Roadside-Tales.com
Read to Live, Live to Read - Handcrafted, Custom Built Motorcycle Fiction
Stories
A Quad, a Chainsaw, Lots of Horses and...
The beautiful Breton countryside.
What more could you want? It's a schoolboy dream.
Although, to be honest, my schoolboy dreams were more about being trapped in an elevator with Kylie Mynogue.
Yes, I have to admit that that was a common recurring schoolboy dream of mine.
But, enough of that...
These are a few of my short stories.
Generally snippets of those that have already been published by Back Street Heroes
Although, there may be a few FREE complete short stories mixed in as well.
Death at the Crossroads
I moved to France in the winter of 2002.
To start with I didn’t have much money and was living in a small caravan.
That first winter was cold.
I wrote this story in my head one morning whilst walking into the village to buy a stick of bread.
I started with the phrase... “Death sat on his bike and waited for me at the crossroads.”By the time I had walked to the village, bought my baguette, had a coffee and a chat and then walked back I had the start of the story. A few days later it was finished.
It was the first story that I wrote in France and I’ll always have a soft spot in my heart for it.
Death at the Crossroads
Death sat on his bike and waited for me at the crossroads.
I pulled up next to him and killed the engine. Close but not too close. I would miss the bike. She and I had done lots of good miles together; but then, there were lots of things that I would miss.
Published by Back Street Heroes... Back Street Heroes - April 2026
The Prodigal Son
In October 2005 I heard that my mother was ill.
I was (and still am), living in France and, to be honest, didn't have the money for a trip home.
I suppose that this must have been playing on my mind. I spent a lot of time that Autumn and Winter writing. This is one of the stories I wrote.
The story came easily enough and I think that it was because I emphasised with the main character.
When I was finished I realised that it was really just the first chapter of a three or four chapter novella. Although complete in itself, the story seemed to deserve more.
My mother got better, I went back to England for a visit the following year.
I live in Brittany and not the Vendee.
I have never ridden a BMW motorbike.
The Prodigal Son
I parked the bike in the drive and walked slowly up the path to the front door. I knocked and waited. Eventually the door opened and I was silently ushered through the hall and into the kitchen.
My parents' house hadn't changed in all the time I'd been away.
Published by Back Street Heroes... Back Street Heroes - May 2026
Eating Babies
In late 2006 I took a couple of days off work to catch up on a few odd jobs around the house.
The chores didn't take long and I spent the rest of the time writing.
This is the result.
I'm not really sure where it came from. I do know that I shall write more about this small community struggling to survive in the aftermath of the war.
If, for no other reason than to find out for myself how things work out.
Eating Babies
We saw the bike long before we heard it. The snow that lay thick on the frozen ground muffled most far off sounds and so we had scouts posted; two hours on and then two hours off. That was all that they could take in the cold.
It was Peter who spotted the bike. Only ten years old, he was becoming the very image of his father. He raised the alarm and Marion woke me up.
Published by Back Street Heroes... Back Street Heroes - June 2026
The Waiting Room
This story could have been oh so true.
It was inspired by a silly Saturday morning, a new motorbike and a girl in a red sports car.
There was a lorry, I was overtaking the sports car and yes, there was a lane where there shouldn’t have been one - if there hadn't been, I wouldn't be writing this now.
And, as for the barman - well, there is this strange pub that I know...
This is so almost a true story.
The Waiting Room
Joe sat alone in the bar and waited. Far off, in the distance, he could hear a car approaching; its un-muffled pipes singing a song of hell. There was still time left though; time left but nothing left to do.
He had been riding since dawn. With neither destination nor schedule he was happy to be alone on the road, free at last.
The last few months had been hell, a drunken hell, filled with misery and pain. But it was over. He had survived and he was grateful that those days were behind him and all in the past.
Published by Back Street Heroes... Back Street Heroes - July 2026
Summer Holiday
A FREE story (complete) about a group of biker friends who find themselves on holiday in Brittany, France when a zombie apocalypse starts.
Zombies, motorbikes, sunshine and wine; what more could you want...
Summer Holiday is, in a way, a typical short story for me.
It has a beginning, a middle but, as often happens, I don't quite put in an ending.
That way I can always come back to it at a later date and expand on it in another story.
I like that as, if I've gone to the trouble of getting to know my characters (and, for me they're real people), I don't have to say good bye to them.
Anyway, here goes...
A few years ago Jill, my ex and I were having a hard time of things. We were arguing over petty issues and, like a child, I would always storm off and sneak away to a local bar where I would have a beer or two and chain smoke forbidden cigarettes.
I had recently given up smoking you see; which was probably why I was so irritable. One of the reasons anyway; there was a teenaged stepson who was at that ‘Difficult Age’ and who didn’t really want a stepdad; definitely not one like me. Even though I thought I’d tried my hardest – thought I’d done my best – it wasn’t good enough and that certainly that didn’t help.
So, I’d go and escape to the bar, drink my beer, smoke some cigarettes and then wash my hands and face and spray deodorant on my clothes to hide the fact.
And I’d do a bit of writing whilst I was there.
Jill obviously knew that I’d been smoking but she didn’t say anything; preferring to save it up for the next argument; the one that was always just around the corner.
And, at that time, there were plenty of corners in our lives.
Eventually we split up, although we did stay sort of friends for a few years afterwards.
Recently I was tidying up some old documents and found the manuscript for this story.
I decided to finish it. There was no plot and no real reason for the story. It was just about a bunch of friends, all who enjoyed riding motorbikes, all just trying to survive a zombie apocalypse in south west Brittany, France.
Although it is a short story in itself, I have a feeling that, one day, there might be a chapter two and maybe even, a chapter three.
As I said at the start...
We’ll see.
Summer Holiday
I was riding slowly down the road past St. Martin sur Ouest when I saw her.
She was wearing a light blue cotton dress that had once been pretty.
Indeed, she had probably once been pretty too.
She was young; although that was hard to tell these days. Perhaps eighteen or twenty – difficult to say for sure.
She was grazing on the corpse of a dead cow in the middle of the road.
Another two grunts were coming out of the woods and approaching her; they could smell death and flesh from over a mile away.
A little part of me wanted to stop and see what would happen but a bigger part, the sensible part, decided to get back to the farm and warn the others.
After all, when you’ve seen one bunch of grunts fight over a pile of putrid cow’s flesh, you don’t really need to see it again.
Not if you wanted to sleep at night, that is.
Of course...
There are plenty more stories just waiting to see the light of day.
Over 40 at the last count.
Some of those will, inevitably, appear in a collection of unpublished stories.
The provisional title for this will be... Different Roads
I'll let you know when it is done.
All the best