I don't want to leave you all with the impression I'm some sort of desperado. I just had an exciting and colorful youth. Here's an account of some of that color.
Nothing will get a young man fired up quicker than a “just” cause. Nothing will get a young man in trouble quicker than getting fired up. And trouble doesn’t care about justice.
Almost 45 years ago I had a good motorsickle buddy that had recently moved his girlfriend in with him. Gail Lynn was a looker and my buddy was willing to do just about anything to keep her happy. I was unfortunate enough to owe him a favor.
Gail had just gone through an ugly divorce. Although the courts agreed that she should have possession of a metal-flake blue fire-breathing V8 1955 Ford pickup; her ex disagreed. He kept the truck beside a hay barn and behind several locked gates. The only access was through the drive that ran next to the house. Gail was convinced my buddy needed to help her get her truck. My buddy was convinced I owed him a big favor and should help out. I was convinced I needed to keep my pink butt out of the whole thing. We were at a stalemate for a while.
Gail had a snot-nosed little brother named Johnny Ray. Johnny was a misguided young man with good intentions. One afternoon, after we were all well lubricated with our favorite cheap suds, Johnny came up with a plan. He had intimate knowledge of the electrical characteristics of a 1955 Ford’s ignition switch. All he needed was a way to get back out to the farm and he would hot-wire the Ford and return it to his sister. Beer induced courage is such a self-centered dance partner. But the plan was hatched. All I had to do was deliver Johnny Ray to the site and he would do the rest.
Right..
Johnny and I took off on my scooter. The farm was about an hour away and we planned our arrival shortly before sundown. Johnny was armed with a couple of pieces of #10 copper and a pocket knife. I was armed with rapid pulse and misgivings. Although all I had to do was drop him off, I couldn’t help but think it wasn’t going to be that easy. We re-conned the area from a good distance. Johnny wanted to jump off and run up and take the truck. I couldn’t let him parachute into enemy fire without a plan. I studied the AO intently.
Although the Ford was protected by several gates (probably locked), it had free access to the pasture. From where we were at I could see a cattle-guard exit from the pasture to the road. And it was all hidden and downhill from the farmhouse. I instructed Johnny to sneak up to the back of the barn from the pasture, install the jumper on the ignition switch, let the truck roll down the hill a good ways before starting it, and then make our getaway. It would work. All the while I would turn my scooter around, get faced back the right way, and we would meet at the gas station a few miles up the black top. I needed gas and the Ford would probably need some too. Well, enlisted men never really do listen well, do they?
Johnny got the part right about sneaking up the back way. I guess he forgot about letting the truck roll down the hill a ways before he started it. I watched from about 300 yard away as Johnny climbed in the truck. The door stayed open and his head disappeared as he worked his magic on the ignition switch. Suddenly the Ford roared (and I mean ROARED) to life with straight pipes. It was in gear in a heartbeat and Johnny was flying toward the cattle-guard a sixty. I saw the back door of the farm house fly open and heard some yelling. It was time for me to de-ass my position. I was probably doing seventy when Johnny passed me about a mile down the road. I turned and looked over my shoulder and sure enough, we were being chased. Shee-ut.
One of the talents that got me to old age was being able to shake someone tailing me. From what I could tell we were being chased by another pickup. I’ll lose him quick…The next intersection I made a right, Johnny was well ahead of me. The chase vehicle will surely follow the ‘stolen’ truck. Nope. I remember wondering how I get myself into these scrapes. I didn’t dwell on it that long however. Getting myself OUT of a scrape was first and foremost on my mind. It took every bit of driving ability to stay ahead of whoever was chasing me. I remember thinking I knew how Butch and Sundance felt every time they would look back and wonder “who are those guys?”.
After about ten miles I started putting some distance between us. I could finally breathe, but I had a 2.2 gallon Triumph fuel tank that I knew was getting close to empty. And I really didn’t have the time to stop and pop the cap and look down into the tank. Time was of the essence. I ran like a scalded dog. Somewhere, as the sun started setting, I quit running stop signs. I started looking for a gas station that would be an easy in-easy out. I remember talking to God and promising I would change my ways if he would just gimme a little help. I’m pretty sure He knew better, but youth is so sincere when backed in a corner.
Well after dark I arrived back at HQ (my buddy’s place). No blue Ford. I assumed the worst and my platoon had taken a casualty. Oh well, I hope there’s some beer left..
Johnny Ray met me at the door with a big smile. He had stashed the truck out-of- sight at a friend’s place. The operation was a success. Gail had her truck and I didn’t owe anybody a favor. I guess everything was right with the world.
I eventually realized my “friends” probably weren’t the best. Although my proximity to their shenanigans could have gotten me into a world of trouble, I got lucky. Either that, or the Man upstairs took a shine to me. I moved on to bigger and better things. Johnny, however, didn’t fare so well.
I talked to my buddy about five years ago and he had seen Johnny, fresh out of prison (for the umpteenth time). A month or so ago he called and told me Johnny had passed away. I was a little taken because he was six or seven years younger than I. I guess his hard living caught up with him. The turn I made as we left the scene of the crime was surely THE “right” turn.
Ahhhh, great story.
Reminds me of so many adventures of my misspent youth!
The FIRST thing you do if you know your cheating ex-wife wants your beloved hot rod is disable it by removing the coil wire. Everybody knows that.
Gail's ex-husband must not have been too good in that department.
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Gail's ex
> Gail's ex-husband must not have been too good in that department.
Never met the man (thank God).
A disabled system came up in our "pre-op" meeting. However, we had intel that he had been driving it to work. This gave us the indication that it was probably serviceable as it sat. Foolhardy? Maybe. Lucky? Quite.
The part of the story that I left out was Gail's ex. He was a mean stirred up fella. I later heard she had a phone call from him. One of the topics was to "tell that guy on the motorcycle I'm gonna get him."
There were several of us that rode, so I wasn't real worried about it....He never got close enough to me to get a good visual. All he saw was a tailight and dust. :clap:
Jumpin Jesus, I've been remorse for 50 years for throwing eggs at cop cars on Halloween. (That didn't work out too good though. We were escorted promptly home in the egged cop car, got a whippin, and washed the Police Officers Emergency vehicle and have subsequently addressed "Cop's as "Officers" or "Deputy". That's really because one of my Son's is a "Cop")
Kinda pales in comparison to your escapades, you renegade! 😉
No eggs for Johnny-law, just pop-bottle rockets!
A few years prior to my previous story (before I had been blessed by the DMV) my brothers and I were the local "paperboys". As each of us would finish our routes of a morning, on bicycles, we'd meet at the corner gas station. It was summer and Bill's 66 was the only place open to get a soda before the sun came up.
My older brother Holden had hidden a few pop-bottle rockets in his paper bag and we were going to wake up the neighborhood in style after our soda-pop stop. There was a hole in the fence behind the gas station big enough to get our bikes through. That would be the perfect spot to shoot off a couple of rounds.
Holden stopped as we approached the fence and struck a match, with probably a whole dozen pop-bottle rockets in his mitts. You know the rest of the story...
He accidently lit them all, got scared and threw them all up in the air and hollered "run!". We did. Trouble was there was a black and white prowl car parked behind the Dairy-Mart. We knew he was there. He was always there watching for folks to run the stop sign in the pre-dawn darkness. Poor planning on Holden's part...
One of the rockets shot 4' above and parallel to the ground and headed straight for the cop car.
I don't know how close it was to him when it went off, but his red light lit up and we were gone like startled mice through the fence. Down the alley, through a couple of backyards, we were sure we had outran him. We eased back on the throttle and trotted home like nothing had happened.
As we laughed about our "close call" we turned the corner and looked down the hill. There was Johnny Law sitting in front of our house....and if you could squint, you could see Pops Cash in his bathrobe talking to the officer. I really couldn't see very well as my eyes were already welling up with tears...
Nowadays Pops would be in jail for performing his paternal duties. It was a slaughter...I couldn't sit down for a week. Pops made it double bad because none of us would crack and spill the beans about which one us was the trigger man.
The Cash boys always stuck together. 😉
So you are the one who stole my truck!!!
Not really, just kidding.
No eggs for Johnny-law, just pop-bottle rockets!
Too funny, my friend, too funny!!
You've got me thinking of M80's in the gas station, blasting caps, driving Tom's Corvair around with no seats using a broom to operate the accelerator and brake pedals, putting fish fertilizer on the steam radiators in high school, stopping elevators between floors and crawling around and finding access to the bank's vault, etc. Ah, those were the days!!
Richard Thompson~
Richard Thompson is one of my guitar heroes! :good: :music:
Richard Thompson~
Been a year or two since I listened to him. Love it.
"Now Nortons and Indians and Greeveses won't do
They don't have a soul like a Vincent 52
He reached for her hand and he slipped her the keys
He said I've got no further use for these
I see angels on Ariels in leather and chrome
Swooping down from heaven to carry me home
And he gave her one last kiss and died
And he gave her his Vincent to ride"
Pure poetry.
Although not quite as polished, Robert Earl Keen had to have Thompson's lyrics in mind when he did this "Americanized" version of a terminal love:
No eggs for Johnny-law, just pop-bottle rockets!
> One of the rockets shot 4' above and parallel to the ground and headed straight for the cop car.
Yeah..... I'm also guilty of a fairly similar crime when I was younger. Thinking I was in the clear with no cops around, I was lighting bottle rockets and then throwing them. I lit one, threw it and it took off a parallel to the ground. It cleared a dumpster and exploded. Up popped Officer Wayne's head.... Oh crap.... The bastard was hiding behind the dumpster spying on me the whole time. He came running towards me with a beat red face pointing his finger at me. "You did that on purpose!" he was yelled....
He eventually chilled out and I did finally convinced him that if I knew he was hiding behind the dumpster, I wouldn't of been lighting them in the first place. I made a deal with him to surrender my stash of bottle rockets, and he wouldn't write up a ticket. He probably took them home and lit them up for his own amusement....
Great stories!
Ah, to be young and foolish instead of old and foolish
Had a buddy with me as we cruised around the little town one night during our high school days. For some insane reason we conceived the idea of dropping by the high school, driving to the football field, driving from end zone to end zone and then heading off to somewhere else. Sounded like fun....and it was....until....there were headlights behind us about the time we crossed the 50-yard line. My buddy did his best to make out who was behind us and decided it was the town cop. We must have been doing close to 70 by the time we hit the north end zone and headed through the gate back onto the city streets. This way, that way, now that other way, screeching around corners with the "cop" in hot pursuit. Made it to the highway and shot out of town doing over a hundred. Still the "cop" was right on our tail. Then he passed us.
Turned out to be a fellow classmate with a car virtually identical to the one cop car owned by the little town. How do you spell relief? N-O-T-A-C-O-P
He told the story a bazillion times to anyone who would listen. Not only did he scare the bejesus out of a couple of his buddies, but, he drove through the football field, too.
