One morning, as had become my routine, I stepped out onto the balcony and stared down to the street to check on the Indian. To my utter shock and horror, she was gone. Stolen. My heart was pounding from panic, anger, and sadness. I couldn’t help but think that it had to be a group of thieves that had stolen it because it would take many men to be able to lift a bike of that size onto a truck. It would have been nearly impossible for them to start the bike since I had rigged it with three hidden electrical bridges that needed to be switched on before the starter would even work. It was my own anti-theft system, made specifically to prevent things like this from happening.
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Tracks and Horizons Chapter 13, “Touring Europe” |
