something had happened recently that caused their numbers to swell significantly and that's why I kept seeing them. But, nothing to indicate that."

He nodded and the butterfly lifted off his baseball cap and came fluttering over to me. "Do you think your dad is coming back as butterflies, just to say hello?"

I shrugged, and held out one finger, which the butterfly lighted on immediately and stretched out its wings as if it were a solar powered creature, getting a recharge. "All logic tells me this is bullshit. But another part of me has to wonder. I mean, Sherlock Holmes said, 'When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.' And, like I said, butterflies never seemed to be attracted to me until my father died and I was on my way to accomplish his dying request, to get his bike to you. So, you tell me, bro, what's the impossible I might have overlooked?"

He shook his head. "I'm not even going to try to answer that. But, let's say it is our dad, and he wanted to make sure you fulfilled his dying wish, you did that, why is Dad still stealing the souls of butterflies to check up on you?"

For a moment, I entertained a vision of a butterfly horror movie, where these poor, innocent butterflies were being forced out of their bodies, because the dead wanted them to visit their relatives. I smiled, but didn't laugh. "Maybe Dad wants to see both his sons together."

"That makes sense," he grudgingly admitted, still watching the butterfly, who seemed to have absorbed enough sunshine and had gone back to fluttering about. "Do you think you'll always be visited by Dad possessed butterflies? I mean, like, will you be explaining this to your great grandchildren or something? 'Yes, kids, that is your great, great grandfather. He likes to keep an eye on me.'"

Now I did laugh, openly. "Yeah, as if that won't get me a one way ticket into one of those places for folks with dementia. No, I don't think I'll always be surrounded by butterflies. If it's true that these butterflies are my dad, mysteriously babysitting me from beyond, then I figure he's going to hang around until he feels I'm set. How or what I have to do to accomplish that, I have no clue. But I just think Dad wants to make sure I'm all set in life somehow, then he'll stop using butterflies to spy on me and go enjoy his afterlife, such as it may be."

He studied me, and probably the butterfly too, because it was fluttering near me, I could sense it, even if I couldn't see it. "Man, I want you to meet Lance."

I had no idea what he was talking about and told him as much. I mean, I knew Lance was Roman's little brother, but why he wanted me to meet him so badly was beyond me.

"Lance is the agnostic in the house of the Roman Catholics," he explained. "His belief is when you die, you become energy dispersed into the universe. I wonder what he'd make of this butterfly theory?"

I shrugged. "I don't know, again, I'm not even sure if I believe it. But I also can't come up with another reasonable explanation. Maybe when you die, you do become energy and it haunts butterflies or whatever it needs to in order to make sure your business is done, then disperses to become parts of everything?"

.

Two days after we sat on the beach together, then had our serious butterfly discussion, we left. The two days before, we'd gone through the bikes together so I could show him about how a bike worked, at least some basics and to make sure they were trip worthy. They were. I also talked to Janis, who was more than happy to house sit, saying she would come over the evening after we left.

The morning we left, we got up early, deciding we'd stop along the way to get breakfast. I think both of us were eager to hit the open road.

Dad's bike had Bluetooth speakers, one of the last things he'd put on it before he died. The last gift I ever gave Dad was an Ipod, which we loaded with a bunch of my dad's favorite music. It was an extensive list. I asked Dean if he wanted to put his own music on it, to enjoy on the ride, but he told me that if he felt confident enough to ride with music, he wanted to listen to my dad's music, at least for this trip.

I knew he was a good enough rider and familiar enough with the roads right around here so we could start with music and with his permission, I cued up the Ipod and got on my bike. Engines idling, I nodded and he hit the "play" button, a few seconds later a gravelly voice that felt as familiar to me as the voice of my own father began singing:

Took a look down a westbound road. Right away I made my choice

I nodded to Dean, he nodded back. Taking one last time to make sure our helmets were on securely, that our gear was packed properly, our gloves on, together, we took the bikes off their stands. Maybe we were going Southbound instead of West, but the sentiment was the same and that was the song my dad always played whenever he started a road trip. It was the song I played when I rode to bring the bike to Dean.

We left the yard and started eating the pavement as the chorus began to play:

Roll, roll me away, Won't you roll me away tonight?

The End

Author's Notes: Lyrics are from the song Roll Me Away, Written and performed by Bob Seger. I did some internet research and the tiny bits of the song I included here are legal. I know FFnet does not like people to use song lyrics, but there is barely any of the song here.

I am working on a sequel to this, which I think will be shorter, but cover the road trip. If I can keep up the drive to write this, I'd like to do another story after that, which shows Creed in West Virginia, dealing with his newly met extended family.

Thank you to all of you who read this. Thanks more to anyone who followed/favored it, and even more if you took the time to review it. I really appreciate it, and I hope I'll be seeing you when I start publishing the sequel.