By Saturday morning, Lawson Customs looked nothing like the quiet garage I had opened years ago, because motorcycles filled the parking lot, trucks lined the street, and people from all over town were already gathering around the tables we had set up for the charity ride.
I stood near the front entrance with a clipboard in my hands, although I had checked the schedule so many times that I probably could have recited every detail in my sleep.
The charity ride had started as a simple conversation between Charles and me, but somehow it had grown into something much bigger.
Lawson Customs was sponsoring the event, Charles's company had agreed to contribute alongside us, and the Iron Vipers had organized the motorcycle ride itself.
The money raised would go toward supporting local emergency
