The Storm
Apologies for the long delay between stories. My ADHD strikes again. I have been working on at least five projects in parallel without finishing any of them, but finally got this one to where I am happy with it. This story actually started out as something a bit more serious, but somewhere along the way, it morphed into one of those late-night disaster movies I used to watch as a kid.
Fair warning: there is basically no sex in this story. If graphic sex is your jam, there are many other excellent choices for you on this site. Otherwise, if you're still with me, I hope you have fun reading.
Kevin - Early Afternoon
A roadside gas station and convenience store somewhere on U.S. 41 south of Tampa.
There is something to be said for being out on the open road with no real plan or destination in mind. Most of the time, my mind is out of control with a million thoughts slamming into each other like a mosh pit at a death metal concert. When I am out on the road, though, my thoughts slow down to a tolerable hum, and I can start to relax.
Riding in early June in Florida can be a bit of a crapshoot. Some days are beautiful, warm enough that you can feel the sun on your skin but still cool enough to ride in comfort. Other days are melt-your-face hot, where it is only tolerable to ride any distance in the early morning or evening. Today was one of those first days, and my brother, Daniel, and I had been on the road for a couple of hours already.
I used to get my adrenaline fix doing maritime Search and Rescue (SAR) with the Coast Guard. I was one of the best, and I lived for that job. The training was intense, and the hours were erratic, but there was no feeling like putting yourself on the line to save a life, just you and your team against the worst that Mother Nature can throw at you. It seems like that was a lifetime ago, back when I was still married.
Now, I am divorced and out of the service. About the only adrenaline fix I get these days is from riding my motorcycle. My ex-wife, Rachel, is a good one. One of the best, in fact. But three years after the divorce, my daughter is still plenty angry with me and wants to see me as little as possible. So that gives me a lot of time to ride and think about how I messed it all up.
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We started the day at Daniel's house in Tampa, and our plan, such as it was, was to end up down in Cape Haze at our parents' place. It had been a while since either of us had visited, and I was sure that my father would have a laundry list of chores he wanted us to take care of around the property when we got there.
Normally, this would have been my weekend with my daughter, Penny. But she was in Atlanta this weekend with Rachel, to meet her boyfriend's family for the first time. Rachel had been with her boyfriend, Frank, for the past year or so. She was finally moving on, I guess, but I couldn't hold it against her. I was the one who broke our marital vows long before she met Frank.
In case you haven't picked up on it yet, I am an idiot. And now, I am a lonely idiot.
It was easy to become morose when I thought too much about Rachel and Penny, so I shook off my dark thoughts and looked over to my left, where Daniel was sitting comfortably on his black 2022 Harley-Davidson Road King Special. He was always one for comfort over style. He bought his Road King brand new, and he got most of the advanced safety and all of the advanced comfort options. It suited him well.
The Road King weighed almost twice as much as my Ducati, and it had plenty of room for his powerful 6'3" firefighter frame to fit comfortably on it, even with his wife, Cindy, riding behind him. Today, though, he was by himself as Cindy and his daughter, Rebecca, had decided to stay home. They claimed to be worried about the Tropical Storm Watch that had been issued overnight, with the first real storm of the season forming out in the gulf. In reality, I think they just wanted to have a spa day together and to do some shopping without Daniel hovering over them. For Cindy and Rebecca, a day on the bikes for Daniel and me, meant a guilt-free day of mimosas and malls for them.
As for myself, I lean the other way on the question of comfort versus style. I was riding high on my cherry-red Ducati Monster 821. It was twitchy and responsive, like my wiry 5'11" frame. I looked good and traveled fast—but my ass and groin muscles were already screaming, and we weren't even halfway through the ride. I refused to mention my discomfort to Daniel, though, as I knew he would show no sympathy.
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Since it was just the two of us, we took our time meandering down the coast on U.S. 41, also known as the Tamiami Trail. It used to be the primary route between Tampa and Miami before they built the I-75. Now it was packed with locals and tourists. For the most part, we just hung back in traffic, although occasionally my ADHD would get the better of me and I would rocket ahead of Daniel when we hit an open stretch of road, waiting for him to catch up at the next service station.
We stopped for lunch in Venice, down by Caspersen Beach and were back on the road before 1 PM. We were maybe an hour away from Cape Haze when Daniel signaled to me, and we pulled into a gas station. I was listening to my 'Get There Sometime' playlist—more than 1,000 songs that help me get in the zone as I ride. They blend together as I cruise, letting my ADHD brain gear down enough to focus on the road. Think of Baby from
Baby Driver
but replace the Motown classics with hair metal from the eighties and hard rock from the nineties. Boston's "Peace of Mind" was just starting as we stopped. I waited while Daniel used the facilities, and my mind couldn't help but wander.
Back when I was still married, on a day like today we would have gone to the beach to hang out and ride the storm surge. Penny was a creature of the water. At eight, she had already been a better surfer than I ever was, and now, at eleven, she was gearing up for her first major competitions, and sponsors were already sniffing around.
If I closed my eyes, I could picture Rachel in her red two-piece, and Penny in her Quiksilver wetsuit, laughing as they rode the waves on our beach out on the key. Those were my favorite memories: spending the day on the beach with my family without a thought for tomorrow.
They were probably better off without me, though. I was a fun dad but a bad father and husband. It was a regret that I was sure I would take with me to my grave.
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Lost in my own thoughts, it took me a minute to notice that the owner of the gas station had come outside and was starting to screw plywood sheets over the convenience store's windows. That seemed a bit excessive for a tropical storm that was forming far out in the gulf. Even if it intensified into a full-on hurricane, it would still make landfall hundreds of miles to the north. He was having a tough time holding up the plywood sheets while also screwing them into the siding, however, so I wandered over to help while I waited for Daniel to finish up.
"Need a hand?" I asked the owner.
"That would be much appreciated," he replied in a thick Georgian accent. "They're saying on the radio that we only have a couple of hours until the storm hits, and I want to be ready."
"I thought this storm was going to pass us by?" I said, as we worked. "I was sure I read this morning that it was going to make landfall closer to the panhandle than to here."
"That was this morning," he grunted as he drove in the last screw. "As of noon, it had grown into a full-blown hurricane and just after lunch, it took a hard right directly towards us. It's now on track to make a direct hit, and it is still growing. There is no telling how strong it will be by the time it gets here.
"If I were you, I would turn around and head back up the coast to get out of its way. It's no time to be out on your bikes."
Rachel - Early Afternoon
Stump Pass Beach State Park
It was nice to just lay back on the lounger, feet in the warm sand, oversized sunglasses and hat keeping the glare out of my eyes, watching Penny play in the surf. She was tall for an eleven-year-old and fearless. Her sun-bleached hair which had grown past her shoulders was blowing in the strong onshore breeze. She had stopped cutting it after the divorce, and I hadn't forced the issue. She was wearing her favorite wetsuit, although the swells were too rough for me to allow her to go too far out from shore, so she was riding the smaller waves closer to shore and playing in the surf.
You have to be cautious going out in hurricane season. But growing up in Florida, you learn that if you cancel your plans every time there is a Tropical Storm Watch in effect, you will never make it to the beach. It's true that the first big storm of the season was brewing out in the gulf, but it was well out to sea and was going to make landfall hundreds of miles to the north. With any luck, it would hit just close enough to generate some nice swells for Penny to play in, but far enough away to not cause too much concern.
The beach we were on was way out on the key, past the first beach where all the tourists stop, past the McMansions and yacht club, and past the second beach favored by locals. It took a while to get there, but it was worth it. There were fewer people, although the parking lot was almost full, and there was very little noise other than the muted sound of the waves hitting the beach. Penny loved this beach, even though it inevitably brought back memories of her father. The sand was pristine, though, there were shark teeth for the finding, and it had the best break within an hour's drive of our house. So, screw Kevin.
