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Bikernet 100 Word Fiction Contest 2024

The word-limited writing contest enters a new year with new action

Compiled, Edited & Illustrated by Wayfarer

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 100 word fiction contest continues…. #100WFC

Yup, its a monthly contest open to all. Word limit is 100. Lots of Bikernet swag to be won. Just sign up for the free weekly newsletter by clicking here.

Then email your fiction story in 100 words or less to

Curious about fiction stories under 100 words? Have a look at the contest entries in 2023 and list of winners by clicking below link.

Meanwhile, below are the entries in 2024 and winners selected each month.

1. for the month of January 2024: Jeffrey aka JJ Spain
2. for the month of February and March 2024: "Stray Paths" by Rhys
3. for the month of April 2024: TBA

* * *

What’s It Gonna Be
by Keith 'Bandit' Ball

with illustration by Wayfarer

Jake at 6 feet and buffed pulled up to the log cabin saloon off Highway 25, in CO on his highbar 80 flathead. No other bikes in the lot, only SUVs.

He ordered a 3-2-1 Jack from blonde and bodacious. Her eyes sparkled but darted with concern. Suddenly surrounded by a young crew in camos, they snarled and brandished weapons. “Your loud pipes are done. It’s a climate emergency!” Said big and fuzzy.

“What’s it gonna be?” Jake asked. “Freedom and Truth or a lying piece-of-shit dictatorship.”

Fuzzy hesitated and gulped.

“Bring it on,” Jake said. “Bikers are ready.”

(publication dated 21-May-2024)

* * * 

Divide and Run
by Gearhead

with illustration by Wayfarer

TJ on his ‘80 Super Glide, Budreu on his ‘80 Wide Glide and me on my ‘70 Electra Glide jammed. The local sheriff waited for us to make a slip up for days.

We knew all the back roads.

We left the Rusty Nail bar one night and spotted the Sheriff in our vibrating sideview mirrors. Three abreast, we pulled up to the only dingy stop light in town. He turned on his flashing cop lights, and we left on the hazy green signal in three different ways.

He pulled into the intersection and just sat there.

(publication dated 11-May-2024)

* * *

The boo-boo
by Wayfarer

with illustration by Wayfarer

She could not take her eyes off him. He was enjoying rum & chips with his longtime love, a childhood lover, seemingly inseparable. Then they left and the lonely, lovely stranger who served them, yearned for the man to return.

A few days later, they bumped into each other at a charity hiking trip, aimed at picking trash on trails. He was alone. Apparently, he loved the outdoors and his gal loved cozy evenings in cafes and pubs. “Opposites attract” the waitress sighed.

Then she had an epiphany, “one who waits, is a waiter,” and she introduced herself. He loved the coffee from her flask. She loved that he was interested in her. Soon, she offered to drop him home on her dual-sport Honda Transalp. He asked for her number and they planned a new trail.

(publication dated 03-May-2024)

* * * 

Hot Day, Sweet Beer
by Rhys

with illustration by Wayfarer

Pulled out of my garage and took off down the street. No particular destination just needed the wind in my face.

After an hour or so came across a little joint on a country road with outside seating at picnic tables. I dismounted my steel steed and sat down . A cute little thing came out and I asked for an ice cold draft.

Sipping the brew and listening to the exhaust tick I thought it was a good day to be alive.

(publication dated 28-Apr-2024)

* * *

The Tavern Stop
by Gearhead

with illustration by Wayfarer

I walked into the dark tavern after midnight. The last call was in a couple of hours. There she sat waiting for her biker knight in the corner. I sauntered over and sat down next to her. “What is your name Doll.”

“My name is Mariah,” she muttered, her red lips glistened. “What is yours big man?”

“They call me Texas Red.”

“Your mother not like you or something?” She asked.

“I was named after a famous outlaw by my Dad.” I then bought us both whiskeys. We toasted to our friendship. I put my hand on her thigh and the rest is history.

(publication dated 26-Apr-2024)

* * *

Third Date
by JJ Spain
with illustration by Wayfarer

He introduced Mary to her first motorcycle ride. He pulled alongside a Ford Focus using the right turning lane. At the last second, the Ford also decided to turn right. The car's front fender gave the cycle an extra boost off the two-lane, crashing through a picket fence.

Able to slide to a stop still upright, he sighed. His left knee put a dent in the black tank. His date was scared and crying. The bastard driver of the car didn't stop. They rode to her house to ice his knee.

Two years later, he took a knee and she said, “Yes.”

(publication dated 16-Apr-2024)

* * * 
Me Too Engine Ride
by Steven Sanner

with illustration by Wayfarer

As I stood in line with the other condemned souls at this Hell on Earth they Call the Motor Vehicle Administration, a hand lightly tapped me on the shoulder.

“I noticed your ABATE patch on your jacket” said the dainty soccer mom. “ Are they still around? My husband and I used to be members in the ‘90s.”

The question was one that I’ve heard numerous times in the any years I have been active in our state MRO, and my response was automatic. “Yes, we have been around since 1973 and the fight for our rights never stopped. Come on by the chapter meeting and rejoin us.”

We had just gotten the last kid out the door to college and we’re thinking about riding again. We always had a good time with you people. I’ll let my husband know you ‘all are still here.”

Maybe another lost soul will rejoin the ranks on the freedom fighter.

(publication dated 11-Apr-2024) 
* * * 

by Wayfarer

with illustration by Wayfarer

I swayed left and right, twisting the throttle, pushing and pulling at the handlebars. I was tense, sweating throughout on an early morning in June. If only I could ride another 200 miles, I know I would be at peace.

This time yesterday, I had kickstarted my journey to the heartland. There were no goodbyes at work, maybe there will be none at my destination, my home. As I evaded the bustling traffic on the interstate, the many commuters dissolved, my mind picturing her smile, her yellow gown, her rare recipes and most of all, her patience with me.

The oil rig fellas had pitched in to do my share of work as I took off to a final resting place. Mom was fading fast. Will she remember me in her condition? I gotta stay awake to fulfill her dreams and a promise to be by her side.

(publication dated 30-Mar-2024)

* * * 

by J J Spain (Jeffrey)

with illustration by Wayfarer

I took the first Piedmont exit off I90, rolling the Chieftain on to the parking lot of Matt’s Place, the front tire of the Indian facing the interstate. The t-shirts stapled to the wall said Matt wasn’t there, he was fishing.

Silently I tipped my champagne of beers to the Blackhills and whispered to my friend that I missed him. It’s been four years now since he left, yet I still hear his voice, his laugh and wish I could cast a fly like he could.

Time goes by, the days go fast, the best leave us first. Enjoy Miller time.

(publication dated 30-March-2024)

* * * 

Stray Paths
by Rhys

with illustration by Wayfarer

Eased the old Shovel to a stop. Pulled into the bar parking lot for a quick beer. A little kid approached, not much more than 5, holding a puppy.

He held out the dog to me, and I took it to give it a couple of pats. I turned and the kid vanished. Not wanting to let the little guy go on a busy city street I tucked him in my vest and headed home. On the way his little head poke out into the breeze.

At home I noticed an injury to the hind quarter. The vet unable to fix, I had to let him go.

At least he got to feel the wind in his face.

(publication dated 25-March-2024)

* * * 

Burn Out
by Wayfarer

with illustration by Wayfarer

The winds slapped his body as he kept his head steady, guiding the Fat Boy through backroads, out past county lines. The roads uneven, but the path was known to him. The brothers had brought the fight to the establishment.

The State however considered them a malignant minority. Even as cops and Congressmen thrashed the group with harsh laws and fines, the rider’s outlook was – all for one and one invaluable Constitution.

As they stood their ground, an underground parking lot exploded.



Age-old slimy propaganda to delude the masses. In a city that banned ICE engines, it was anybody’s guess what had exploded.

(publication dated 23-March-2024)

* * *

by Bandit

with illustration by Wayfarer

A miniature human with a radiant smile and satin skin. Her old man worked the oil fields and his Sportster tank was delicately painted by George Wild. Her one mission was to collect it in her rusting VW bug.

The magnificent flames glistened on the modified tank. George attempted to fondle the satin button, the tank nearly becoming a weapon. A weakness for abandoned pets steered her off course. The tank became the object of potential scratches and drooling dogs. Groceries dislodged and a fender bender nearly hurled the candy flames.

Still that night a brother rode to club church with a brilliant smile on his face. She made it.

(publication dated 18-March-2024)

* * * 

Blow Up a Sportster
by Gearhead

with illustration by Wayfarer

Nicko worked at the garage down the block when his Mom called in a panic. Nicko hauled ass in his hopped up ‘67 Cougar. The alley gate lock to the storage yard swung open. Where is Dad's Tahiti blown race boat?

“Which way did they go,” Nicko yelled. “Did they steal anything else?”

“I don't think so,” Mom said.

Nicko ran into the garage and still under the tarp was his turbo-charged Sportster street racer. Nicko flew from the garage in a wheel stand heading West down the alley. When his front 21 touched down, he rolled into the gas station where the thieves stopped to refuel.

(publication dated 15-March-2024)

* * * 

She’s Gone
by Jeffrey aka JJ Spain

with illustration by Wayfarer

I left Hill City on highway 385 north to Deadwood, I had to see it for myself. The temperature was in the low 30s, a little cold for a ride but it wasn’t respectful to go in a car.

Dark smoke belched from the black mass of rubble, as a small breeze drifted the smokey haze into the pines. A police officer directed traffic while firetrucks and volunteer firemen hosed the area.

Thirty straight rally years did I enjoyed many a beer, burgers and conversations at this place. Now she’s gone.

I hope the Sugar Shack can make it back.

(publication dated 15-March-2024)

* * * 

by Jeffrey aka JJ Spain

with illustration by Wayfarer

He leaned hard right into the curve, pushing his hands down while keeping his head erect, doing 55 mph in a 35. He tried his best to force sparks to ignite from his exhaust pipes against the concrete on Highway 14 A, Boulder Canyon to Deadwood, SD. The Michelin tires held tight as the next curve approached. He rolled the throttle on, pushing to 70 mph on the last notorious bend before the straightaway. Sparks flew!

Yelling in exhilaration, he threw a fist in the air.

Glancing in his rearview mirror, red and blue flashing lights came into view.

Totally worth it.

(publication dated 10-January-2024)

* * *
Little Lady on the Road
by Jeffrey aka JJ Spain

with illustration by Wayfarer

Riding west on 44 out of Rapid, I pulled to the shoulder, parked the Harley to talk to a little girl. She was alone, maybe three years old.

She wasn’t dressed for walking the highway in December weather. She said her name was Abby as I picked her up, opened my jacket and held her close to my body.

I dialed 911. An officer was there in three minutes. A woman in a red Lexus was there in five.

She yelled, “Get your hands off her!”

“Ma’am, have you been drinking?” the officer asked.

Abby began to cry when CPS took her from me.

I did too.

(publication dated 08-January-2024)

* * *

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Reader Comments

Damn these are heart-felt passages. A sense of poetry without the rhyme ...

Anson Alexander
Long Creek, SC
Thursday, March 28, 2024
Editor Response Thanks Brother. Start writing...
Do I get a February slot brother? It has been a bad year end finish. Nowbit is the friggin rain again.

Torrance, CA
Wednesday, February 7, 2024
Editor Response Yes
Real short.


Bought bike.... crashed ..... sold it.

Thursday, January 11, 2024
Editor Response I've got it. It needs some work and the editorial staff will consider every word, before we edit and publish. This is fine art with careful consideration for everyone involved. Besides, what if we're attacked by NLM, Newbie Lives Matter.
Brushed the inch or so of fresh snow from the saddle of my ole girl. Kicked he to life and let warm up. Eased out onto the road and headed to the hospice where a good friend was in the last phase of his time.

Pulled into the parking lot shaking off the chill and walked to the counter to check in. Too late he had passed in the night. RIP my friend.

Tears turned to ice drops on the ride home.

Rhys Ralston
Wednesday, January 10, 2024
Editor Response Yo,

I've got it. It will run in the news this week and then be posted in the contest. good one.

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