I don't really have any news to share right now but I thought you might enjoy this story. Although no effort was made to verify it's validity Our family takes it for the truth.
I suppose I come by my love of speed
and motorcycles honestly enough. My daddy had an Indian that he used
to deliver for the drugstore with on weekdays And on the weekends he
and his buddies chased girls and raced their motorcycles. But this
story isn't about my daddy or me it's about my cousin Jacky. His
stories always sounded a bit like a truck driver story ( you ain't
gonna believe this stuff ) but his wife Sharon was always there to
nod her head grimly and knowingly. This story as related by Jacky of
his last ride.
Now Jacky had two vices in this
world. One was alcohol and the other was a motorcycle. Not just any
motorcycle though. It had to be a Harley. And it had to be full
dressed with fringe on the handlebars and saddlebags on the back.
Jacky was a bit of a tinkerer too so it was pretty near the fastest
thing in town. And at the very least it had to be faster than any of
the cops in town. On this night he had been out with some of his
cronies. To hear my aunt tell it they were all no good hoodlums. In
truth these guys were all hard working farmers who just happened to
have their own private beer joint out in the back pasture of one of
the guy's acreage. It was a pretty good deal because you would bring
your beer or whatever and put it in the fridge or a cooler and
everybody would proceed to get good and drunk and not bother anyone
but themselves. A stereo served as the juke box. Closing time was
whenever you ran out of booze or if you were the last one out.
This particular morning it was about
2:30 or so and Jacky had decided it was time to see if he could sneak
home without waking up Sharon. No small task because he was on his
Harley and the Lake pipes he had on this particular motorcycle had a
tone to them that would rattle the glass out of it's panes if you
weren't careful. Now the most direct route home would carry him right
past the sheriff's house. So he knew he was going to have to stick to
back roads. The best route would take him about a block and a half
from the house but he figured if he coasted the rest of the way he
could coast it right up into the driveway and no one would be the
wiser. The one thing he didn't figure on though was Roy the local
highway patrol was doing a late night shift watching for drunks on
their way home.
Enter Jacky. Jacky was never really
known for his sneaking ability because usually the only one he fooled
was himself. He was cruising about 80 mph when Roy first heard him.
At first Roy didn't know who it was and lit it up code 3 after the
nights bad guy. As soon as Jacky saw the lights he knew two things
immediately. First he could out run Roy. The second was he had only
done it sober once. He took off to the side roads and headed for the
highway to put some distance between the two of them. He figured he
would take Roy out on the highway and then cut back into town on the
back roads so as to lose him. The one thing Jacky couldn't know
however was that Roy had gotten a new car two days ago and had been
dying to try it out in a high speed pursuit but that the little farm
county he was assigned to rarely afforded that type of chase.
Jacky's Harley would hit 150 easy enough but Roy's new Fury was
supposed to hit over 165. So the race was on and after a bit when Roy
started to gain on Jacky he could tell it was him seeing the fringe
flapping in the extra lights Jacky had on his Harley. At this point
Roy cut the siren so as not to wake any more people than necessary
knowing that Jacky's pipes were doing quite well in that department
by themselves. Then Jacky turned off onto a side road knowing that if
he couldn't outrun a car he could darn sure out corner it by a long
shot. Taking side roads back he was about two miles from home when he
came up with a plot to outfox Roy. He would cut right and then left
onto dirt roads so as to create a dust cloud that Roy couldn't see
through zigzagging back to his house. As the plan was later explained
the way it was supposed to go was he would take a hard right go about
a a half of a mile, cut the engine and coast up his drive, grab the
cover he kept for the Harley, cover it up and go in the house. And as
I said that was the plan. That all went awry when he glanced down at
the speedo and saw he was going 110 coming up on that right turn. Now
he knew he had taken that turn before at nearly 90 and made it. But
he had been sober. And he was going 110. He had a decision to make
and in a hurry. He could either try to make the corner knowing that
he would have to lay it down to the pegs to make it. Or he could keep
going straight across a farmers field and a quarter mile or so he
would be on another dirt road and Roy wouldn't stand a chance in hell
of catching him then. So with his mind set on outrunning Roy he
decided to keep it straight. The thing Jacky couldn't know however
was that the field in question had been plowed and furrowed that day
with furrows about a foot tall and a two feet apart. So when he left
the road at somewhere over a hundred miles an hour he was standing on
the pegs like a cowboy in the stirrups. And at first he thought he
was going to be alright. Until he saw the furrows. Then he knew
better and went into damage control mode. As he hit the first furrow
it sent him up into the air and the words of Evel Kneivel came to
him. Stay with the bike. So as he came back down on the first of five
bounces that was what he was saying to himself. He had been somewhat
prepared for the first jump since he had been standing on the pegs.
But the first one took all of that away and on the down side of the
second jump it pushed the saddle up into his testicles and he began
to have doubts about the sanity of Evil's words. Never the less he
stayed with the motorcycle. But after the third time with it crushing
his groin even worse he said to hell with the motorcycle, let it fend
for itself and he let go. He stayed with the bike for two more jumps
before it threw him and he wound up wrapped around a telephone pole
out in the middle of the field. The wind had been knocked out of him
and he appeared dead. Roy came running up and stumbled down and began
crying because their rivalry had always been in good fun. He said “
Damn it Jacky all I was gonna do was give you a ticket.” and
that's when Jacky started to get his breath back and croaked “ If
you'll get me in the back of that car and take me to the hospital you
can write the whole #@! book at me. “
After Sharon got to the hospital and
was sure he wasn't going to die she swore to Roy and Jacky that he
would never ride again if he wanted to stay married to her. Many
years later when I was visiting him and he related this story he
asked me to come outside. As we went out I saw a Harley sitting in
the driveway. It was solid white with white saddlebags, lots of
fringe and lots of lights. He had gone to an ag auction about 50
miles away to buy a tractor. Sharon hadn't gone so when he saw this
Harley he figured why not. He could have one of the hands drive the
pickup back and he could ride the Harley. What he didn't know was one
of the hands had called Sharon and by the time the auction was over
she was there and told him he could have the thing but it was going
to have to go home on a wrecker. So to add insult to injury he had to
hire a flatbed wrecker to take it back home.
And so Jacky never rode again.
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