First Time

[Jimway]

Gonna throw this one out there in memory of Ranger Dave. Boating season is nearly upon us again. In fact, I've gotten into a little project that I took down to the boat ramp to see if it would repel water after a whole lot of modification. Having learned from getting water above the hull and not underneath the hull, this time I kept the vessel in the water but securely on the trailer for awhile before I launched it. This might be an opportune moment to remind some of us about locating the bilge plug before getting underway for the first trip this season. Better check that battery too. In fact, one might want to fire up the machine in the privacy of the driveway at home versus the top of the boat ramp, if you know what I mean. Don't forget your personal floatation stuff and check the tires on the trailer too. Heck, while your at it, look over the trailer frame too. If you can see daylight through any of those rusty spots, you are probably going to want to look even closer. This kind of inspection will help preclude the boat and trailer passing you on the freeway or launching itself onto its own vacation without you. If I were you I would confirm that the bilge pump actually functions. Humming alone, when you flip the switch or twist the wires together, as the case may be, does not mean that it will pump water when the need might arise. If you can, take a small amount of your favorite beverage and pour out a libation once out on the pond, crick, creek, river, lake, sound, or ocean, whichever the case may be, for our brothers that have beaten us to the smooth waters above the clouds. We knew they were fast but didn't realize just how fast they could go. There's a first time for some of us, maybe not all of us, but that's alright. I remember mine like it was yesterday. I was young. It wasn't too long after my broken bones had healed from the home made airplane launch from the barn but before the burned patch at the crash site had begun to turn green again. I had very recently been struck down with a frightening affliction and affection for one Mrs Jim. She wasn't just the apple of my eye, she was the whole basket of fruit. Right up until then I pondered that girls were of another species entirely and were to be avoided if possible. I mean, think about it, they didn't fish, hunt, shoot, camp out, climb trees, or work on cars or trucks. Honestly.

 

[Jimway]

Of all of the firsts in a persons life, one that usually takes place sometime in one's teenage years stands out above all of the rest. It is a first that changes your life forever and introduces you to an experience more awesome and grand and a bit scarier too than what you might have ever imagined. It was a momentous and fantastic and absolutely wondrous occasion, at least it was for me. It came early to me as I wasn't quite into my teenage years yet. Many of the neighbors lost good money betting on the premise that I would ever make my teenage years. I had been in the clandestine employ of my black sheep of the family (preceding me) Uncle Si. Not long after he had been the victim of lead poisoning immediately after being found in the company of one of the townspeople's wife under less than ideal conditions, Si remarkably had managed to pull thru and began his own distillery. He hollowed out a room directly under the great barn and went into business. Business was good, as they say. I had rescued a 32 Ford pickup from a client who owned an auto wrecking yard. I used it innocently during the day for work around the farm. She had a flathead v8 and dual exhaust and was painted flat black. She had some helper springs in the back axle so she could safely carry her loads of liquid fortifier to various drop off destinations throughout the nearby counties. One would usually make use of the night to keep away from prying eyes, usually, but not always. Following successful deliveries, one would receive one's share of the profits. I learned early on to put profit back into the business as I was now running a delivery operation of my own. The truck got new brakes and tires and the whole bit. Later she had a Mercury engine, overdrive and even hydraulic oversize brakes. The only problem I was having was one of forward terminal velocity. She was good for 80 to 85 mph on the flat with no headwind. Loaded down with 800 to a 1000 lbs of alcohol, she had to work like hell to get over the pass. The real problems would rear up if one was being followed by the local Sheriff. There were Government boys that would try to pinch you too if they could but they didn't know any of the back roads like the Sheriff did. The Sheriffs car could match that 80 to 85 mph on a straightaway so it might become necessary to "take em out into the woods" onto logging roads and elk trails and even the occasional creek if the situation warranted it. I became adept at flat tracking that old pickup along many a logging road at full speed, a talent that went wholly unappreciated by most of the towns folk. The Sheriffs nerve only went so far and one could get out of sight in just a few minutes.

 

[karzrus]

Steve Earl, Copperhead road, is one of my favourite songs.

 

[Jimway]

Funny you should mention that song because part of the 'First time' involved what we used to call Giggle Smoke or Goof Butts or even Muggle. Later on it became Grass or Weed or lots of other names. It didn't get outlawed till the late thirties if I remember correctly. I never had much use for it other than delivery fees. It was kind of a counter culture thing back in the day. Old Uncle Si had become aware of it and was promoting its qualities. Of course, it had to be procured and delivered. One didn't need a truck to do this. A motorcycle was perfect for the job. With saddle bags and a canvas backpack one could transport quite easily. It smelled like you had been sprayed by a skunk though. Oh what a motorcycle it was. It was kind of sky blue with cream colored rims. It proudly said Henderson right there on either side of the long gas tank. It had four cylinders and two exhaust pipes sticking out the back. Hand shifter on the left side of the gas tank with a second shifter for reverse. Suicide clutch. We removed the seat and installed a cushion where the seat had been. This modification lowered the rider down quite a bit versus the stock seat and brought short legs into contact with the roadway. We lowered the headlight also so that the rider could tuck himself down onto the machine and offer up a streamlined appearance. I think there was an x on the front fender where it also said Excelsior. There was an amp meter and an oil pressure gauge along with a light switch mounted on the top of the fuel tank. There was also a big speedometer up there that was driven by a cable from the rear wheel. I felt like an outlaw riding out from the latest bank heist or train stickup. It was glorious. You had a foot clutch on the left. you pulled back on the shifter and let out that pedal and away you went. You could push the shifter all of the way forward and that was high gear. The torque and smoothness of that big four cylinder engine could allow you to accelerate from an idle in high gear. This bike was a 'special' so it had different pistons and cylinders and some other stuff. I think it made 45 hp. What it could do with very little effort was exceed 100 mph as I found out later. And so, my 'first time' over 100 mph happened on that very bike.

 

[Jimway]

What I had to do that day was run up to a little mountain town in the next county which had a small landing strip. I loaded up my saddlebags and canvas backpack with the latest shipment and then would hi tail it back to Uncle Si's place. It was a very quiet landing strip even though it was only three blocks off of the main highway. A plane could come and go as they please. Your only concern would be a herd of deer or elk traversing the runway. It was maybe 50 miles back to my little mountain town. Piece of cake. I headed off at a normal pace, not wanting to draw attention. I thought I cut a rather dashing appearance in Uncle Si's brown bomber jacket and leather aviator helmet. I had been trying to cultivate a dashing carefree playboy image with the girls in town. It was a beautiful day and I was just humming along the highway there taking in the sights and smells. Just as I was coming into the next town along the highway I caught a glimpse of the front end of patrol car parked behind a big billboard sign on my side of the roadway. I snapped out of my daydream and focused on the speedometer on the gas tank. It read 70 mph. Drat, I thought as I spied the 35 mph limit through town. I rolled off the throttle. As I passed the patrol car I recognized it was a State Patrol. The light on top was already flashing. A string of oaths popped out of my mouth as I twisted on the throttle. I could feel the adrenaline boost. I tucked down tight to the bike, my face nearly touching that speedometer. The Henderson Specials were set up for Police work. The speedometer had a red tell tail arrow that would record the highest speed attained during a trip. There was no rear suspension on the frame, what we call a hardtail today. The seat had springs as did the front forks. I shot a quick glance back and saw that patrol car. I had to look back because the bike had no rear view mirror. An uncomfortable vision of me wearing black striped white prison coveralls and standing in a cell flashed in my brain. I twisted the throttle as far as it would go. I felt like God himself had reached down and propelled me down the straightaway. The needle went past 100 mph. I headed up into the pass, wide open. I passed a car here, a truck there. some on the right some on the left. I could hear the engine of the patrol car in my ear the whole time. I was so busy trying to keep control of that hurtling machine that I hadn't looked back since that first glance.