Frank eased the throttle closed and brought the machine down to 35 mph.  It was a crime to force the 1000 cc 200 hp Yamaha R1 to 35, but in Goochland Court House, the whereabouts of the deputy sheriff was never known.  Burbling along, he took the turn north past Fairgrounds Road. The speed limit increased to 55 in a few miles, and the curves meandered gently towards Mineral.

At the next intersection, a church bus pulled out right in front of Frank.  Quioccassin Methodist Church. What was that bus doing way out here, Frank wondered.  And, what was it doing driving across the double yellow, back and forth like a drunken sailor?  Thankfully it turned west onto I-64, opening up the road for the R1 and its pilot.

Frank was glad to be riding.  It was sunny, in the mid-80s, and the afternoon cruise took him further and further away from Richmond.  Richmond was where his problems were. Richmond was where the stress wouldn’t go away. Each mile in the country reduced Frank’s concerns.

As the sun moved slowly towards the horizon, Frank cruised on to the northwest.  Crossing US 250, the old road changed to new asphalt. Mile after mile the R1 carried Frank, until a sign warned of the new pavement ending, and a rough road covered in gravel from then on.  To avoid taking the R1 on the gravel, Frank took the first road to the right, marked Owens Creek Road.  

Narrow, with curve after curve, the road headed back southeastward towards Richmond.  The trees on either side blocked the setting sun, and in the waning light, the country lane became a challenge to navigate.  Just as Frank saw a one lane bridge warning sign, the R1 suspension crashed through a pothole left over from the recent summer rainstorms.  The HID headlight flickered, and a warning light illuminated on the dash. Frank slowed to 35 mph again, this time because he could only see a few yards ahead.

There!  There was the bridge.  But to Frank’s surprise, there was a person at the bridge, on the side of the road, begging Frank to come to a stop.  She wore a white dress, with dirt on the hem, and pointed towards the creek. Frank pulled to a stop and lowered the kickstand.  In the creek, he could see another dim headlight, but this one was pointed skyward. The faint outline of a spinning motorcycle tire could be seen, and what looked to be a motionless rider lay in the trickling water.

Frank pulled off his Arai helmet as fast as he could and dashed towards the creek.  The wet ground pulled at his boots, and he nearly fell a couple of times stepping over fallen small trees.  There, in the creek, was an Indian motorcycle. The engine steamed with water cascading over its finned cylinders.  Beside the mangled machine lay a beautiful rider. She was wearing a leather helmet over her long brown tresses, with goggles pushed up over the helmet.  Her jacket was open just enough for Frank to see a trickle of blood oozing into the creek. Frank watched to see if her chest rose and fell with any signs of life, but there was none.

Turning back towards the R1, Frank looked for the woman in white who flagged him down.  No one was there. In the short time between dismounting and finding the crashed Indian, there had been no cars pass by.  The twilight darkness would have been flooded with headlight glare from any car, but no one had passed. Where could she be?

Frank fumbled for his Pixel 2 to call for help.  In the woods, down at the creek, the cell signal was just too weak.  He pulled the Arai back on and clambered over the Corbin seat, and with the push of a button the R1’s engine screamed to life.  Frank knew he had to find a place to call for the sheriff, for EMS, for someone to come help. He zoomed across the one lane bridge and up the foothill on the other side.  With the headlight flickering, he took the curves as fast as he dared until he reached a major road.

Which way, Frank mused.  Which way would take him to civilization?  Left! Towards Richmond. Maybe he would find a signal in a mile or so.  Carefully riding in the darkness, he took it slow. A dark SUV passed him going the other way, and glancing in his mirror, he saw it make a quick U-turn.  Blue lights came on in the grille, and in the windshield, and Frank knew the SUV was an unmarked police vehicle. The officer was after him. Just up ahead there was a used car lot, and Frank pulled over to wait.

The Louisa County deputy ambled up to Frank.  “Do you know why I stopped you, sir?”

Frank said “I don’t, Deputy, but I’m glad you did.  We have to get help at the Owens Creek Bridge! Right now!  There’s a motorcycle down in the water, and the rider…well, the rider…I don’t know…”

The deputy stopped his usual routine of asking for license and registration.  “Owens Creek?” he asked. “A motorcycle, in the creek?”

“Yessir!  We’ve got to get help there.  The woman, she flagged me down and showed me the crash” Frank exclaimed.

“A woman?”  quizzed the deputy.  “What did she look like?”

“She was wearing white.  All white. A long dress.  It was dirty at the bottom.  Why?”

“The woman in white.  You saw her?”

“Yes, yes, of course I saw her.  That’s why I stopped.”

“Where is she now?”

“I … I don’t know!  When I went back to my bike, she was gone.  Just like that!” Frank continued. “Come on…let’s call EMS…let’s get back there.”

“Sir, you say you saw a woman in white, who flagged you down, and pointed you to a crashed motorcycle?  And now, she is gone?” the deputy puzzled. “Let’s go down there and see.”

Frank jumped into the SUV, leaving the R1 in the used car lot in between a lifted Dodge Ram and a blue Subaru Impreza.  The deputy whirled the SUV back around, and headed for Owens Creek Road. With lights flashing all around the vehicle, it was easy to see the road sign from a distance.

“Just over the bridge…there…I stopped there!” Frank gestured.  “I walked towards the creek and saw the Indian laying in the water.”

The deputy called his location in to his dispatch, then swung the high-powered LED spotlight around and flicked it on.  Twisting the handle back and forth, he lit up the creek with what seemed like a million candlepower. The dark forest Frank slogged through only 30 minutes earlier reflected the spotlight, and Frank could see footsteps where his boots sank into the ground.

“There…there…stop…that’s where the Indian was…” Frank’s voice trailed off.  There was no Indian motorcycle there. No wheel spinning slowly. No dim headlight pointing skyward.  Just a creek.

“Sir, you say a woman in white pointed you to the Indian?”

“Yes, yes, about right here is where I saw her.  I mean, she was just here!” Frank shook his head.  “Where could she be?”

“Sir, you say she had long brown hair?  And her dress was long?”

“Yes, yes…it was so weird…she just stepped onto the roadway and waved me down.”

“Sir, if you’ll allow me…I think you should know something…I don’t know quite how to tell you this…”

“What?  What is going on?”  Frank grew impatient.

“Sir, you saw Sandra.  Sandra Bates.”

“Who?  How do you know?”

“Sir, you’re not the first.  And you won’t be the last. You saw Sandra.”

“Who is she?”

“Sir, Sandra Bates was a young lady from Louisa County.  She grew up here. She got married here. Her husband joined the Marines and shipped out to Guadalcanal.  He fought there, somehow survived, and then later landed at Iwo Jima. In that horrible battle, he was killed.”

“And Sandra?” Frank asked.

“Sandra got word of his passing, and everyone thought she’d take it real hard.  She did for a couple of months, but then, people say, she pushed through the pain and started working again.  Her husband had put an Indian motorcycle into the barn during the war, and wanted to ride it again after it was all over.  It sat there for months, after he died.”

The deputy rolled the SUV back onto the roadway, and slowly cruised back over the bridge.  He played the spotlight down onto the creek, where it joined up with the South Anna river. No motorcycle.

“So, Sandra knew how much the motorcycle meant to her husband, and she decided she would ride it.  She talked one of his friends into showing her all the controls, and she learned how to get it going.  In time, she was riding fast all over the county. People say they could see her smile as she whizzed by.”

“You’re saying I saw Sandra Bates?” Frank quizzed.

“Yessir, you did.  Not many people see her these days,” the deputy went on.  “You see, Sandra really never got over her husband’s death.  Never did. She rode to escape the pain. She rode to feel the wind in her hair.  She rode to get away from the farm. One day she rode Owens Creek Road.”

“She didn’t make it.”

“No sir, she didn’t.  That old one lane bridge was there, and she just didn’t see it in time.  Must have been doing sixty or more on that curvy road. Went right off, through the field, and into the creek.”

“And I saw her, there.”

“Yessir, apparently, you did,” the deputy allowed.  “You saw Sandra at the road, and at the creek. Most people only see her at the road.  She was buried in that white dress. But she wore her husband’s leather coat to ride.”

“Most people aren’t riders.”

“Yessir, but you are.  Why were you out today?”

“I was trying to clear my head.  I was trying to get some things straight.  I just wanted to get away. It’s been hard lately.  The stress at work, ” Frank’s voice trailed off.

“Yessir, I’m sure it has been,” said the deputy.  “I think Sandra was trying to show you something.”

“What?  What would make her wave me down?”

“I don’t know, sir.  Maybe she knew you were out there, riding like the wind.  Maybe she knew you were trying to get away from the pain you feel.  Maybe when you took that turn on Owens Creek Road she saw you. Maybe she felt the frustration you feel.  It’s hard to say. But, she came to the bridge again.”

“It was so real,” Frank sighed.  “It was so real. The front wheel up in the air, the steam on the engine, and Sandra laying there…so real.”

“Yessir, it was real.  Sandra tried to ride away too.  She couldn’t help but feel so much pain.  She tried her best to make a go of it without her husband.  But, in the end, she couldn’t escape. She rode fast, too fast, and it cost her.”

Frank sighed.  He looked over the waters, gurgling quietly below the SUV, and then looked at the deputy.  “I guess I need to get back to the R1.”

“Yessir, let’s get you back.  In one piece. On that fancy machine of yours.”

Arriving at the used car lot, the deputy radioed his dispatch that the call was over, and waved goodbye to Frank.  The SUV turned to the west, and Frank saw the blue lights switch off. He fired up the R1 and as the engine revved, he saw the headlights working at full power.  Easing into the roadway, he headed eastward, towards home.

Home.  That’s where he needed to be.  Not out on the road. At home. Pulling into the garage, he flicked the kickstand down.  The door opened, and his wife stood at the threshold with her hands at her hips.

“Where have you been?!” she exclaimed.  “I’ve been so worried…”

“I’m alright, dear.  I’m okay.” Frank hurried up the steps and  put his arms around her. He gently brushed back her long brown hair and kissed her.

“Sandra,  I love you…”