Motorcycle Stories Novels & Stories

With a simple twist of my wrist, the sharp rev of engines could be heard, accelerating us at a shocking pace, as we both leaned down and increased speed, keeping our bodies tight against the frame of the motorcycles, eliminating as much wind resistance as possible. We flew through the inky blackness-the moon hiding behind thick clouds -at speeds close to 150 mph. Neither of us needed light to see. We could go much faster and were less noticeable in the pitch dark. After several hours, the adrenaline began to wear off. It looked like we had gotten free at least for now. And my brain was right back to the family I'd lost and the pack I'd left behind. How many had died? Did any survive? The mot

“Fifty thousand? It was just a side mirror, and it was an accident.” “If you weren’t so stupid, it wouldn’t have happened.” She winced at his words. That was his annoying side. She couldn’t imagine this guy being her savior. “And I’m telling you, it’s not an ordinary motorcycle,” he added. Because it’s a Harley Davidson. What do I know about that! She thought silently. “I don’t have the money.” “I can forget the fifty thousand if you want.” She stared at him. Seriously?! “But in one condition.”

With a simple twist of my wrist, the sharp rev of engines could be heard, accelerating us at a shocking pace, as we both leaned down and increased speed, keeping our bodies tight against the frame of the motorcycles, eliminating as much wind resistance as possible. We flew through the inky blackness-the moon hiding behind thick clouds -at speeds close to 150 mph. Neither of us needed light to see. We could go much faster and were less noticeable in the pitch dark. After several hours, the adrenaline began to wear off. It looked like we had gotten free at least for now. And my brain was right back to the family I'd lost and the pack I'd left behind. How many had died? Did any survive? The mot

He swung his leg over and dismounted - is that what it was called getting off a steel horse like this? Misty had never really had an interest in motorcycles, but with this bike, and, more likely, Denver and his leather standing in front of it...that could change. "That doesn't look like any motorcycle I've ever seen. It's way more - " She searched for the right word, and almost said "more" again. " - classy looking." "That's probably because you're used to seeing nothing but Harleys and crotch rockets." Denver ran one big hand lovingly over the dark green tank. "This here is Roxanne. She's a 1981 BMW R100RT, one of the greatest of the airheads."

"Fight things. Music. Oh! Motorcycles. Let's race motorcycles!" "I remember something about motorcycles. What was it?" Alec searched his brain, but it was all a foggy haze. "Oh, we can't. Drinking and driving. That's bad." "Doesn't count with flying motorcycles and in the middle of nowhere. We can't hurt people, and if we fall off, we just land on grass, so we're covered." "Logical." That was how the two of them ended up borrowing some bikes from Alec's and having them delivered out to the old, abandoned school grounds outside the city. There was a track there that was perfect for racing.

He released the brake and accelerated, streaking straight toward his opponents instead of dodging! Just as they were about to crash into each other, he raised the front of the motorcycle up and soared straight past their heads. As he streaked past them, he kicked out hard, striking his opponents squarely in the middle of their chests. The two motorcyclists lost their balance and crashed into each other. With a deafening thud, the two motorcycles spun out of control, whirling around uncontrollably until they slammed into a nearby brick wall. The wall collapsed, littering bricks down on the unconscious riders who were soon buried in the rubble.

A life spent looking backwards misses all the beauty that lies in front of it. Your parents aren’t perfect. You might have realize this. But you’re pretty darn smart. So, like I said before, we have to forgive ourselves or the coulda, woulda, shoulda, fear and anxiety will creep into a crack of our weaknesses, and overcome us. Please know we’re not perfect, and we will never claim to be. Our personal journeys have stories to tell. THAT’S for sure. When it comes time for stories, though, talk to me first… because chances are your father’s are going to be inappropriate. HA!

No one is allowed to go there. I grabbed the keys from the wall and found my bike on the far side of the garage, my to-go backpack and got on. This was my baby! A Ducati 749. It was a beast, solid black and powerful. I loved the feel of all that power under me as I raced dangerously through the winding roads of Montana. I had my helmet on and a leather black jacket. I felt free and alive! This is where I felt the most of myself and connected to nature. I passed elk, deer and mountain lions. I saw owls, bats and critters of every kind. This is what I loved most.

The horror on his face as he delivered his message would always stay with me. I’d almost felt sorry for the poor bastard, but at that moment in time, I had bigger things to worry about. My rug had just been yanked out from underneath me, and nothing would ever be the same again. The horrors didn’t stop there, though. It had been a fatal motorcycle accident. The death had been instant, so the officer told me, which in turn meant it had been messy. I’d always told Kiel that his bike would be the death of him. It had been a Ducati Streetfighter, and it was his pride and joy.

We can't get drunk together there should be at least one of us that is sober enough to bring us home and not make any trouble. She keeps on mumbling things as I call Butler Warren since I don't know how to drive a freaking car but I can drive motor bikes. Actually I'm really famous at motor rides and won a lot of rewards because of it. But of course my identity is hidden. I'll be dead of my family find out about it.