Chapter One Thousand Nine Hundred Seventeen
25th July 1969
Mitte, Berlin
It had been some time since Zella had made it to the V8 Club on a Friday night, having come to dislike the crowds who came to see the headliners. But this was a band whose album she had recently reviewed, so Zella felt compelled to see them live. As of yet she wasn’t too impressed. Studio engineers were wizards when it came to making even mediocre dreck sound compelling and radio promotions departments could hype it beyond belief. The band itself, playing in front of a crowd while playing their own instruments was even more hazardous than a trapeze artist preforming without a net. The trapeze artist didn’t have to worry about the ground getting angry and start throwing verbal abuse and beer bottles at him. Some bands could kill during a live set, others like the one Zella was watching now, just died up there.
Mercifully, the set ended, and the sound of murmuring conversation was filling the room. It took Zella a minute to figure out what was going on. “There is a cruise, rally, or something happening on A10 and it sounds like a big deal” One of the other patrons said as he headed for the door, a small part of the mass exodus. A few minutes later, Zella found herself sitting alone at the bar unable to tell who looked more dismayed, the waitresses who had just seen all their customers leave or the band who had just found themselves playing for an empty room. Zella almost found herself feeling sorry for them.
“This is why we always get cash up front” Elis said chuckling, “And why are you still here Zee?”
“I’ve a job to do” Zella replied as she tilted her head towards the band.
“I’d say the real action is out there, wherever that crowd is going” Elis said with chuckle, “If you leave now you can still catch up.”
Even as Elis said it, Zella knew that he was probably right. Grabbing her bag and helmet, she ran for the door. The members of the band gave her sour looks as she passed them. Zella just shrugged, so as to say; “Better luck next time guys.”
She got outside just as the other stragglers were starting up. Buckling her helmet’s strap under her chin, Zella kicked her K3 motorcycle to life before pulling the goggles over her eyes. In the short time that the BMW K3 had been in production it had developed a reputation as a tire shredder, even with ones like the one Zella had, which had been modified into a café racer. That was why she didn’t open the throttle all the way as she took off in pursuit of the red taillights that she saw turning west at the end of the street onto B1. Picturing the likely course that everyone seemed to be taking in the mental map of the city that she had, Zella figured that they would only take B1 as far as B96, then it would be a straight shot south on B96 to A100, which would take them A13 and eventually A10, the orbital highway that circled the city.
Turning south, Zella raced down surface streets until she reached where Wilhelmstrasse ran into B96 just a few minutes before the others who had left V8 Club caught up with her. Zella took her place among the leaders as they proceeded south. At every crossing they were joined by more riders until they reached A100 in Tempelhof. As she reached the ramp that went from the surface streets up onto A100, Zella stopped and looked back up B96 and could see the headlights of hundreds of motorcycles coming down the avenue.
Not wanting to be eating the dust and exhaust of others, Zella took off after the leaders, her K3 quickly making up the distance as she chased them south through Schönefeld. She had been this way dozens of times, had even ridden all the way around all two hundred kilometers of the A10 just to say she had. This felt different though, something deeper, almost primal. The pace changed when they reached the exchange for A10, moving faster, racing through the night. Zella saw the cars of unsuspecting motorists, faces pale, looking out in shock as they saw that they were suddenly surrounded by dozens of motorcycles speeding past them. The A10 turned north and started the long curve to the west that would take it around the city outskirts. Eventually, Zella noticed that few taillights were visible ahead of her as she was among the leaders of this… Whatever this even was.
Zella was only dimly aware of the speed and distance as the interchange between A10 and A24 came and the pace slowed enough to make the turn south. What seemed like an absurdly short time later, they came to a filling station somewhere on the outskirts of Werder. It was a warm summer night and the air outside the city smelled of plants, looking up at the flood lights Zella could see that it was full of insects as well. She was glad that she remembered the goggles. The other leaders were parking at an all-night diner that looked to be the sort of establishment that catered to Lory Drivers.
“Who the Hell are you?” One of the other riders asked.
“A journalist of sorts” Zella replied, “I wanted to see what was going on is all.”
“That’s a girl?” One of the others asked having just heard Zella’s voice.
“Going for a cup of coffee” One of the men said, “Not a big deal, we just wanted to go the long way around for bragging rights. You know?”
Zella burst out laughing as she saw dozens of motorcycles passing by on the A10 unaware that the leaders were no longer out front. “Is the coffee here worth the ride?” She asked.
“One way to find out” The man who had said what this had actually been about replied and Zella realized that he was absolutely correct.
