Welcome to the Borderlands
- Chapter 34 -
My M109 Meets My Camouflage Shirt
“When I die I want to meet God and say, what the Hell were you thinking…like what were you thinking?” -Indian Larry from an episode of Discovery Channel’s television series THE GREAT BIKER BUILD-OFF
“I see the angel in the marble and carve until I set him free…Every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it.” -Michelangelo
“I get some ideas of kind of what I want to do then whatever it takes to see it through; that’s the way I do it. I treat it like sculpture. I like to see the frame up there and then let it flow; let it happen, whatever comes natural. When you hear the bike breathe its first breath that’s probably the biggest reward…every bike is like a child or work of art, like a creation that goes from dream to reality.” -Kendall Johnson of KENDALL JOHNSON CUSTOMS from an episode of Discovery Channel’s television series THE GREAT BIKER BUILD-OFF
“Roll with the mystery; life’s uncertain. Just be comfortable with that…why fight it?” -Indian Larry from an episode of Discovery Channel’s television series THE GREAT BIKER BUILD-OFF
“I have more faith in you than you have in you.” -Paul Cox to Robert Pradke from an episode of Discovery Channel’s television series THE GREAT BIKER BUILD-OFF and MATTHEW 14:31
“Trust in God…Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord…No Fear…” -TATTOOED ‘backwards’ on Indian Larry’s neck so he could read it in the mirror.
“I see the angel in the marble and carve until I set him free…Every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it.” -Michelangelo
“I get some ideas of kind of what I want to do then whatever it takes to see it through; that’s the way I do it. I treat it like sculpture. I like to see the frame up there and then let it flow; let it happen, whatever comes natural. When you hear the bike breathe its first breath that’s probably the biggest reward…every bike is like a child or work of art, like a creation that goes from dream to reality.” -Kendall Johnson of KENDALL JOHNSON CUSTOMS from an episode of Discovery Channel’s television series THE GREAT BIKER BUILD-OFF
“Roll with the mystery; life’s uncertain. Just be comfortable with that…why fight it?” -Indian Larry from an episode of Discovery Channel’s television series THE GREAT BIKER BUILD-OFF
“I have more faith in you than you have in you.” -Paul Cox to Robert Pradke from an episode of Discovery Channel’s television series THE GREAT BIKER BUILD-OFF and MATTHEW 14:31
“Trust in God…Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord…No Fear…” -TATTOOED ‘backwards’ on Indian Larry’s neck so he could read it in the mirror.
Larry had a camouflage shirt identical to mine and wore it when he rode the Yamaha Raider
I had a camouflage shirt identical to Larry’s and wore it when I rode the Suzuki M109
The River Inn was still open. 2-for-1 beer was still being served and a good size crowd was still inside. The brown Plymouth had parked ahead of us and You-know-who was just getting out the driver’s side. You-know-who, who’d asked us to call him Lou when in the Borderlands, Larry, Hilts and I gathered together on the River Inn’s porch. We entered the front door a few seconds later.
Charon, Medea and Kendall were already inside and had captured a large table in the back. And by the sound of the band’s rendition of “Believe Me” by The Royal Teens Mr. “Thank-you-thank-you-very-much” was playing lead guitar.
“God,” said Lou, still wearing his rumpled brown raincoat as he led us across the dance floor just beyond the fireplace to the back of the room where Charon, Medea and Kendall were seated, “I realeee do miss Doo Wop music.”
People parted before Lou like he was eight feet tall and his face had gotten a realeee puckered look when he said ‘God’…and on the wall where our shadows were being cast by the fire in the fireplace I noticed Lou’s shadow realeee was about eight feet tall and the outline of his raincoat had the outline of some realeee rumpled wings…just saying.
“My treat,” said Lou a.k.a. You-know-who, “I’ve been coming here so often they’ve let me run a tab.”
To me Lou still looked like a harmless version of Peter Falk’s TV character “Columbo” and so it was easy to forget the huge shadow he’d cast onto the River Inn’s wall. However Charon, judging from how quickly he rose to his feet, could realeee see what had made the shadow.
“Relax,” said Lou to Charon. “I’m just here for the music and the 2-for-1 beer. Can’t get cold beer where I live; you remember what it was like. No harmony there either.”
Surprisingly nothing else was said by our group until all of us were seated and the waitress came to the table.
“Lou, Lou, Lou…long time…good to see ya;” said the waitress in descending tones of Lou, “here for the 2-for-1?”
“Rounds are,” replied Lou, “on me…I’m buying.”
“Make sure,” laughed Charon, “his money’s good.”
“You’re not,” returned Lou, “trying to provoke me?”
“Not over 2-for-1 beer;” interrupted Kendall, “2-for-1 beer time is off-limits for nothing but drinking 2-for-1 beer.”
“Off-limits for everything but this question,” said Lou, “and then I’ll just drink and mull.”
“What’s,” Hilts asked, “the question?”
“When you see Ma n’ Pa, and you’ll be seeing them soon;” and Lou was looking directly at Hilts as if he were the only one in the room, “ask them to ask HIM if redemption (and this time Lou’s face realeee puckered when he said HIM) is still on the table?”
“Ma n’ Pa…offer…HIM,” said Medea, “…redemption?”
“An old offer; nothing to worry your pretty head about,” answered Lou. “Who’s up for another round of 2-for-1?”
“Me,” Kendall raised both hands as if he were seconding a motion for both mugs of beer.
Even Charon raised his hand.
And so the evening, or what was left of it, went on without any more seriousness; with lots of River Inn Rock n’ Roll and Doo Wop taking up the time. I even got to dance with a tall freckled face lady named Janet…and she smelled like orange blossoms but I can’t remember her last name. And did I say she smelled like freckles and orange blossoms…and then Larry was shaking me awake and the sun was up and everyone else was gone.
“Hey sleepy head,” said Larry still shaking me, “morning’s moving on and so should we.”
“Where’d they…?”
“They all left awhile ago…said to let you sleep.”
But for me and Larry the River Inn was empty; everyone was gone. Even the parking lot was empty except for the Yamaha Raider and another bike that looked familiar. No staff probably meant no coffee.
“You better like your coffee black,” said Larry who must’ve been a mind reader?
By ‘black’ Larry meant he’d found a bag of Kate’s ‘Special Blend’ (Kate made a special blend of coffee at Spanky’s Café) and brewed it up. Follow that by me drinking two large cups and I was wide awake.
“After Lou left and you’d,” Larry continued, “dozed off Hilts and Charon came up with a plan. But it meant they had to leave. Kendall said he’d drive Medea back to Spanky’s Cafe and give Kate an update and I said we’d do our part.”
“Our part,” I interrupted, “what’s our part?”
“Relax; our part’s pretty straight forward and by straight I mean our ride’s pretty much a straight run across the Borderlands. We’ve a ways to go and only the day to do it. Hilts even made you something that’ll make the ride faster.”
“Faster?”
“The Yamaha Raider has long legs, the Yamaha SCR950 not so much. Hilts took the SCR950 and left in its place a Suzuki M109. You’ll be riding the M109. He said the roads we’d be riding were all straight and the SCR950 would’ve held us back. He said he’d be putting the SCR to better use.”
The SCR950’s duel-sport versatility would be missed but with the route Larry described what we needed were bikes that would error on the side of top speed. Both the M109 and the Raider could run all day in or near the triple digits.
“I’m surprised Hilts could conjure up anything. He’s been stretched thin with all he’s been doing?”
“I’m surprised too. But Medea,” laughed Larry, “got him to drink nearly a pot of ‘Kate’s Special Blend’ of coffee. She said a pot of Kate’s coffee was better than a bottle of them ‘blue’ pills. Judging from Medea’s smile after coming back from helping Hilts conjure the M109 the blend worked. Lou was so impressed he had some himself. Oh, and Hilts upgraded our weapons and ammo; gave us a couple of flares too.”
“Does he think we’ll run into trouble?”
“He said no; he said where we’re riding is nothing but abandoned elevated highway over miles of ruins. He said as long as we didn’t get off the highway we’d be ok.”
Charon, Medea and Kendall were already inside and had captured a large table in the back. And by the sound of the band’s rendition of “Believe Me” by The Royal Teens Mr. “Thank-you-thank-you-very-much” was playing lead guitar.
“God,” said Lou, still wearing his rumpled brown raincoat as he led us across the dance floor just beyond the fireplace to the back of the room where Charon, Medea and Kendall were seated, “I realeee do miss Doo Wop music.”
People parted before Lou like he was eight feet tall and his face had gotten a realeee puckered look when he said ‘God’…and on the wall where our shadows were being cast by the fire in the fireplace I noticed Lou’s shadow realeee was about eight feet tall and the outline of his raincoat had the outline of some realeee rumpled wings…just saying.
“My treat,” said Lou a.k.a. You-know-who, “I’ve been coming here so often they’ve let me run a tab.”
To me Lou still looked like a harmless version of Peter Falk’s TV character “Columbo” and so it was easy to forget the huge shadow he’d cast onto the River Inn’s wall. However Charon, judging from how quickly he rose to his feet, could realeee see what had made the shadow.
“Relax,” said Lou to Charon. “I’m just here for the music and the 2-for-1 beer. Can’t get cold beer where I live; you remember what it was like. No harmony there either.”
Surprisingly nothing else was said by our group until all of us were seated and the waitress came to the table.
“Lou, Lou, Lou…long time…good to see ya;” said the waitress in descending tones of Lou, “here for the 2-for-1?”
“Rounds are,” replied Lou, “on me…I’m buying.”
“Make sure,” laughed Charon, “his money’s good.”
“You’re not,” returned Lou, “trying to provoke me?”
“Not over 2-for-1 beer;” interrupted Kendall, “2-for-1 beer time is off-limits for nothing but drinking 2-for-1 beer.”
“Off-limits for everything but this question,” said Lou, “and then I’ll just drink and mull.”
“What’s,” Hilts asked, “the question?”
“When you see Ma n’ Pa, and you’ll be seeing them soon;” and Lou was looking directly at Hilts as if he were the only one in the room, “ask them to ask HIM if redemption (and this time Lou’s face realeee puckered when he said HIM) is still on the table?”
“Ma n’ Pa…offer…HIM,” said Medea, “…redemption?”
“An old offer; nothing to worry your pretty head about,” answered Lou. “Who’s up for another round of 2-for-1?”
“Me,” Kendall raised both hands as if he were seconding a motion for both mugs of beer.
Even Charon raised his hand.
And so the evening, or what was left of it, went on without any more seriousness; with lots of River Inn Rock n’ Roll and Doo Wop taking up the time. I even got to dance with a tall freckled face lady named Janet…and she smelled like orange blossoms but I can’t remember her last name. And did I say she smelled like freckles and orange blossoms…and then Larry was shaking me awake and the sun was up and everyone else was gone.
“Hey sleepy head,” said Larry still shaking me, “morning’s moving on and so should we.”
“Where’d they…?”
“They all left awhile ago…said to let you sleep.”
But for me and Larry the River Inn was empty; everyone was gone. Even the parking lot was empty except for the Yamaha Raider and another bike that looked familiar. No staff probably meant no coffee.
“You better like your coffee black,” said Larry who must’ve been a mind reader?
By ‘black’ Larry meant he’d found a bag of Kate’s ‘Special Blend’ (Kate made a special blend of coffee at Spanky’s Café) and brewed it up. Follow that by me drinking two large cups and I was wide awake.
“After Lou left and you’d,” Larry continued, “dozed off Hilts and Charon came up with a plan. But it meant they had to leave. Kendall said he’d drive Medea back to Spanky’s Cafe and give Kate an update and I said we’d do our part.”
“Our part,” I interrupted, “what’s our part?”
“Relax; our part’s pretty straight forward and by straight I mean our ride’s pretty much a straight run across the Borderlands. We’ve a ways to go and only the day to do it. Hilts even made you something that’ll make the ride faster.”
“Faster?”
“The Yamaha Raider has long legs, the Yamaha SCR950 not so much. Hilts took the SCR950 and left in its place a Suzuki M109. You’ll be riding the M109. He said the roads we’d be riding were all straight and the SCR950 would’ve held us back. He said he’d be putting the SCR to better use.”
The SCR950’s duel-sport versatility would be missed but with the route Larry described what we needed were bikes that would error on the side of top speed. Both the M109 and the Raider could run all day in or near the triple digits.
“I’m surprised Hilts could conjure up anything. He’s been stretched thin with all he’s been doing?”
“I’m surprised too. But Medea,” laughed Larry, “got him to drink nearly a pot of ‘Kate’s Special Blend’ of coffee. She said a pot of Kate’s coffee was better than a bottle of them ‘blue’ pills. Judging from Medea’s smile after coming back from helping Hilts conjure the M109 the blend worked. Lou was so impressed he had some himself. Oh, and Hilts upgraded our weapons and ammo; gave us a couple of flares too.”
“Does he think we’ll run into trouble?”
“He said no; he said where we’re riding is nothing but abandoned elevated highway over miles of ruins. He said as long as we didn’t get off the highway we’d be ok.”
“Oh, and Hilts upgraded our weapons and ammo; gave us a couple of flares too.”
“He said to remember to wear our ‘green’ glasses when riding. He said the ‘yellow’ line we’d see on the road when wearing them would always be the direction to go.”
After a final cup of Kate’s coffee and remembering to wear his ‘green’ glasses Larry took no time taking the Raider and the lead. I followed on the M109. In less than a half hour we’d turned up and onto an elevated highway…minus traffic. Within a minute we were near triple digit speeds.
I couldn’t help thanking Hilts for reclaiming the SCR950 and leaving me the M109. The Yamaha SCR950’s a great bike, perfect for weaving your way through and around sharp turns, city streets and dirt roads. However it would have been out of its element on this Borderland version of a super highway. The M109 and the Raider were made for it.
“The highway’s clear as far as I can see,” said Larry over the little ear radios we always wore when riding, “and the ‘yellow’ line stretches onward. I can’t see any upcoming obstacles or off-ramps.”
I was about forty feet behind Larry and to his left. The ‘yellow’ line seen through my ‘green’ glasses did, in fact, stretch onward with no interruptions. Nor could I see any upcoming obstacles. What I did see, however, were the beginnings of abandoned buildings off to the right.
The buildings were about thirty feet below the elevated highway and to the right; a scattering of gutted factories with rail spurs leading into them. What they’d manufactured was a mystery and at our speed we were by them too quickly to guess. They increased in number and density the further on we rode and were now on the left. Interspaced with storage lots and loading docks we were soon surrounded by them.
“Looks to be all industrial to the horizon, no signs of life,” I said, wanting it to be true and this ride to be over.
To the right about a football field away smoke rising from inside a circle of old cars and trucks got my attention.
“Amend that,” Larry added, “to almost no signs. Ease to the left, coast, use your brakes, keep the engine noise down.”
After a final cup of Kate’s coffee and remembering to wear his ‘green’ glasses Larry took no time taking the Raider and the lead. I followed on the M109. In less than a half hour we’d turned up and onto an elevated highway…minus traffic. Within a minute we were near triple digit speeds.
I couldn’t help thanking Hilts for reclaiming the SCR950 and leaving me the M109. The Yamaha SCR950’s a great bike, perfect for weaving your way through and around sharp turns, city streets and dirt roads. However it would have been out of its element on this Borderland version of a super highway. The M109 and the Raider were made for it.
“The highway’s clear as far as I can see,” said Larry over the little ear radios we always wore when riding, “and the ‘yellow’ line stretches onward. I can’t see any upcoming obstacles or off-ramps.”
I was about forty feet behind Larry and to his left. The ‘yellow’ line seen through my ‘green’ glasses did, in fact, stretch onward with no interruptions. Nor could I see any upcoming obstacles. What I did see, however, were the beginnings of abandoned buildings off to the right.
The buildings were about thirty feet below the elevated highway and to the right; a scattering of gutted factories with rail spurs leading into them. What they’d manufactured was a mystery and at our speed we were by them too quickly to guess. They increased in number and density the further on we rode and were now on the left. Interspaced with storage lots and loading docks we were soon surrounded by them.
“Looks to be all industrial to the horizon, no signs of life,” I said, wanting it to be true and this ride to be over.
To the right about a football field away smoke rising from inside a circle of old cars and trucks got my attention.
“Amend that,” Larry added, “to almost no signs. Ease to the left, coast, use your brakes, keep the engine noise down.”
“Oh,” said Larry. “Hilts reminded us to remember to wear our ‘green’ glasses. He said the ‘yellow’ line we’d see on the road when wearing them would be the direction to go.”
Larry’s command to ease to the left came seconds after I spotted the man sitting in the middle of the highway in a lawn chair. Maybe if Larry had spotted, Larry has more than perfect vision, the man sooner. Maybe if we’d been riding slower, maybe quieter, maybe if the man hadn’t stood up and started signaling for us to pull over…maybe…maybe.
“Do you see him…is it some sorta toll?”
“Saw him about half a minute ago…and he’s probably got a rifle under the blue tarp beside his chair. Speaking of tolls, that ten foot wide tarp he’s got stretched across the highway says robbery or worse more than toll.”
“Let’s turn around; I didn’t volunteer to be robbed or worse,” I said in my best let’s-turn-around voice.
“We’re too close to turn around,” Larry answered. “If he’s got a rifle under that tarp, and I’m pretty sure he does, he’d shoot us in the back before we rode out of range.”
Three foot cement barriers on either side of the highway crossed over the gap but with the possibility of no pavement underneath the tarp our ride was as good as ended…unless.
“I’ve a plan.”
“What’s your plan?”
“I’ll explain later,” said Larry, “…just follow me as if you were my shadow.”
Most guards become guards because they drew the short straw; it’s not a job that many want. This guard kept hold of the magazine he’d been reading at the same time he stood up and pulled out a (why’s Larry always right?) rifle, an old SKS, from under the tarp.
“Keep smiling,” was Larry’s reaction, “get a bit closer.”
When Larry, still smiling, was close enough he calmly shot the guard in the foot…shitttttt!
A 44 magnum bang…the guard’s foot turning into a red mist (I’ll never eat strawberries again), followed by the guard’s screaming one legged hop, followed by him dropping his rifle through the tarp, followed by his fall through the tarp, then the tear from his fall revealing a ramp leading up to the freeway…
“Do you see him…is it some sorta toll?”
“Saw him about half a minute ago…and he’s probably got a rifle under the blue tarp beside his chair. Speaking of tolls, that ten foot wide tarp he’s got stretched across the highway says robbery or worse more than toll.”
“Let’s turn around; I didn’t volunteer to be robbed or worse,” I said in my best let’s-turn-around voice.
“We’re too close to turn around,” Larry answered. “If he’s got a rifle under that tarp, and I’m pretty sure he does, he’d shoot us in the back before we rode out of range.”
Three foot cement barriers on either side of the highway crossed over the gap but with the possibility of no pavement underneath the tarp our ride was as good as ended…unless.
“I’ve a plan.”
“What’s your plan?”
“I’ll explain later,” said Larry, “…just follow me as if you were my shadow.”
Most guards become guards because they drew the short straw; it’s not a job that many want. This guard kept hold of the magazine he’d been reading at the same time he stood up and pulled out a (why’s Larry always right?) rifle, an old SKS, from under the tarp.
“Keep smiling,” was Larry’s reaction, “get a bit closer.”
When Larry, still smiling, was close enough he calmly shot the guard in the foot…shitttttt!
A 44 magnum bang…the guard’s foot turning into a red mist (I’ll never eat strawberries again), followed by the guard’s screaming one legged hop, followed by him dropping his rifle through the tarp, followed by his fall through the tarp, then the tear from his fall revealing a ramp leading up to the freeway…
In less than a half hour we’d turned up and onto an elevated highway…minus traffic. Within a minute we were near triple digit speeds
“Shitttttt…you gotta be kidding…that was your plan?”
Larry didn’t answer my question but instead said, “Remember to follow me as if you were my shadow.”
I’d seen circus performers use centrifugal force to ride around the inside of large wheels and barrels. The force would hold them to the inside even when they were upside down…providing they didn’t lose speed.
Larry swerved across the freeway coming to a near stop on the right side. He then accelerated diagonally at the cement barrier on the left side. A few feet from the barrier he leaned the Raider as far over on its right side as he could then turned up and onto the barrier. His momentum, now converted to centrifugal force, took him up and onto the barrier and allowed him to ride sideways (perpendicular to the barrier) across the ten foot gap. The sounds of his foot peg and frame coming down on the other side followed a safe landing.
“I can’t do it,” I yelled.”
“You better do it,” Larry yelled pointing through the tear in the tarp to the bottom of the ramp, “or you can introduce yourself to your new friends.”
Not in the mood for new friends, I accelerated towards the barrier trying to remember…to lean the M109 to the right…focus on staying on the barrier…don’t slow down until you’re across…once across use your momentum to turn upright on the freeway…hey, what could go wrong?
The M109 had the ground clearance to get me up and onto the cement divider…the ten foot ride across the gap was almost too fast. And I felt I scraped everything landing on the other side. When I said the ride across the gap was almost too fast I meant it wasn’t fast enough to prevent me from looking down through the tear in the tarp at what was at the bottom of the ramp. Once beside Larry I knew he’d seen the same thing.
Beginning at the bottom, people were swarming more over than around the fallen guard. Ahead of the people a large sedan was being driven up the ramp. The sedan’s top had been cut off and it was filled with men with rifles.
“I don’t want us to be looking over our shoulders for the rest of this ride,” Larry was unemotional in saying what I knew had to be done. “Move back a bit.”
“Then what,” I asked?
“Then shoot anything that gets by me. I’ll disable whatever they’re driving; if we’re lucky it’ll be long enough for us to get far away from this place.”
No sooner had Larry stopped talking than the sedan’s front half poked out and onto the highway. Larry fired the 44 magnum. The right front tire went flat with a bang. But the sedan kept coming forward; it was being pushed by its rear tires that were out of sight and still on the ramp. In a few seconds the men in back of the sedan with rifles would be high enough to see us…and that’s when Larry fired again…twice
Larry wasn’t shooting at the rear tires or the men but at the sedan’s engine. 44 magnum pistols with fully jacketed bullets and at close range have enough power to punch their way through an engine block like a spoon through a garbage disposal. The sedan shuddered then rolled backwards.
“I’ve,” yelled Larry, “one more thing to do.”
There was no arguing against Larry’s tactics. So I rode back a bit, stopped, turned around and waited. Larry was a busy speck for about a minute before the speck became larger. Watching the Raider get closer was a relief.
“Do you think they’ll follow?”
“Maybe if they get hungry enough and or if the flare I just lit doesn’t ignite the gasoline spilled on the ramp by the holes I shot through the sedan’s engine.”
“What do you mean by hungry enough?”
“I mean the special tonight will be Guard tar-tare less left foot…and there might not be enough of him to go around.”
“Why didn’t,” I had to ask the obvious, “Hilts just tell us the ruins were the home of cannibals? Which begs the question did you know?”
“I did, I just didn’t want to spook you into not coming. There was no reason to tell…now there’s a reason.”
Larry didn’t answer my question but instead said, “Remember to follow me as if you were my shadow.”
I’d seen circus performers use centrifugal force to ride around the inside of large wheels and barrels. The force would hold them to the inside even when they were upside down…providing they didn’t lose speed.
Larry swerved across the freeway coming to a near stop on the right side. He then accelerated diagonally at the cement barrier on the left side. A few feet from the barrier he leaned the Raider as far over on its right side as he could then turned up and onto the barrier. His momentum, now converted to centrifugal force, took him up and onto the barrier and allowed him to ride sideways (perpendicular to the barrier) across the ten foot gap. The sounds of his foot peg and frame coming down on the other side followed a safe landing.
“I can’t do it,” I yelled.”
“You better do it,” Larry yelled pointing through the tear in the tarp to the bottom of the ramp, “or you can introduce yourself to your new friends.”
Not in the mood for new friends, I accelerated towards the barrier trying to remember…to lean the M109 to the right…focus on staying on the barrier…don’t slow down until you’re across…once across use your momentum to turn upright on the freeway…hey, what could go wrong?
The M109 had the ground clearance to get me up and onto the cement divider…the ten foot ride across the gap was almost too fast. And I felt I scraped everything landing on the other side. When I said the ride across the gap was almost too fast I meant it wasn’t fast enough to prevent me from looking down through the tear in the tarp at what was at the bottom of the ramp. Once beside Larry I knew he’d seen the same thing.
Beginning at the bottom, people were swarming more over than around the fallen guard. Ahead of the people a large sedan was being driven up the ramp. The sedan’s top had been cut off and it was filled with men with rifles.
“I don’t want us to be looking over our shoulders for the rest of this ride,” Larry was unemotional in saying what I knew had to be done. “Move back a bit.”
“Then what,” I asked?
“Then shoot anything that gets by me. I’ll disable whatever they’re driving; if we’re lucky it’ll be long enough for us to get far away from this place.”
No sooner had Larry stopped talking than the sedan’s front half poked out and onto the highway. Larry fired the 44 magnum. The right front tire went flat with a bang. But the sedan kept coming forward; it was being pushed by its rear tires that were out of sight and still on the ramp. In a few seconds the men in back of the sedan with rifles would be high enough to see us…and that’s when Larry fired again…twice
Larry wasn’t shooting at the rear tires or the men but at the sedan’s engine. 44 magnum pistols with fully jacketed bullets and at close range have enough power to punch their way through an engine block like a spoon through a garbage disposal. The sedan shuddered then rolled backwards.
“I’ve,” yelled Larry, “one more thing to do.”
There was no arguing against Larry’s tactics. So I rode back a bit, stopped, turned around and waited. Larry was a busy speck for about a minute before the speck became larger. Watching the Raider get closer was a relief.
“Do you think they’ll follow?”
“Maybe if they get hungry enough and or if the flare I just lit doesn’t ignite the gasoline spilled on the ramp by the holes I shot through the sedan’s engine.”
“What do you mean by hungry enough?”
“I mean the special tonight will be Guard tar-tare less left foot…and there might not be enough of him to go around.”
“Why didn’t,” I had to ask the obvious, “Hilts just tell us the ruins were the home of cannibals? Which begs the question did you know?”
“I did, I just didn’t want to spook you into not coming. There was no reason to tell…now there’s a reason.”
The guard’s rifle, an old SKS with an orange and white checkered dress tie for a sling, followed by the guard fell through the blue tarp onto the ramp below
“Shitttttt…well what’s done is done…but no more secrets. Which begs another question…how much further?”
“See the mountains in the distance? That’s how far. But first we need to see if the flare I just lit ignites the gasoline on the ramp and then…?”
…and then came a muffled thump of an explosion…and the ramp erupted in flames (white and orange flames with the same color orange as the orange and white checkered dress tie used for a sling on the guard’s rifle)…and soon the flames were as high as the elevated highway.
“Your plan worked.”
“I was pretty sure it would. When the flare burned down to where there was enough of a difference in its weight to offset its balance I knew it would fall down onto the ramp soaked in gasoline. I was also pretty sure the flames from the ignited gasoline would in turn travel down the ramp and ignite the gasoline in the sedan. Now that it has let’s get outta of here.”
“Do you think they’ll follow us?”
“They’d have to be really hungry or really pissed.”
I would’ve thought Larry would’ve ridden away at or near top speed…but he didn’t. In fact he kept our speed between sixty and seventy.
“Why are we going so slow? I thought we’d want to get away from this place as quickly as possible?”
“If they cut holes for ramps in one place of the elevated highway they could’ve done it in other places. I don’t want to be surprised. Next time we may not be as lucky. What if we’d ‘not’ seen the guard and slowed down OR what if they’d used a gray colored tarp back there instead of blue?”
“We’d be joining,” I said, “the guard for dinner and not as guests.”
I knew we were getting closer to the mountains. I knew the folks at the bottom of the ramp would most likely not follow us but my eyes kept looking in the rearview mirrors. I was wrong about one assumption. The folks at the bottom of the ramp were following us.
“Yes, I,” Larry answered before I asked, “see them. And yes…they look really pissed and really hungry.”
The mountains actually were getting closer. I could see the outline of trees and the beginnings of what looked like a series of sweeping curves leading up their dry grassy slopes. The abandoned buildings on either side of us were all but gone with more and more grassland separating them from each other. Soon the buildings and storage lots were behind us. We were climbing into the foothills.
“We can outrun them but I have a feeling they’ll just keep following. They look to be driving some sort of emergency vehicle…maybe an old fire truck.”
“Good guess,” Larry replied. “It is an old fire truck. Once the elevated highway gets down to ground level we’re going to make a high speed run for the curves. It’ll buy us enough time to get far enough ahead of them to setup.”
When the elevated highway went from being thirty feet above the ground to ground level Larry didn’t hesitate to open the Raider up. Where before the fire truck was able to keep up; now that we had entered the first of the foothills we were pulling away from it.
Larry wasn’t backing off, well maybe a little, and entered the first set of sweeping curves at nearly ninety. My M109 was right behind him. Keep to the outside of the curve until the apex…then look for the exit…power out of the curve…look ahead and see yourself making the curve…became my mantra for the next ten sweepers.
“This is our Alamo,” Larry shouted into his ear radio and at the same time he powered down and braked to a stop.
Larry had picked a steep switchback to make our stand…blind going in and steep enough to slow the fire truck.
“Marinate,” said Larry, “a flare in a plastic bag filled with (sorry readers can’t tell ya) with just enough of the flare sticking out of the bag so as ‘Not’ to get soaked and to act, when lit, as a five second fuse…and you’ve sorta made yourself a stick of dynamite/grenade…sans nitroglycerin.”
“See the mountains in the distance? That’s how far. But first we need to see if the flare I just lit ignites the gasoline on the ramp and then…?”
…and then came a muffled thump of an explosion…and the ramp erupted in flames (white and orange flames with the same color orange as the orange and white checkered dress tie used for a sling on the guard’s rifle)…and soon the flames were as high as the elevated highway.
“Your plan worked.”
“I was pretty sure it would. When the flare burned down to where there was enough of a difference in its weight to offset its balance I knew it would fall down onto the ramp soaked in gasoline. I was also pretty sure the flames from the ignited gasoline would in turn travel down the ramp and ignite the gasoline in the sedan. Now that it has let’s get outta of here.”
“Do you think they’ll follow us?”
“They’d have to be really hungry or really pissed.”
I would’ve thought Larry would’ve ridden away at or near top speed…but he didn’t. In fact he kept our speed between sixty and seventy.
“Why are we going so slow? I thought we’d want to get away from this place as quickly as possible?”
“If they cut holes for ramps in one place of the elevated highway they could’ve done it in other places. I don’t want to be surprised. Next time we may not be as lucky. What if we’d ‘not’ seen the guard and slowed down OR what if they’d used a gray colored tarp back there instead of blue?”
“We’d be joining,” I said, “the guard for dinner and not as guests.”
I knew we were getting closer to the mountains. I knew the folks at the bottom of the ramp would most likely not follow us but my eyes kept looking in the rearview mirrors. I was wrong about one assumption. The folks at the bottom of the ramp were following us.
“Yes, I,” Larry answered before I asked, “see them. And yes…they look really pissed and really hungry.”
The mountains actually were getting closer. I could see the outline of trees and the beginnings of what looked like a series of sweeping curves leading up their dry grassy slopes. The abandoned buildings on either side of us were all but gone with more and more grassland separating them from each other. Soon the buildings and storage lots were behind us. We were climbing into the foothills.
“We can outrun them but I have a feeling they’ll just keep following. They look to be driving some sort of emergency vehicle…maybe an old fire truck.”
“Good guess,” Larry replied. “It is an old fire truck. Once the elevated highway gets down to ground level we’re going to make a high speed run for the curves. It’ll buy us enough time to get far enough ahead of them to setup.”
When the elevated highway went from being thirty feet above the ground to ground level Larry didn’t hesitate to open the Raider up. Where before the fire truck was able to keep up; now that we had entered the first of the foothills we were pulling away from it.
Larry wasn’t backing off, well maybe a little, and entered the first set of sweeping curves at nearly ninety. My M109 was right behind him. Keep to the outside of the curve until the apex…then look for the exit…power out of the curve…look ahead and see yourself making the curve…became my mantra for the next ten sweepers.
“This is our Alamo,” Larry shouted into his ear radio and at the same time he powered down and braked to a stop.
Larry had picked a steep switchback to make our stand…blind going in and steep enough to slow the fire truck.
“Marinate,” said Larry, “a flare in a plastic bag filled with (sorry readers can’t tell ya) with just enough of the flare sticking out of the bag so as ‘Not’ to get soaked and to act, when lit, as a five second fuse…and you’ve sorta made yourself a stick of dynamite/grenade…sans nitroglycerin.”