You’re driving across the country alone, feeling independent and adventurous and free. Suddenly, though, you notice two bikers keeping close to you on the road. They’re behind you, then they pull ahead, then they fall behind again. They keep looking in your direction.
What do you do? What are they doing? Give us 100 words or more in the comments or on your blog – and as always, lets us know so we can all enjoy 
photo credit: kevindooley
Maurie V Says:
This has been written from POV of female character.
I want to tell you about a strange experience I had last month. It happened the day I left my violent partner – we live in a small shack, in the middle of barren wasteland, thirty-five miles out of town. We’d been together for three years. I’ve threatened to leave him a few times in the past but as always after much pleading from him, I’ve relented and stayed with him. But, after he tried to strangle me last month, I took his car and left while he was sleeping.
I knew when John wakes from his drunken stupor and realises his silver baby – with its soft top, chrome mags, black strip and leather seats is missing – he will be evil. And I knew he’ll be more angry and violent when he finds it dumped at the rail –terminal. He scared me, but I didn’t care I’d be long gone before he gets to town.
When I got to the highway, which is a half mile from our shack, I pushed that accelerator until my toes cramped.
The road looked like a roller-coaster of liquorice stretching as far as I could see. The breeze whipped my hair into frenzy. The sun beat down relentlessly on my arms and thighs, sun-baked desolate land flashed past – one big blur.
Then, after about fifteen minutes of freedom and sheer bliss, out of nowhere, two bikers on black shiny Harleys, are a bike length behind me. I got such a fright. After a minute or two of their tailgating I increased my speed – they did too. Then they ride either side of the car, keeping pace they look at me and then pull in front of me.
Where did they come from? How long have they been there? Who are they? These questions are racing around in my head as I travel at 180Kmh and they ride dangerously close. Then without warning they separate, apply their brakes, and allow me to pass.
I gun the motor – I’m too scared to look at the speedometer. They fall behind until lost from view. Then, after about five minutes, I glance in the rear-view mirror and there they are, riding close as they did before.
Then, once again they rode alongside, one each side of my car – then ride in front. This time I notice their tattered leather-vests. One rider wore a chrome Nazi style helmet and the other had a saddle bag with the faded letters ‘H’ and ‘Ang and a coloured motif on it, strapped on his bike.
They slow down. The rider with the saddle bag looks back over his shoulder and gestures me to slow down too. I try to pass, I can’t. They’re weaving from side to side. We’re still travelling at high-speed. I can’t drive off the road – the car will roll in the sand or smash into rocks.
I panic. I slam on the brakes. The car shudders to a screeching stop – smoke from burning rubber swirling around me; the bikers look back. They stop.
‘If you ever leave me I’ll find you I’ll kill you!’ John’s words thunder through my mind.
I can’t breathe. I can’t move. A stabbing chest pain pins me to the seat.
They half turn their bikes around and look at me, and then with a wave, and a few revs, they roar off – shiny metal dazzling in the sunlight – they disappeared out of sight over the crest.
I sat there, gripping the steering wheel; my mind confused and going everywhere with both fear and relief. I waited. The silence broken only by the tick-tick-ticking of the car’s hot motor struggling to cool down
I thought they might stop and wait for me further along the highway. Then I heard the idling sound of a slow-moving motorbike. They were coming back. As it got louder I realised it was my own frantic pulse beating in my ears. I managed a nervous laugh and chided myself for being so hysterical.
I watched a dust devil dance across the highway as a moment of calm swept over me.
Maybe I had overreacted. I finally convinced myself they were just being macho, showing off their biker skills. I restarted the stalled motor, cautiously crested the next rise; just undulating blacktop as far as I could see. As my sense of safety grew, the more I wanted to feel that breeze again – the sense of freedom. That feeling soon disappeared when I crested the next rise.
At the bottom of the decline fire trucks, ambulances and police cars blocked the highway. It looked like a bomb site.
A little shaken, I stopped. A police officer told me to leave the road and go around the accident and keep moving. I asked what had happened. He told me an SUV skidded into the path of a semi trailer. At the same time two bikers rode over the crest at high-speed and slammed into the semi – they and the occupants of the SUV died instantly. .
I told the officer two bikers had been harassing me back along the highway 15 minutes earlier.
‘Can’t be the same bikers` he replied, ‘this accident happened an hour ago’
I drove off the road and around the accident. As I passed the hulk of twisted metal – I saw a battered chrome helmet and a Harley saddle bag with a faded coloured motif and the letters ’H’ and Ang’ laying among the debris.
I often think about how fast I was driving that day…Hell’s Angels? …I don’t think so!
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Posted on January 14th, 2010 at 2:55 am
January Contributions | Prompted to Write Says:
[...] Maurie narrates a tense moment on A Threat on the Open Road. [...]
Posted on February 4th, 2010 at 8:02 pm