We pulled into the garage, the heavy automatic doors rolling shut behind the command van to seal out the damp night air. Before going anywhere, I stayed with Michael, helping him flip the master breakers, wind up the exterior cable spools, and wipe down the consoles so the rig was prepped for the next run.
Once the van was tucked away, I walked over to the long wooden workbench against the far wall and hoisted myself up onto the edge, swinging my legs lightly. The garage was quiet, filled only with the faint drip of oil and the low hum of the ceiling fans. I didn't realize how tightly wound my shoulders were until the heavy steel doors groaned open again, and the thunderous roar of the convoy echoed through the space.
Bikes and trucks filed inside in a tight, orderly formation, headlig
