Do You Believe in Miracles?

Hey, It’s been a while since my last post. I hope you are having a wonderful 2023. If you are reading this then you must have noticed that I have changed the title of my page. Writing will always be my main focus, I am branching out into new things. I am branching out into new things and I will be creating new pages. I am starting an affiliate marketing business, as well as working on myself spiritually through meditation and self-development. I want to be the best Dave that I can be. My newest novel, Invasions, came out on February 17th, it is the fifth book in my science fiction series, Space Corps Chronicles. I will leave the link to its sales page at amazon below. I have also completed the rough draft of a Western novel, titled The Mojave Kid. It is a prequel to my novel, Tale Spinner and of course, I am working on my next novel

So, do you believe in miracles? I am not talking about acts of God where a higher power intervenes to save life and limb. I believe that those kinds of miracles do happen, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I am talking about the miracles you create for yourself by believing in yourself, by hard work, by focusing your attention on your goals, and by reprograming your subconscious mind for success, wealth, and happiness. I plan future posts where I will focus on these things. I am currently sixty-five years old. At best I have maybe thirty years left to live on this Earth. It is my goal to make my last thirty years, the best years of my life. Life is a journey and I invite you to come along with me. Let’s make miracles togeather.

Here is a another short story for your reading pleasure.

The Reunion

Chico, Tiny, Dirty Dan, and Lead Belly carried their gear out of the Road Dogs clubhouse. They secured everything on the back of their motorcycles. Several more members were busy packing their gear onto their motorcycles. Excitement filled the air. The bros prepared for their annual pilgrimage to Sturgis South Dakota. They planned to attend the Black Hills Rally.

Noticing a shadow near the side of the clubhouse, Chico glanced over and a cold chill shot down his spine.

“What’s wrong with you? You look like someone danced a jig on your grave,” Tiny said. “Bro. You’re as white as a freshly washed bed sheet.”

Chico shook off the eerie feeling. “I don’t know man. I got this feeling that someone was watching me. I glanced up for a second and saw someone standing there by the corner of the building. He was wearing a black hooded robe.”

Tiny laughed, stepped up, and slapped Chico on the back. “You got the first day of the run jitters.” Tiny pulled a flask from his vest pocket and handed it to Chico. “Here, take a shot of the good stuff.”

“There’s nothing in this world that a shot of Jack won’t take the edge off,” Chico said. He downed the shot of Jack Daniels whiskey.

Dirty Dan and Lead Belly stepped up. “Which route do you wanna take?” Dirty Dan asked.

“I figured we’d head over to New Mexico. We’ll stay the night in Albuquerque.”

One of the prospects loaded up some tools into a pickup bed and hooked up a motorcycle trailer to the truck. The prospects were in charge of loading the camping gear into the bed of the pickup and trailer at the rear of the pack. After he finished securing his duffle bag onto the back of his bike, Chico pulled his bike out onto the highway. Tiny pulled up next to Chico, and Dirty Dan. Lead Belly fell in behind them. With the chapter officers riding upfront, the rest of the patched members fell into line. The prospects brought up the rear followed by the tail gunner and the chase truck.

Letting out a wild yell, Chico said, “The last one to Sturgis buys the beer at the Broken Spoke Saloon!” With that, he hit the throttle and headed down the highway and the rest of the Road Dogs followed. The sound of their loud pipes resonated across the desert. From the shadows near the corner of the clubhouse, the Grim Reaper held his sickle over his shoulder. He looked out from under his hood with his evil glowing red eyes and laughed. The sinister raspy sound caused a black cat, crossing the parking lot, to let out a hiss and run for the nearest tree.

The Road Dogs headed east on highway 86 until they reached Tucson. At Tucson, they took interstate 10 east. An eerie feeling shot up and down Chico’s spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He kept glancing in his rearview mirror. Now and then, he thought he saw a rider near the back of the pack that didn’t belong. He saw someone, riding a dilapidated rusty-looking old Harley. The rider wore a black hooded robe. The color of the bike reminded Chico of dried blood. Even in the wind, the hood never left the rider’s head and Chico never saw his face.

A Dodge pickup truck rolling along in the next lane honked, startling Chico. Taking his eyes off the mirror, he realized that he had started to drift into the other lane. Leaning to the right, Chico pulled back into his, own lane and goosed the throttle passing the truck.

Damn, I got to get a hold of myself, Chico thought.

Pulling into Tucson, the Road Dogs pulled into an Arco station to top off their tanks. Dirty Dan stepped up to Chico. The hot desert sun caused a bead of sweat to track down the side of Chico’s face.

“Hey bro. What’s with you today man. You almost crashed into that truck back there,” Dirty Dan said.

Chico shrugged. “I don’t know man. I thought I saw someone riding along behind us. You didn’t see anyone, did you?”

Dirty Dan shook his head. “Dude. We’re on our way to Sturgis. There are shit loads of bikers on the road, but no man. I didn’t see anything,” Dirty Dan said. He handed Chico a flask and Chico took a hit of Jack.

“That went down smooth,” Chico said. “A few more shots and I’ll be feeling no pain.”

“Yeah, but go easy. You need some grub. Let’s find a place on the east end of town and get something to eat.”

“We’ll eat in Las Cruces,” Chico said.

From the shadows, standing beside the service station, the Grim Reaper chuckled.

Finished at the gas station, the Road Dogs headed east on Interstate 10. They took an off-ramp in Las Cruces New Mexico and pulled into a Burger King for lunch.

“What’s with you? You’ve been jumpy all day,” Tiny said to Chico over a burger.

“I don’t know man. Have you guys seen this biker wearing a black robe with a hood pulled up over his head? He’s been following along behind us,” Chico asked.

The rest of the Road Dogs at the table exchanged glances.

“No man, we haven’t seen anything like that, bro” Tiny said.

“Well, I keep seeing this dude in my rearview,” Chico said.

“You know, there’s a hell of a lot of bikers out there right now. I saw a couple of riders behind us, but no one that looked like that.”

“It’s probably my imagination. Ever since that deal with the Dark Rider a few years ago, I’ve been seeing weird shit.”

“Once we pull into the motel, have some grub, and tie one on at the nearest bar, you’ll be fine,” Dirty Dan said.

“I hope the motel has a pool. I want to take a dip,” Lead Belly said.

Finished with lunch, they climbed on their scooters. They headed north on Interstate 25 toward Albuquerque. While they crossed the desert, Chico kept checking his rearview mirror. Now and then, he would catch a glimpse of the mysterious hooded rider.

The Road Dogs pulled into Albuquerque as the sun went down over the Land of Enchantment. They pulled into Motel 6, rented five rooms, and then stowed their gear. Finished with that, they headed across the road to, a Denny’s, restaurant. The hostess led them to a large table in a back room. A waitress came to take their orders.

“We’ll have a round of beers before we eat,” Chico said. The waitress nodded, took their drink orders, and then took the orders for their food.

“That wasn’t a bad ride,” Tiny said.

“My butt fell off somewhere south of Belen,” Dirty Dan said.

“You guys are a bunch of pussies,” Chico said.

“And what’s with you? You were weaving all over the road. You kept checking your rearview mirror as if the Devil himself was on your tail,” Lead Belly said.

Chico looked down at the table. “I kept seeing someone behind us. Are you sure you guys didn’t see anything?”

Everyone shrugged. “Maybe the Dark Rider’s back. He wants your soul, bro,” Lead Belly said.

Anger flashed in Chico’s eyes. “Don’t even say that, man.”

“Relax, bro. I was joking.”

Finished with their dinner, the Road Dogs hit the bar and had a few brews before heading back to the motel. Back at Motel 6, they changed into their swimming trunks and took a dip in the pool. Dirty Dan stood by the edge of the pool. “Here comes the world’s biggest cannonball!” he yelled and jumped into the pool making a big splash. Tiny stood by the edge of the pool and took off his shirt.

“Who let the bear into the pool?” Lead Belly said and laughed.

“Yeah, take off your fur coat,” Chico said.

Tiny struck a pose. “You guys are jealous of my manly physique,” he said and then did a massive belly flop. Most of the bros sitting around the pool drinking beer jumped back to avoid the splash. Chico climbed out of the pool, headed down to the deep end, climbed onto the diving board, and dived in. When he reached the bottom of the pool, he saw a dark shadow. The shadow enveloped him, his head bumped the bottom of the pool and he felt as if someone was coking him. His hands went to his throat, his vision went dark; he opened up his mouth and took in water. Chico’s consciousness faded and he sank to the bottom of the pool.

Noticing Chico in trouble, Dirty Dan dived down to the bottom of the pool. He grabbed Chico by his arms and hauled him to the surface. Tiny and Lead Belly helped Dirty Dan lift him out of the pool and they laid him on his stomach. Dirty Dan climbed out of the pool and lifted Chico off the wet cement.

“He’s not breathing,” he said and then slapped Chico hard across the back several times. Chico coughed up water and began to breathe.

“Bro, you scared the shit out of me. What happened down there?” Dirty Dan asked.

“I don’t know, man. I saw something dark, like a shadow. It felt like it was choking me. Then I hit my head on the bottom, took in some water, and passed out.”

“Bro you’ve been acting freaky on this trip. Are you sure you don’t want to call this run, off?” Lead Belly said.

“Hell no! We go to Sturgis every year. I ain’t about to let this shit stop me, Chico said.”

“All right bro. You know we’ve got your back no matter what you decide,” Lead Belly said.

They helped Chico to his feet. He sat down in a folding chair and drank beer while the rest of the bros went back into the pool. That night as he lay down in his motel room, Chico drifted off into a troubled sleep. In one dream, he kept seeing the dark hooded rider following along behind him. He gunned the throttle, but the vile creature gained on him and he couldn’t get away. In another dream, he was back at the bottom of the pool and the Grim Reaper was on top of him choking him. In another dream, Chico stepped into the back door of a church. People sat down on the pews waiting for a funeral to start. Chico headed down to the front, glanced into the coffin, and put his fist to his mouth to stifle a scream. Looking down once more, he saw himself lying dead in the coffin. Chico jumped up in bed gasping for air.

“You okay bro?” Dirty Dan, who was sleeping on the floor, asked.

“Yeah. I’m fine. I had a nightmare, that’s all,” Chico said.

“Man something has you spooked on this trip.”

“Forget about it. Go back to sleep,” Chico said and then lay back down. Soon, he heard Dirty Dan start to snore. It took Chico a while longer to fall back asleep.


Chico woke from a restless troubled sleep at five AM the next morning. The Road Dogs climbed from their beds and dressed. They gathered outside of their motel rooms, bleary-eyed and hungover.

“I need about a gallon of coffee before I’m ready for the road,” Chico said.

“Me too, bro. I’m about as hungry as an anorexic polar bear,” Dirty Dan said.

“You’re always hungry,” Lead Belly said.

“Like, they say in the song, if you want to run cool, you need heavy, heavy fuel.”

“Let’s head over to the restaurant, get some breakfast and coffee, up. This has the makings of a good day,” Chico said.

They packed their gear and climbed onto their scooters. They motored over to the restaurant. After tanking up on breakfast they hit the highway. They headed north on Interstate 25. As Chico led the pack north, he felt good for a change. The crisp morning air had a bite to it. The eerie feeling that had followed him since they left Harlem Springs was gone. He kept his eyes off the rearview and kept his face in the wind, enjoying the ride. The weather turned cloudy and overcast and they saw dark clouds to the north. Chico signaled to the pack, leading the Road Dogs off the highway.

“We’re heading into a storm. Put on your rain gear if you brought it,” Chico said.

“That’s one thing you can count on when you ride to Sturgis, is bad weather,” Tiny said.

“Yeah, remember last year in that canyon up in Colorado? The hail beat the dog shit out of us,” Lead Belly said.

Lightning flashed and a crack of thunder rolled across the land. After they put on their rain gear, they headed north. The sky opened up pounding them with rain. It soon turned to hail, but they kept their throttles cranked and rode through it. It rained off and on, throughout the day. They passed through the Raton Pass and crossed the Colorado state line. The sunburst forth drying off both man and machine. They pulled off the highway in Denver to gas up and have lunch. Chico led them into another Denny’s restaurant and they strolled inside.

“Damn. I’m glad that rain quit,” Tiny said.

“Me too. I about froze my balls off. I left them somewhere back below the Raton Pass,” Lead Belly said.

“You seem like you’re in a better mood,” Dirty Dan said to Chico. “I guess you got rid of all your bugaboos.”

Chico bit into a juicy hamburger and then said, “Yeah, I’m glad it stopped raining. My hands were so cold I thought they were going to fall off. Right now, I’m trying to enjoy the ride.”

“We gonna stop somewhere else or roll on through?” Dirty Dan asked.

“I thought we’d stay the night in Cheyenne and then roll on up to Sturgis tomorrow morning.”

Finished with lunch, they gathered in the parking lot. They talked and joked while they had one last cigarette. Five minutes later, they climbed onto their scooters and hit the interstate. Standing in the shadows, a dark hooded figure stood watching. He watched the pack of bikers leave the parking lot and an evil grin spread across his face.

Chico rode hard leading the Road Dogs MC north on Interstate 25. It rained and hailed throughout the day, but Chico didn’t mind. He got lost in the wind, enjoying the ride. He quit checking his mirrors for the hooded rider following along behind the pack. He shrugged off the eerie feeling he’d had as the first day of the ride jitters. As they approached the Wyoming border, the sun came out and the weather turned warm. They began to see herds of antelope grazing out on the prairie. When they rolled into Cheyenne, Chico led the pack off the freeway and into the parking lot of a Best Western motel.

After checking into their rooms, they motored up the street to a steak house and Chico sprang for dinner.

“Whoa, big spender. What got into you?” Lead Belly asked when Chico offered to pick up the check for the entire group.

Chico grinned. “I feel good and I wanted to do something good for my bros. I’m finally starting to have a good time.”

Dirty Dan put his arm around Chico’s neck when they stood up. “It’s about time. You had me worried there for a while. Are you sure you’re not seeing any more ghost riders following along behind us?”

Chico grinned and let out a nervous laugh. “No, I haven’t.”

“What you need is to get a head start on the partying. I’ve got a bottle of Jack Single Barrel that I’ve been itching to crack. Let’s kill that sucker out by the pool tonight,” Dirty Dan said.

Chico nodded. “I could go for that.”

Finished with their supper, they motored back to the Best Western. They changed into their swimming suits and hit the pool. Chico, Dirty Dan, and Lead Belly sat down in the hot tub and Dirty Dan passed around the bottle.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Chico said and took a shot.

“No, that’s what I’m takin’ about,” Dirty Dan said when a busty blonde with an hourglass figure stepped out of the motel. She wore a string bikini that was nothing more than a handful of cloth with a string running up the crack of her ass. It looked like butt floss. Her massive breasts spilled out of the top leaving little to the imagination.

“I do love them southern bells,” Lead Belly said. He noticed the Confederate flag depicted on the young woman’s bikini top. They watched her slip into the pool.

“You remember them Halo Riders that seem to show up when we’re having some type of trouble?” Tiny asked a few seconds later.

Chico let out a snort. “How can I forget? It ain’t every day that a band of troubleshooters from beyond the grave ride up as big as life.”

“I know. I still have a problem believing all that, but I saw their pictures in the Book of The Dead.”

“What about them?” Chico asked.

“That bro Cave Man he sure loved his Jack,” Tiny said.

“Yeah, and that stuff he carried in that flask was better than any whiskey I’ve ever had,” Chico said.

“That old boy Cave Man was a righteous dude. He saved our ass that time when the Dark Rider-” Dirty Dan stopped when he saw the pale look cross Chico’s face.

“I’d prefer not to talk about that SOB,” Chico said.

“Sure. Whatever you say, bro,” Dirty Dan said and handed Chico the bottle. “Have another shot.”

After the conversation in the hot tub, Chico’s mood turned dark. That night, he had troubled dreams, but he woke up the next morning in a good mood. He had forgotten about his nightmares. The hooded rider he’d been seeing in his rearview mirror was far from his mind. It was the last day of the trip; at the end of the day’s ride, they would be in Sturgis South Dakota for the Black Hills Rally. It would be one big party for the next ten days. It would be filled with hard-drinking, loose women, and lots of, motorcycle riding. They would spend the first couple of days in town. Then they would head out to places like Deadwood and Mount Rushmore. They might hit Custer State Park and the Crazy Horse Monument.

After leaving Cheyenne, the Road Dogs headed north. The weather was warm and sunny for the first hour or so, but it soon clouded up and thunderstorms pelted the land. South of Casper Wyoming, they took a two-lane highway heading east. Then took another, two-lane highway north and hit Interstate 90 east of Gillette. They headed east toward the South Dakota state line. A big grin crossed Chico’s face when they rolled across the border into South Dakota. His mind was in the present moment and he was ready for the ride to be over. It was time to party. A gentle rain fell from the sky, but it wasn’t anything they couldn’t handle. Somewhere, between Spearfish and Sturgis, Chico heard a motorcycle pull up next to him. He glanced over, his eyes widened in shock and his mouth dropped open. Beside him rode the Grim Reaper. He was the hooded rider that he’d been seeing throughout the trip. The wind blew the hood off the rider’s head revealing his skeletal features. Chico noticed his evil red beady eyes and his malicious grin. At that exact instant, a semi-truck on the other side of Chico blew a front tire. The tire peeled off the rim the truck jackknifed swerving into Chico’s lane and he went down under the wheels. Behind him, the Road Dogs crashed, falling, down like dominos.


Hey Bro this is Cave Man. We were sitting on our spirit bikes at the top of the hill looking down the freeway when the Road Dogs crashed. We were in spirit form, not in physical bodies. Old School was sitting on his bike next to me and the rest of the Halo Riders lined up behind us. A sexy-looking young woman in a red Mustang drove right through Old School and blasted on down the hill.

“Damn it feels weird when they do that,” Old School said.

“I know bro. I don’t like this gig. This doesn’t seem right to me,” I said.

When Little Danny Boy told me that the Road Dogs were going to crash on the highway, he said that the majority of them were coming home to Biker Heaven. I urged the folks in charge to let me try and stop it from happening. I argued that Chico was the best president the club ever had. It couldn’t be his time. Lead Belly was supposed to grow old with Janet. The powers that be claimed that it was the way things were, supposed to happen. Little Danny Boy started planning their reunion. He sent Old School, Sonny, and the rest of the Halo Riders down to Earth to bring them home.

“Here they come,” Old school said.

I sat there in horror and watched the accident happen. It’s never pretty when a man lays his scooter down. Chico went down first under the truck, and the rest of the pack plowed into the riders in front of them. It was a serenade of scraping mettle, breaking glass, and squealing tires. The smell of burnt rubber filled the air. The only ones to survive were the five prospects riding at the rear. Little Mike, riding tail end Charlie and the two bros in the chase truck. They managed to pull over to the side of the freeway and avoid the crash. I saw what looked like thousands of little hooded demons spring up from the ground itself. I watched the Grim Reaper pull over to where Chico lay under the truck.

“Time to go to war!” I yelled and gunned the throttle on my spirit bike shooting down the hill like a rocket. We rode down to the crash site with guns blazing. When you’re in spirit form, your gat shoots blue or green balls of lightning. When they hit one of the evil little shits, if they take a direct hit, they explode in a flash of light. If you hit them with a glancing blow, it will knock them on their ass and drain their energy. If they take enough hits and their energy drains they’ll disappear from this plane of existence.

When I arrived at the scene of the crash, the Grim Reaper had Chico by the shoulders trying to rip his soul from his body. He wanted to drag his soul to hell. I grabbed him by the back of the hood and threw him to the ground. Pulling my gat, I fired a round of blue lighting through his forehead. He exploded into a blinding flash of smoke and light. Chico rose, up out of his body, and stood next to the semi-truck with a bewildered look on his face. “Don’t move bro,” I said and whirled around. The evil little demons in their tattered black robes turned on us and we had a rumble on the interstate. All though unseen by the human eye, the battle was quick but violent. Flashes of blue light from the bro’s gats filled the air. Evil red beams of light shot out from the demon’s fingertips. Thunder rolled across the land and lightning flashed. The smell of soot-filled the air, and a cloud of smoke floated on the breeze.

The battle was over Old School stepped up next to me. “Did we lose any?” I asked.

Old School nodded. “They took five. They jumped on top of them and disappeared sinking right into the ground.”

“We’ll have to go after them later,” I said. “Right now we have some brothers to take home.”

Chico stepped up to me. A cold wind blew across the land but being in the spirit, we didn’t feel it. “What happened?” Chico asked.

“You’re dead bro. You and most of the crew. You guys crashed,” I said.

“Why didn’t you guys come to help us?”

“We’re here now bro,” I said watching the spirits of our downed brothers rise out of their bodies. “For what it’s worth, I fought against the powers that be. I wanted to intervene before the crash, but the brass in Biker Heaven wouldn’t let us. They said that this was the way things were, supposed to happen.”

The spirits of our downed brothers gathered around us. We watched the people react to the accident.

“Did everyone die?” Chico asked.

I shook my head. “Five prospects and Little Mike didn’t crash. Plus the bros in the chase truck managed to avoid the crash.” Little Mike was a gray beard who had been in the club for years.

“That’s it then for the Road Dogs?” Chico said.

“No, bro. They’ll rebuild,” Old School said.

“What do we do now?” Lead Belly asked.

“Now, we’re heading to Biker Heaven. We’ve got a reunion waiting for you guys like nothing you’ve ever seen. You’ve never partied, like we party in Biker Heaven.” Several spirit bikes appeared on the road next to us. The newly dead bikers stood looking on in awe at the majestic machines. “Time to mount up. Elvis Presley, Buddy Holly, Jim Morrison, and Jimmy Hendricks, plus a few others are warming up on stage. They’re ready to start the show as soon as we get there.”

Chico took a glance at his mangled body underneath the truck and then climbed onto his spirit bike. The others climbed onto their new scooters and I lead the pack up the road. Pulling back on the bars I shot up into the heavens and my bros followed.



About Dave the Miracle Maker

Hi. I work and live in the high desert of Southern California with my wife and family. I have three passions in life: reading, writing, and riding my motorcycle. I am now branching out into affiliate marketing and enjoy practicing martial arts. I believe in Miracles, but sometimes you must make your-own miracles by keeping a positive mindset. In this blog, I will promote my writing, and the products I sponsor plus I will try to send out positive messages to you and the universe. Feel free to like and subscribe. Much Love, Let's Go!
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