I took the tobacco pouch out of the pocket of my sleeveless denim shirt, and the packet of papers, while the highway patrolman was talking into his mic and watching us. Moira was standing next to me, looking up at me wonderingly. "Are you in trouble?" she asked. I said "Not yet," and began rolling the stuffed paper.
The officer got out and swaggered over to us, smiling a greeting. The long and short of it was our identifications. Moira gave him her ID, and I my California ID; not a driver's license. He looked askance at that and then stepped back a little to call in. I learned that Moira's last name was Jennings.
I lit the cig and gave it to her. Then I breathed the smoke the wind blew in my face while the officer gave us back our IDs and asked if everything was all right. We nodded. Then he looked at my picturesque bike and asked me if I was the owner. Yes sir. He called in the registration to confirm it.
Since I wasn't seated on the bike and no key was in the ignition he could not legally ask me for a driver's license. But he knew I didn't have one. He also knew that I had no DUIs or suspensions. So after a few pleasantries he got back in the patrol car and headed east.
"I'm heading west," I said, "back to the Maple Hill Road turn-off. That should take us north to Highway Twenty-Four. The long way around to Topeka."
"Whatta you mean? Is something amiss?" (She actually did say 'amiss.')
"That cop might be waiting up the road for us to cruise by. Then he'll bust me for not having a license and he might impound the bike. I ain't taking the chance. Now you can go with me or you can stay here and stick your thumb out. It's up to you."
Just at that moment a pick-up went by and we saw a familiar face in the bed of the truck smiling at us and yelling something we couldn't hear as it receded up the dull stretch of interstate.
I said, "Looks like Josie caught a ride. She'll get there long before we do." I looked at Moira's sunburst smile and laughing eyes and I had a dozen questions for her that I didn't waste time asking.
"I don't care how we get to Topeka or how long it takes, I just wanna keep moving," she said with an 'ouch' at the end, dropping the cig stub and sticking a finger in her mouth.
So we got on the rat and I crossed the eastbound and over the broad median to the westbound, throttled up and how different the handling of the bike now that the gusts weren't fighting us. In a few minutes we came to the turn off to Maple Hill.
I topped off the tank with part of the fiver that Mr Overalls had graciously denied, and, after a purchase of bread and lunch meat and a three-liter Mountain Dew we continued up Maple Hill Road until we reached the bridge over the Kansas River. Here we stopped for an early picnic dinner at a shady spot and watched the current roll past to the quirky rhythm of Moira's voice.
I was beginning to realize that bodies of water had a weird effect on her. At first it was just a fanciful suspicion my imagination liked to embroider as Moira danced like a sheet on a clothesline. But like the wind that had earlier raged at me, so now did the girl who was seeing questions in my eyes that she did not like.
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