Saturday Evening story #6
I haven't done one of these for a while so here goes.
Back in the early 70s a good friend of mine named Myron Pyle and I rode with a motorcycle "club" who were notable at the time in the Pacoima area of the San Fernando valley I won't mention the name since they still exist and are now part of a well known "club" which will also remain nameless. We were not members but what was at the time called "hang arounds" (guys who were allowed to ride along while the decision was made by the club or the hang around to become an actual prospect.) (I decided against it) for reasons I won't discuss here.
Myron and I were both roofers at the time and as a Hobby and extra money we would go to the Montrose Sheriffs dept. once a month and buy all the abandon cycles for $50 ea. and repair them or part them out. (probably why the club let us hang out)
Now picture any biker movie you ever saw that is the way it was, an assortment of guys who thought they had to live up to the movie image.
Myron was about 6'2 or 3 he wasn't a big guy only about 175 or so but, he had steal cable and iron instead of muscles and skin. He was a tough dude.
In those days we didn't ride with helmets or wind screens every thing just blew in the wind so to speak. (we were tough guys) or so we thought.
One week end Myron and I decided to take a putt (ride) up to Vegas. We stayed there over night and headed home the next day.
On a long ride you change the lead rider every now and then to break the wind and monotony. It was about Myron's turn to take the lead and when I looked in the mirror I saw him about 1/4 of a mile back pulled over on the shoulder.
When I got turned around and back to where he was he was crouched on the other side of his bike emptying his stomach all the way to the tips of his toes. He looked up at me and tears were streaming down his face, I looked around as my first thought was that he hit a dog or other animal, when none was visible my next immediate thought was the casino Buffet we had about 2 hours before.
He finally was able to stand and rather then to explain the situation he just smiled a big old smile and there covering his entire set of teeth was the green gooey slime of a finger sized desert locust, all the rest was forced down his throat by the wind. It was the only thing I ever saw take Myron down, man or beast.
The last I heard of Myron was that he had joined that "club" and in later years had become an affiliate to the other notorious club.
This would be one of the stories of a book yet to be written. " A life well lived"
Not to be confused with a life lived well but it has been a he** of a ride. mcw
