The bike hummed like a mantra as we made our way home from the Bhagwan’s Airstream. It was another warm, lovely evening with a bright moon and long lunar shadows. I glowed like the moon and was engulfed in a feeling of gratitude. As we passed a bar in Spearfish, Melody nudged me to pull over. She made a beeline for the restroom, and I ordered a couple of beers. “Our time with the Bhagwan has been magical,” I told her when she returned, “and I want to thank you for this mind-bending experience. I don’t know if my life will ever be the same.” She smiled broadly. “You had a mind-bending experience because you were ready for one,” she responded. “When you need a guru, he’s there. I’m glad to have been part of the process.” It was after midnight by the time we got back to the fishing lodge. Melody walked into my cabin, dropped her clothes on the floor, and collapsed into bed. I did likewise. We fell asleep in each other’s arms. We hadn’t thought to close the curtains, so we awoke early to the searing rays of the sun. I reached over and kissed her. “That was a remarkable day yesterday, and an amazing evening. Thank you.” She smiled. While she was showering, I went outside to check my motorcycle. The BMW dealer had done a good job of installing the new/used parts after Spider’s accident and everything was secure. Melody’s dad came by as I checked the oil. “Where’s Melody?” “In there,” I said as I pointed apprehensively my cabin. I hoped he wasn’t going to disapprove. “You and Melody have a good time yesterday?” he asked. I told him about the strange experience of visiting the Bhagwan. “She loves going to the Bhagwan’s camp,” he responded. “At first I was a little concerned, but hey, she’s an adult with a mind of her own.” As he walked away, he said, “breakfast will be ready in ten minutes.” Dad’s a pretty sharp guy, I thought to myself. When I went back to wash my hands, Melody said, “you know, I really ought to help my parents today. With all these bikes coming and going, the place must be pretty busy.” I told her I understood. Over breakfast, I thanked her parents for the opportunity to stay in the cabin, and that I felt an obligation to assist them in some way. “Great,” dad smiled without hesitation; “I really don’t want to leave the property during bike week so I need someone to go to Rapid City and pick up a fuel pump for the tractor. It’s paid for, just tell them who it’s for.” “No problem, I’m happy to help.” Melody smiled. I decided to detour through Spearfish to check on my campsite. Bikes and people were bustling about everywhere. The tree limb that had collapsed onto the bikes was gone and the city crew was taking down the tree itself. The affected campers were still there enjoying the rally on their rented bikes. Bert Thurston’s Gold Wing was parked on my site along with another Gold Wing and another tent. I checked my tent and found everything intact. (Bert had beaten cancer and had been riding his bike for the last six years, as told in Part 11 of this series.)
A 1988 Honda Gold Wing GL1500.
