I Taught My Son to Ride and Three Weeks Later I Had to Bury His Helmet

we handle it.”

I nodded.

“The bike,” he said.

I nodded again.

“That’s the one?”

“That’s the one.”

He walked out to the garage. He stood in the doorway for a long time. I heard him breathing. When he came back in, his eyes were red.

He did not speak of it again.

The funeral procession was eight miles long.

Eight hundred and forty-three motorcycles, according continue reading …