My true 1972 Dirt Bike story that I scribed for a college writing assignment...
There came a young rider from across the boarder to a beach in
Ensenada where the sand is smooth as glass and moist as slush... high
in the sky rest the sun... the rider goes forward in the ultimate
solitude known as "spinning donuts"... dozens and dozens of feet up
donuts are a source of never ending joy until... the rider spots a
single ray of sun glint off a chrome plated 45 caliber pistol... there
stands a tall figure of a man holding the pistol with both hands...
the man is a hired security guard... he has nothing to do but to
protect the beach... acres and acres of sand perfect for a rider to
play on... the man is mad and the rider's fate hangs in the moment...
the rider gives up... it's the code of the west... he stops to face
the man and the 45... the hammer is cocked... there's a finger on the
trigger... the hands are sweaty... the arms are protruded... the face
of the man is mad... intruder alert on his protected beach... a
heavily accented voice bring forth the charges... "you drive crazy"...
this could be it for the rider... there are no places to run... no
places to hide on an lonely beach in Mexico... the rider gestures with
raised arms "don't shoot me"... the barrel of the chrome 45 comes
closer... the rider moves his head to the left... the barrel pursues
left... the rider moves his head to the right... the barrel pursues
right... The dialogue is one sided... the rider swears to leave this
man's beach at once and shall never return as long as he lives... the
man waves the barrel in the only direction the rider should go... the
rider turns his back and starts the his trusty Husky... the engine
answers on the first kick... the staccato cadence of the two stroke
engine is all he hears roosting the sand but it's the fear of the
first crack of a zipping bullet that keeps the throttle pinned...
My Trusty Husky Ensenada Mexico