The "Touristers" were on the road, coming from all over the western states for their annual rally in South Dakota. Sam was in no mood for pleasantries. "The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner," had no corner on that market. Ann had to beg off accompanying him on his motorcycle, her sister and newborn son had made an unexpected visit.

"Damn the luck," he mumbled over and over again in his helmet. "I'm already half way to Colorado", he said. "I've plenty of time. I'll find a motel and get set for a long day tomorrow."

Sam felt a bit self-conscious talking to himself like that, but "what's a body to do," he'd say. Speeding through the center of Nevada on Route 50 in the early evening left few options for overnighting beyond Ely, and Sam noticed accumulating dark clouds huddling up against the mountains to the east.

"Wow, they sure are black," he said, and just then lightening shot through the gathering clouds, connecting them as if by hot wires and turned the dusk into noontime. A brilliant, thick bolt of blue lightening split the clouds and hammered into the ground off to the left, the same direction the road was taking him. "Damn, I hate when that happens. This route will take me up to eight thousand feet, right into that storm." He stopped and put on his rain slicker, then continued on.

An old, weathered road sign indicated Bakertown 5 Miles, just the ticket to comfort. Sam left the lonely highway, taking the scrabble dirt road winding off to the right. "An unintended diversion, but what the hell, any port..."

Choppy crosswind gusts buffeted him all the way into town, bringing him through the darkest clouds he had ever experienced. "Geeze, they look like boiling coal dust," he said as the gusts brought the storm down to the ground enveloping the tiny town. The beginnings of summer rain splattered the windshield with large noisy drops that wiggled up in beaded paths through dust and remnants of dried bug parts.

In the blustery, darkened center of the town, he found a combination deli/gas station adjacent to a rustic shot-and-a-beer joint and an old six or eight room motel across the street. After paying for his gas, he asked the old lady behind the counter about the motel. The woman eyed him with suspicion and a superior look of a native having a problem with idiot tourists.

"Don't know 'bout no rooms. Better see for yerself. I seen several young folks like yerself stoppin' there."

Sam was surprised, "I hadn't expected much traffic through here," he said. Sam noticed the old lady looked at him with a distinct distaste for summer visitors.

The large raindrops stopped but the cracking thunder portended only a brief respite. He parked the bike in front

of the motel, went behind the "L" shaped neglected structure to look for the proprietor, there were sounds of horseshoe pitching behind the building.

"Howdy, looks like a real desert storm. Got a room for one for the night?"

"We only got one left," the taller of the two men said. "Twenty nine dollars complete," he said in between long gulps of Coors Light®.

They entered the rear door into the narrow, cramped office-tool shed to complete the transaction. Sam didn't see any signs of credit card equipment. He paid cash and took the key marked #1 that the owner dropped into his hand.

Sam knew he looked like hell in the dirty slicker, hair disheveled and matted from the helmet and wondered if he'd rent a room to a guy who looked like himself if he owned the motel.

He unloaded the two bags bungeed to the bike, brought them to the door marked #1 and unlocked it. In a single move he opened the door, began to step in, and froze in his boots. The room was already occupied.

She was in her mid twenties, and about to step into a pair of shorts. Sam's mouth remained open as he stared at her, keeping eye contact throughout his surprise.

"Er, oops, sorry about that," he said, jerked back in an automatic move and slammed the door.

Sam's eyebrows were still arched as he stood outside of

the room and before his imagination had a chance to kick in, he picked up his bags to find the horseshoe pitcher.

From the looks of the owner, several more beers had been processed, but he apologized and handed Sam the key to the empty room, #6.

Sam often expressed a philosophy of not being able to win them all, this was no exception. "Damn cute lookin' broad," he said unpacking in the darkness and vacuum of room #6. The sharp crack of a lightening bolt illuminated the town and the rumble of very close thunder rattled the motel. Sam put on the ceiling light. The single sixty watter didn't help much but Sam's needs weren't great. He bet the guy with horseshoes built the place. Strictly amateur.

"Gonna change into clean jeans and try that gin mill across the street. The sign in the window said something about steaks." Sam caught himself mumbling, and not thinking of his stomach, but remembering those lovely, tender legs about to go into blue denim shorts in room #1. "Hunger materializes in different ways, eh Sam ole boy? Time to eat, even lonely young men have to eat."

A clap of lightening startled him as he opened his door. "Okay, I'll clean up my act," he said, looking up into the boiling, brooding black sky. He snatched the top half of the slicker with him and crossed the street to the bar and grille. It began to pour torrents as he entered and a gust blew him through the open door.

A portly middle aged woman in too-tight jeans, a too-big cowboy hat and a hand full of worn menus pointed Sam to a corner table. As he sat down, his eyes met the eyes of the young lady in room #1 at the next table. Instant replay of legs stepping into blue shorts ran through Sam's mind. Twice now, he was at a loss for words. The routine of riding hundreds of miles dulls expectations, but not appetites. "Good evening," was the best he could manage.

In the subdued light from the hanging wagon wheel ceiling fixture, her teeth spread from behind an expanding smile of blood red lipstick, like curtains opening on a stage. Her white teeth matched the whites of her large round eyes accented by liner and some kind of shadow on their lids.

Sam kept eye contact. Leering would be too gauche, even in a no-place desert dive. She picked up her drink, keeping her eyes on his, took a sip, then said, "Care to join me"?

It was like getting slapped up-side-the head. Sam's propensity for occasional fantasies never prepared him for the time when opportunity might hammer.

"Howdy, I'm Sam, and sure I'd be happy to." Sam couldn't believe he said that. It was out of his mouth before he realized he was already out of control.

"I'm Ida. Have a seat."

The closer he got the more out of control he felt. "I'm sorry I burst in on you like that, I got the wrong..."

"No problem," she interrupted. "You looked like a wet yellow jacket in that rain suit of yours," she said.

"I hope I didn't embarrass you," Sam replied quickly, shaking his head.

"Order me another Margarita, I'll be right back." She got up and headed to the ladies room. Sam observed her all the way to the door. She was constructed comfortably he thought, and moved with an animated bounce. Her legs appeared long in the brief shorts. Her walk was brisk, imparting an extra rhythm to her movements.

"Better check the menu," he said returning to reality. "Lets keep the fantasy in check, too."

He looked up when the ladies room door opened. The fluorescent bathroom light silhouetted her figure. "Yeah, real comfortable," he murmured. Her tank top was tucked into her shorts with precision, she rippled her way back to the table. Must have one of those push-up bras he thought. Sure works for me. She didn't settle in her chair, she bobbled into it, bouncing every bit of herself. Then everything settled down.

"Know want you want, Sam?" she said with one eyebrow lifted. "Have you decided?"

"Steak for me. How about you?"

"Yeah, sounds good, nice and rare."

The waitress in the too-big hat approached the table and said, "Do you know what you want?"

Ida waited for Sam's reaction. "We'll have steaks, medium for me, rare for the young lady, and fries with both. I'll have a decaf, black."

Her eyes never left his. "Sam, I need a ride. Can you take me with you tomorrow?"

This time his mouth stayed shut. He was primed for this chick by now.

"Where ya headed?"

"Deadwood, South Dakota. You know where that is?"

"What's there, a boyfriend, husband?"

Her eyes widened, lots of white around the brown, and a short chuckle followed.

"I'm out of relationships for now, a good long now," she said. "I'm gonna have some fun for a while, a good long while." She sipped her drink. "Gonna look for a job there."

She sure looks like fun, he thought, a lot of bouncing, comfortable fun. Where's that steak?

"Sorry Ida, I don't have another helmet. Can't take you with me."

"There is no helmet law here," she said. A broad smile grew across her playful face.

Gotcha, he thought. Geeze, now what do I say. One part of me cries out for her and the damned logical side does its predictable thing.

"Here's your steaks folks," the waitress intervened. "Medium here, and rare one, there. That be it for now?"

That's all the time Sam needed to acquiesce. "Okay, I'm headed to Sturgis and Deadwood is nearby. I'm leaving at seven in the morning. How much stuff do you have? The bike is pretty full already." Sam couldn't believe he was saying what he was saying.

"I'm traveling light," she said.

Both started on dinner.

"How'd' ya wind up at the motel?" Sam hoped to find out what he was getting himself into.

"I ran away from the guy I was going with. I'm not gonna take anybody's abuse. I wanted to settle. Hell, I'm tired of just partying. Tom's idea of life was, where and when the next party was, and who he could have sex with. Tom is my ex-boyfriend, a ski bum. I met him at Tahoe last year at a blackjack table. I should have known, but I thought I could get him through the party and sex phase. Severely arrested development, that's what he's got."

Parties and sex. Sounds like the good life to me Sam thought, and with Ida, woooh. Some guys have all the luck.

"So what's your story, Sam?" She looked across the table at the thirty-something, new man in her life.

"Been separated for years. The three kids are with me, home with my neighbor's kids while I ride to a bike rally. I'm doing my thing on the West Coast, working for the same company for ten years. Pretty routine."

Thunder exploded over the clouded town and the restaurant lights dimmed for a moment. "Looks like we're in for a lousy night," Ida said. The playful expressions on her face faded to fright. "How'd ya like to break the routine up a bit and come on back to my room and keep me company tonight?"

Sam liked people who were direct, but that caught him off guard, really off guard. Trying not to look like he felt, in between French fries, he said "I thought you said you were tired of all that." He hoped he got her in a gotcha.

Her playful eyes narrowed, then her smile returned, giving her youthful face an adventurous expression. "I'm lonely for heaven sake, stuck way the hell out here in the desert on my own. You look and sound like a safe, fatherly type, even though you ride a bike. I don't see any tattoos or any requisite leather. You have any tattoos?"

"Some."

Don't pray for what you want, you might just get it, Sam thought. Just how much adventure are you looking for, o' safe looking one? What do I do now? I know what the obvious part of me wants to do, but how do I deal with the other? Geeze. Why couldn't Ann... Ah hell, she had no choice.

"Want some desert?" Ida asked with a joke in her voice.

Those bright round eyes sure are appealing, Sam thought, and they aren't even her best feature.

"Sure, decaf and cheesecake. How about you?"

"You like cheesecake?"

She's teasing. Not just the eyes, or the tight shirt and shorts, she's having a lot of fun with me, pulling my chain. Was she harmless? Am I? All that pulchritude was dangerous. Especially to a long distance rider. What is it to be, room #1, or #6?

When the coffee and cheesecake arrived, Sam began. "I can remember, a long time back, seems so much like another life, wanting this girl so bad it kept me up nights. And for a long time. When a guy gets the hots for a girl, passion can become a passion. I recall discounting some of the foolish things she did, unable to comprehend that my driving feelings for her excused her quirky behaviors. Some guys lose their logic when they are smitten, I know I did. So we finally got married. I got what I wanted so badly. The wind-up was, we split. Don't know what happened to all the passion, but reality and logic came crashing down, especially after the kids came. We settled on different coasts, doing our own things."

"Still, after all these years?" she said finishing her desert. "Drink your coffee, were leaving."

A near simultaneous crack of lightening and a concussion of thunder shook the building, and then the lights went out. Ida's hand went to Sam's leg. She got out of her chair, moved the table and eased onto Sam's lap.

"Hold me, Sam, I'm just a tad phobic in electrical storms." She hunkered down, making herself as small as she could.

With the object of his lust in his lap, Sam's thinking stopped and his senses jumped into hyperspace at warp speed. He put his arms around her and realized he had forgotten the softness. He felt his face flush in the dark. He thought he might glow. His arms and hands sunk around her, not a bone to be felt. A comfortable woman.

"It looks like room #1 wins again," he said, knowing himself, never learning. Sturgis seemed so distant now, especially in the darkness.