Page 17 of Tinsel & Chrome

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I run as fast as I can, my little boots thumping against the floor, past the tables, past Uncle Grizzly, straight to the biggest, best Christmas tree ever. It’s so tall, almost to the ceiling, and covered in twinkly lights and shiny things. And underneath? Presents. So many presents!

I stop real fast and put my hands on my hips. “Can we open ’em now?”

Daddy scoops me up before I can dive headfirst into the pile. He laughs, all big and rumbly, like he always does. “Not yet, little bit.”

I huff, crossing my arms. Grown-ups always say wait.

Then I hear a loudvroom-vroomoutside.

I gasp and whip my head around. That’s a motorcycle! But not just any motorcycle—Santa’s motorcycle!

“Santa’s here!” I scream, kicking my feet until Daddy puts me down. Then I run.

I hear all the other kids yelling too, and we race out the clubhouse door just as Santa pulls up on a big, shiny bike covered in lights and candy canes and everything Christmas-y.

He’s so big, with a red vest and a Santa hat, and he waves at us with a big laugh, all deep and jolly.

I grab Bayou’s arm, bouncing up and down. “I knew Santa had a motorcycle!”

Bayou nods real serious, like she always knew too. Santa parks the bike, swings his big boots over, and grabs his big red bag full of presents.

“Ho, ho, ho!” he booms, and I squeal because he’s real, he’s real, he’s real!

Christmas is really here.

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And So it Begins

Grizzly

Jingle Blaze is in full swing, and the kids own the day. We’ve moved to the main clubhouse. It’s bigger and we need the room. The clubhouse lot is a damn carnival: mini bikes roaring, kids running wild, and grown men getting hustled at carnival games by their own children.

I lean against my bike, watching the chaos unfold, sipping my coffee, because whiskey this early means I won’t survive the night. It’s time for the mini bike race. I head over to the small track we put together.

Boone stands in the middle of the dirt track, arms crossed, ready to oversee the chaos. “Alright, y’all know the rules. No crashing, no fighting, and no crying if you lose.”

First up: the younger girls. Daisy, Boone’s wild child. Bayou, Forge’s precocious child. Emma, Big John’s little one riding a hot pink bike with matching streamers. And my baby girl Wynn.

Bayou revs her bike hard, eyes gleaming. “I’m gonna win.”

Daisy smirks. “Not if I beat you first.”

Boone raises the flag. “Ready... set... GO!”

The mini bikes take off.

Daisy pulls ahead, but Bayou is right on her tail, determined as hell.

Wynn keeps steady, pushing her bike to its limits, while Emma laughs like this is the best thing ever, streamers flying behind her. Daisy and Bayou go neck and neck, kicking up dirt. But at the last second, Bayou cuts the corner tighter and pulls ahead, taking the win.

She throws both fists in the air, grinning. “Told y’all!”

Daisy scowls, but her eyes are full of respect. “Yeah, yeah. Next time, I’m taking you down.”

Boone ruffles Bayou’s hair. “Damn good race, kid.”

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