Mechanical design.
Finite-element analysis.
Manufacturing.
He began understanding why some of Arthur’s homemade solutions worked so well.
He also discovered places where Arthur’s notebook contained technically questionable shortcuts.
That delighted him.
His father became human again.
Brilliant.
Practical.
Sometimes wrong.
One Christmas, Leo showed Frank an Arthur sketch.
“He should’ve used a larger radius here.”
Frank stared.
“You criticizing your dead father?”
“Yep.”
Frank smiled.
“Good.”
“Means you’re learning.”
Leo graduated at twenty-two.
Arthur’s toolbox sat beneath his desk while he studied for final exams.
The original metal tag remained inside.
Dutch’s letter too.
He was offered a job with an automotive engineering company in the Bay Area.
Higher salary than Blackstone could ever pay.
Claire expected him to take it.
Russell expected him to take it.
Jim said nothing.
Leo accepted.
He did not become Arthur.
Dutch’s letter had told him he did not have to.
For several years, Leo designed components instead of repairing motorcycles.
He loved it.
He also returned to Blackstone most Saturdays.
Not because he owed anyone.
Because he liked being there.
Frank eventually retired.
Russell’s hair disappeared completely.
Jim’s beard turned white.
Blackstone stayed noisy.
Dutch’s FXR aged.
So did everyone.
On the twenty-fifth anniversary of Arthur’s death, Leo was thirty-two.
Claire had retired.
Jim walked with a slight limp.
Russell had sold half ownership of Blackstone to two younger mechanics but still appeared every morning because retirement sounded suspicious.
The annual memorial ride for Dutch had become smaller.
Many original club members were gone.
Others no longer rode.
But the FXR remained.
That year, before the ride, Jim brought it into Blackstone.
Leo happened to be there.
“Problem?”
Jim nodded.
“Won’t start.”
Leo laughed.
“You’re kidding.”
“No.”
Russell walked over.
“Battery?”
“New.”
“Fuel?”
“Yes.”
“Spark?”
“Intermittent.”
Leo looked at the motorcycle.
Then at Jim.
“Timing?”
Jim smiled.
“Thought I’d let you say it.”
Leo rolled the FXR onto the same center bay where it had sat twenty-four years earlier.
The shop looked different.
New lights.
New lifts.
New diagnostic equipment.
But the brick walls remained.
The old garbage barrel was gone.
Leo opened the timing area.
The replica tag appeared.
Arthur Hayes.
He touched it.
Then noticed something.
The safety wire had worn thin.
Not dangerous.
Just age.
He removed the tag.
Replaced the wire.
Checked the plate.
The twelve-degree reference remained correct.
The actual fault was simple.
A failing ignition module.
Leo laughed.
Jim frowned.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No secret modification?”
“No.”