when the cops showed back up and asked us why we ran we simply stated, "Exercise."
That's awesome! I actually laughed for a while over that, I know I'll think about that a couple hours from now & get a few chuckles.
This story doesn't involve drinking, but nobody said it
had to involve drinking.
I got my 1st dirt bike when I was 16 & I rode it everywhere, even on the streets; where I wasn't supposed to. The bike had no lights & no lic plate of course & thus wasn't street legal. There were a few times the cops gave chase, but it was fairly easy to lose them in a couple of areas of town where there were no houses, just dirt trails & mesquite trees.
One day I was riding on the street (in broad daylight), minding my own biz, when a cop drives past in the other lane. I told myself "If he keeps going, I'll take the trails home & stay home the rest of the day, but if he turns around, I'm gone." Well of course he turned around & so the chase was on.
I tried my usual bit of hitting the trails in town, but this cop wasn't giving up. So I hit the street again & hauled ass. FYI: a Yamaha YZ 125 6 speed has some get up & go right off the showroom floor, but after I'd had it bored out for over-sized pistons, it would
REALLY move.
I hit some other trails & this cop stayed with me, I gave him the ride of his life & put a couple years worth of wear & tear on his patrol car, but he still wouldn't give up. So I pulled out my trump card. I grew up watching Evel Knievel & was jumping my bicycle over stuff from the age of 8; this naturally carried over into my motorcycle days. I wasn't too daring, but I'd jumped a few things on my dirtbike, enough so I knew what I could do.
I hauled ass through the trails & went screaming down the street, praying there would be no traffic when I got to the T intersection. Luck was with me as there was no traffic. I gunned it & hit the ditch on the other side of the road at an angle, using the opposite side of the ditch as a ramp & jumped the railroad tracks and a 3 strand barbed wire fence.
I continued on a little & then stopped to look back, there was a FAT cop talking on his radio. I laughed at him & continued on into the desert where he couldn't follow. I spent a few hours just having fun, killing time & waiting for the cops to give up the search. I was near a small airport & could see vehicles on the tarmac, driving slow; presumably searching for me, or so I thought.
I killed the engine so they couldn't hear it if they had their windows down & just waited. They left after abouit 10 mins & when I thought the coast was clear I tried to strt my bike, but it wouldn't start. No matter what I did, the damned thing wouldn't start. So I had to push it all the way home through the desert, across the golf course, across another ditch, down the street & through a residential neighborhood without being seen.
Finally got home & stashed my bike under a tarp in the carport, went in the house trying to look like nothing was out of the ordinary so my parents wouldn't know anything was going on & there at the kitchen table sat my Mom & Dad, talking & having coffee with a cop. Not the same fat cop who'd chased me earlier, but that's exactly what he was there about.
I suppose I got off lucky as I only got a couple of tickets out of the deal, but I figured I got away fair & square, and therefore didn't deserve those tickets. Of course the punishment I got from my parents was worse, they chained up my dirt bike & grounded me for 2 months.
That's one of the craziest things I did in my youth.
Regards, GF.
