HOLLOW EARTH
EXPLORATION CLUB

Spent most of the next morning back at Harley-Factory Frankfurt going over the 11F with the shop guys before I headed out.

Made a parts list.

Long one.

Most of the easy stuff had already been found years ago.

What was left now were the nightmare pieces.

Rare castings. Correct fasteners. Period hardware. Small things nobody notices until they’re wrong.

Told them directly that if they needed additional sourcing or provenance verification, ZM was the person to contact.

Couple of them exchanged looks when I said it.

“Good luck with that.”

Apparently she’s got a reputation for being difficult.

Honestly, I think people just get uncomfortable around somebody who actually knows what they’re talking about and refuses to compromise.

Told them I didn’t think she was difficult at all.

Straightforward, yes.

Protective, definitely.

But she cared about preservation more than money, which already put her ahead of most people floating around the collector world.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

And truthfully, that’s pretty much how I operate too.

Arranged shipping for the bike back to my shop once the export paperwork cleared.

Took longer than it should’ve because apparently international freight systems are held together entirely by caffeine, confusion, and passive aggression.

By the time I finally got to the airport I was exhausted.

Boarded the flight.

Found my seat.

Put my head back against the window figuring I’d finally get a few hours of sleep before heading home.

Was just starting to drift off when I felt something jabbing into my leg through my jacket pocket.

Reached inside.

Pulled out the storage key.

Just sat there staring at it in my hand while the cabin lights dimmed around me.

Completely forgot I’d even brought the damn thing to Germany.