"Why are you slowing? We'll be in Sturgis, soon."

"I'm gonna make you a happy camper." Sam leaned the motorcycle to the right and throttled up the motel's driveway to the office door.

"Well. I don't know whether I should be pleased, worried, or just plain impressed," Ann said into her microphone intercom. "And it's only three in the afternoon. Are you hungry, horney or have you learned your lesson about getting a room early?"

Sam put the kickstand down and dismounted. "All," he said, with a wide grin. "I'll get the room. Why don't you get the stuff we'll need out of the saddle bags?"

Sam entered the office. He stopped dead in his boots.

Even through his helmet, he could smell it. He studied the room. He sniffed, testing the air. It was overwhelming. He removed his helmet and coughed.

A young woman behind the counter had been bent over adjusting some documents. Hearing Sam, she straightened up and said, "Can I help you?" She stared at Sam. "You look puzzled," she said.

Sam straightened his shoulders, cleared his throat, swallowed hard and said, "I've a reservation for a room for two for the night."

"What's the name?"

"Brick. Sam Brick."

"Let me look," she said and checked into an array of papers behind the counter.

Sam wondered how hard finding his reservation could be? It was a tiny motel.

He studied the young woman. With his arms on the counter he cleared his throat, tried to contain his typical, undisciplined self but was unable. He leaned forward and asked, "Are you wearing musk?"

She looked up from the piles of papers, then returned to her task.

She's offended by the intrusion of this foolish looking stranger in a foolish outfit, with foolish unkempt, matted hair, carrying a helmet and asking foolish questions.

With lowered eyebrows, still shuffling through company documents she said, "What do you mean?"

Sam found his ambassador's smile, negotiator's voice and said, "As soon as I walked through the door, I could smell what I remember as musk perfume. Are you wearing musk?"

She busied herself again. Guess she thinks she's got another nutcase, Sam thought.

Sam didn't want to blow his chance of getting what might be the only room left. So, in his best normal tone he said, surrendering to his compulsion with a smile, "It's quite potent... Nearly knocked my socks off when I came in." As soon as he said it he knew he might have lost the room. Damn mouth.

"It's not that strong," she blurted. "I only used one drop. It's too expensive to use more." Her cheeks blossomed to pink.

At that moment a biker woman marched into the office adding to Sam's anxiety about getting his room. "Do you smell musk?" he asked the new customer, caving into his uncontrolled urge.

The woman reacted with surprise at the unexpected question. She shoved her hands inside her chaps and drew air into her lungs until she could inhale no more. Her leather vest strained from her breath until she exhaled. She said, "Nope."

The clerk behind the counter smiled. "See, it can't be that strong."

Then the leather-clad woman broke in. "Now I do. I can smell it, now that you pointed it out. I guess I had to clear the exhaust out of my lungs first."

"Pungent stuff," Sam said to her. "Knocked my socks off when I walked in."

The clerk said, "You want a room, sir?"

"She's steamed," Sam said under his breath. I wonder if she's going to claim the place is filled up. She's got the power. Ann's right. Damn, I got to learn to keep my damn fool mouth shut. "Yes indeed, ma'am, I certainly do."

"So do I," the alert biker-babe said, placing her cut-off gloved fists on the counter.

"I think I still have one vacancy." The clerk busied herself again, trying to locate something behind the counter.

The newcomer looked at Sam, who was gazing at her. Pretty, he thought. Shapely, too. Love the nose ring.

Both he and the woman looked at the clerk, still looking for whatever.

She's faking. Sam could see it in her flushed face.

"Oh, here it is," she said, and put a key on the counter by the Harley gal.

The Lady or the Tiger scene shot through Sam's head.

"You two aren't together?" the counter girl said.

The biker babe shook her head from side to side with authority. Sam wondered if his momentary fantasy had shown on his face.

"Unfortunately, no," he said.

"Okay, ma'am, sign the registration form. That's the last room." She slid the guest form in front of the newcomer.

Sam hid his chagrin as the biker babe presented her credit card. Before he could make cheap conversation, she was out the door waving in her hulking, tattooed companion.

The clerk glared at Sam. "Don't you like musk?"

"Motorcyclists have never been accused of suffering from diplomacy," Sam replied. "I haven't smelled that perfume since the seventies. I never could understand why anyone would want to smell like an old ox or a rutting buffalo."

Sam snatched his helmet and quickly exited, leaving the motel clerk with her mouth open.

She couldn't just cancel my reservation and give my room away, could she? Is that legal?

Outside, Ann said, "Everything okay? A woman came out looking pretty strange. Did you say anything to her, you... you chauvinist?"

"What woman?" he said, claiming ignorance in his voice. "Oh, her? Hell no, sweetheart. It's just that she got the last room."

"Damn. Well, Sam, you tried. It's good you stopped riding when you did. I'm glad you're controlling your propensities." Ann replaced their overnight baggage back into the saddlebags.

"Well, hell, sweetheart. I'm improving, I'm improving." Sam's recall of the disastrous No Room at the Inn scenario from last year's ride to Sturgis swarmed back into his consciousness from his deepest memory pits. "Not again", he mumbled.

Ann mounted the bike. "I'm glad we brought camping gear this year," she said. "I'm sure there'll be room at that big campground in Sturgis."

Sam climbed on, pushed the start button and the big bike exploded into life. "Man, I sure hope so," he said.

Ann patted Sam's butt. "I made a reservation for us, just in case you had a relapse."

This story first appeared in the 1999 summer issue of Sturgis Rally News.