Do I Get to Keep the Bear?
With the holidays upon us, our fighting temporarily quelled, Larry said, “Let’s do the Christmas run!”
“What’s a Christmas run?” I asked. I did not enjoy running.
“You’ll see,” he said. “You’ll fuckin’ love it.”
We had to get up very early for the “Christmas run,” and we had to wear chaps. Chaps were Larry’s solution to cold weather. They actually only covered the fronts of our legs. Maybe they deflected wind. Maybe. Like our boots, thin leather gloves and black jackets, chaps looked really cool and were equally inefficient.
Anyway, we dressed as warmly as possible in mid-December, and headed out on the Harley. We didn’t drive far before pulling into in a giant parking lot crawling with motorcycles. We putted around the lot carefully, since bikes were haphazardly parked and bikers were strolling about. Finally we parked, hopped off, and used the port-a-johns before hopping back on the bike.
All of the engines seemed to start at once – loud, Harley roars echoing everywhere as we ambled into the procession. At the exit for the parking lot, just before we roared onto the highway behind the other bikes in parade-like fashion, we were stopped by a guy surrounded by giant boxes labeled “TOYS FOR TOTS.”
Larry waited while the guy reached into a box and pulled out a three-foot-tall teddy bear.
“Here ya go, young lady!” the man said.
Apparently I was getting a bear.
Ahead of us, the motorcycles had formed two single lines, bikers pairing up like lines of ants. We hopped into a spot and stayed in our line, slowly and carefully so as not to knock anyone off their bikes.
We rode and rode, over hills and through valleys, slowly in that long motorcade, me hanging onto my teddy bear and enjoying the scenery. My ears hurt from the roar, my head pounded from my hangover, but I was fascinated with what was going on around me. I’d had no idea there were this many motorcycles in all of Pennsylvania.
“Do I get to keep the bear?” I yelled to Larry.
“Nah, it’s for the kids!” Larry yelled back.
“What kids?”
“It’s for charity!” Larry yelled back. I still had no idea how riding with this bear helped charity, but I tried to emotionally detach from my new furry friend.
We putted along through small towns, where families sat in lawn chairs waving, watching us go by. I waved back. In addition to holding the bear, that was my job.
Finally we pulled into a hospital parking lot that was big enough to accommodate all the motorcycles. As we pulled into the lot, we tossed our toys into boxes that looked exactly like the boxes from whence they’d come.
We slid around the new parking lot for a minute, Larry admiring the bikes and complimenting people on their engines. He stopped and lit a cigarette without turning off the Harley.
“Let’s go get breakfast,” he said.
“Okay,” I said. In spite of my hangover, I actually felt hungry. It was the first day in months that I hadn’t started my morning with a beer.
We pulled out of the lot and headed out of the city to find pancakes and chocolate milk.
I don’t remember doing anything else for Christmas that year.