Lt JG Imril - Go Ride A Bike
Chris Taylor
((Fohledi Nature Reserve, Rylor))
The PX160 hummed beneath Imril. The vibrations of its engine carried up all the way up into the handlebars, muffled by their thin gloves. With the press of a thumb, they throttled down slightly. And leaned into a series of turns through the forest. Over roads of packed dirt and small wooden bridges. Past trees and boulders, bushes and small streams, clusters of roots and the black pockmarks of animal dens.
The bike made a music all its own as it raced. The tones and pitches adjusting with every change of the terrain, every change in Imril’s posture. Imril speed into a sudden rise in the track, and the sound formed into a single, even note for the length of the jump. The bike landed on both wheels with a joyful baritone burst, throwing up a small cloud of dust that faded as quickly as the reverb in the engineer’s joints.
The wall of trees ahead began to thin out, the green canopy lowering down. Waring of a sudden dip in the trail, just as it broke off into two paths. The left going further up the mountain. Imril took the right, and was not surprised to see the thin road open up into a wide observation point set against a small cliff of stacked stone.
Imril leaned into a stopping turn, setting their foot against the rough-trodden dirt. Their leg kick-stand straight and vehicle turned to be perpendicular to the incline. They flipped their goggles up onto the crest of their Starfleet-issue helmet and looked over the expanse of land and trees and white-clouded sky.
Far downhill, the outskirts of the colony could be seen. At least a part of it populated by rows of wood cabins. In the more immediate area, a criss-cross of nature trails. Some marked for pedestrians, some for two-wheelers and hover-bikes. Of the two, give Imril a motorbike any day! Feeling the road was part of the thrill.
A pair of roars behind them, growing louder and higher, informed them that their fellow riders were not far behind. A good friend and someone who was becoming something more.
Bancroft/Bergmen: Response
Imril removed their helmet, set it on their lap, and reached down for a water bottle. Its side was plastered with the icon of the Rylor colony, which had provided them. The helmet and impact jacket -- both sandy brown -- were Imril’s own, as were the gloves.
Imril: ::To The others:: Nice view.
Bancroft/Bergmen: Response
They smiled and took a deep swig of water. It was cool and crisp and simply miraculous. Callis and the journey away from it were too recent to take such a drink for granted.
Imril: How are the bikes working for you? Please tell me I don’t have to tune them up already. I really am trying not to do any work today.
To their mind, the PX160 was a quality vehicle. More than once, they'd have liked to have some kind of two-wheeler of its like available on an away mission. They’d been kinda sorta looking for an excuse to requisition or build some for a while now. One of several technical issues was where to store them in the shuttlebay between deployments in one of the Type-17 shuttles.
Bancroft/Bergmen: Response
TAGS/ TBC
((OOC: The PX-series of motorcycles is taken from Star Trek Beyond. In that timeline, they were produced by a private manufacturer. Which may or may not be the case here, whatever works for the story.))
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Lieutenant JG Imril
Engineering Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240110I12