Wilmer's gas station sat north of Las Vegas and Henderson on 95 with only orange dirt seen for miles. Traffic had slowed through here in recent years due the even slower economy, nobody headed to Vegas anymore because nobody had the money to do it. So he spent much of his time now sitting idly by the cash register watching the regulars come in. They sat and talked with as much enthusiasm as elders do and occasionally Wilmer would join if the subject became interesting enough.
It was fairly early in the morning when he saw the motorcycle over the distance running straight out of Vegas, or Henderson he assumed. The third customer today he figured not counting his usuals. The biker, he named for the moment, slowed and turned causally into the station without helmet or goggles with windswept blond hair. Everything on the man had to have been older then himself, from his beaten leather jacket to the worn steel tip boots from more then fifty years ago. The biker jumped from his seat and strolled in just as casually as he rode in.
With a ring of the door he entered with Tom Rodney and Barry Purdy turning from their banter. Waking past the two old men with a friendly nod the biker went straight toward the register pulling forth an old wallet in match the rest of his attire. Wilmer smiled lightly as the biker spoke with a strange tinge of British and western slur.
"How much for twenty gallons and…"
He looked around before picking up a coke, oddly enough one that was 'classically bottled' in retro, though he should have expected it given the patrons consistent look.
"Coke sir?"
"Fifty four sixty son. If I may, where you headin?"
"Just around the states."
Wilmer chuckled. "Just around? Sounded like you've done it before."
"You could say that." The biker replied smiling like a goof.
Perhaps there was more to this fellow then he thought. As Wilmer cashed in a few twenties he noticed the biker wiping his glasses clean of dust and grime.
"Tough riding without goggles."
"Nay, besides you can't feel the winds of freedom like that." Replying with much enthusiasm and thumbs up.
Wilmer laughed again slowing shaking his head. He was a goof in mind too.
"Here's your change back, good luck with your trip."
"Thanks!" The biker said cheerfully as if he didn't expect such a comment.
"By the way son, just curious, what's you name?" Wilmer managed to ask as the biker stepped outside.
"Alfred, Alfred Jones."
And with that the biker went outside and filled his tank before hoping on his bike and riding right up 95 into the great northwest.
"Sure was a unsual fellow wasn't he Wilmer." Said Tom as he turned back watching Alfred ride across the endless Nevadan horizon.
"Suppose so, but he seemed genuine you know."
"Genuine Wilmer?" Said Barry joining the conversation.
"Yea, genuinely….American."
The three laughed hardly.