MOTORCYCLE ESCAPADES

          Kinda funny how we sometimes perceive ourselves. When I was much younger, my voice had barely changed and my whiskers were like peach fuzz, I used to think of myself as the quiet sort - not much of a talker, more of a listener, unless of course I'd been drinking beer with my buddies for about 10 hours straight, because then, I was a run-away-motor-mouth, stand on a table wearing a lampshade on my head and kick up my heels till the music died kinda guy. 
          In those devil-may-care days, I drove a motorcycle and one hot summer evening at the Horseshoe Cafe, I found myself sitting next to a beautiful strawberry-blonde chick named Cherry. I had a huge crush on her and I could scarce believe my ears when she asked me to take her for a ride on my bike. Funny how some memories stand out even when so many years have passed by. Yep, Cherry and our moonlit stroll as I pushed my motorcycle through the PNE grounds back to the Horseshoe Cafe on the corner of Renfrew and Hastings in Vancouver, BC still stands out as a pleasant memory. Can you believe it? To this day, I can't believe my two-wheeled-wonder actually ran out of gas. There I was huffing and puffing, sweating like an overfed two ton sumo wrestler, while pushing that murder-cycle up a gradual incline. Not sure if my heart was throbbing like a big drum because of the heavy motorcycle or I was all alone with Cherry. I could tell she liked me because of the way she looked at me but when she said, "I could really go for you, except you're too crazy," my heart slid out of my chest and thumped on the ground. Not sure if the reality of what she said or maybe it was a little later on, when my racetrack friends told me they were taking bets on how soon I was going to be killed on my motorcycle that it finally dawned on me that I was anything but a quiet kinda guy. 

          I wouldn't say I was a wild guy on a motorcycle, which I drove for 30 years. To me, it seemed more like creative driving because it takes your whole body to zip about on a bike. Of course, I had my share of accidents but nothing terribly serious: cuts, scrapes, bruises and pavement burns, the usual things. I think bike-riders tend to naturally speed and I was chased by the cops twice but not for speeding.  I'd never try to outrun them because that's a fool's game. However, out-maneuvering them had possibilities, which is what I tried doing. 
       I'd been drinking a fair amount each time and the first encounter with the cops was when I had a racetrack buddy sitting on my gas tank and another sitting behind me. We were heading down to Exhibition Park, which is part of the PNE, where we all worked as grooms. Seemed we'd no sooner left the Legion parking lot on Hastings St., when I heard a, siren blaring. Luckily the traffic lights about a half a block away were in my favour and I was able to make a rather speedy sharp left turn at Refrew St., jumped the sidewalk and shot through the PNE turnstiles; cop cars don't fit through turnstiles and we got clean away. 

               The second time took place in Nanaimo, BC. A friend of mine and I had been drinking with two gorgeous women in a bar who wanted to go dancing at a club located only a half a block away. Why would I drive a half a block one might ask? Believe me, it wasn't my idea, it was the well-endowed, bosom-busting-bra, dressed in a skin-tight leopard skin jump-suit blonde's idea; she wanted a ride on my bike. Well...what could go wrong in only a half a block? As I popped the clutch, opened the throttle and was making a U-turn downtown, I glanced in my mirror and sure enough, there was a cop car bearing down on me; no lights or siren but in pursuit . The blonde was having a great time, she was thrilled and screaming at the top of her lungs as we roared past the club, jumped the sidewalk and zipped through a breezeway between two brick buildings that were only inches away from the tips of my handlebars. Cop cars don't fit through narrow breezeways.

          I thought I had out-foxed them but I'd no sooner parked the bike at the back of one of the buildings when the cops wheeled down the alley and caught me. Luckily, I hadn't pulled the full opened beer from my black leather motorcycle jacket yet because that would have added to my problem. Now, I'd been pulled over before and I always made a point of being polite; getting belligerent doesn't get far, only makes matters worse. But that blonde chick...man! She just wouldn't shut up! She was calling them nasty names, while I'm rolling my eyes thinking for sure I'm going to jail. While I was telling her to shut her gob, the cop was writing out a ticket and then tells me it's for not wearing a helmet. I couldn't believe my luck as I said to him, "Thanks. You and I know you could have got me for a lot more than that." He just smiled up at me because he probably knew that leopard skin clad beauty was a handful of trouble; and she was! Yeah, that wild, crazy blonde, while we were walking to the club, jumped out in front of a slow-moving convertible and sat on the hood. While I was prying her high heels out of the car's grill, my friend and the other chick came over laughing their heads off. However, my friend soon stopped laughing when I told him I was outta here, he couldn't believe we were dumping two hot women. But being a card-player, I knew the odds were stacked against me at this point; it was time to cut my losses. Hmm, guess I'm not that quiet of a guy after all...cheers, eh!