BACKROADS • JANUARY 2012 ting on top of the GS, one behind the other, the one in front sitting on the gas tank holding the center of the handle bars with his legs sticking straight out to the side. The four of them were leaning left and then right making race bike noises, the guy in the back kicking his little legs back and forth like he was riding a horse. The sun was lower on the horizon when I awoke and I could see the GS parked on the side stand. I dared not move but looked through slitted eyelids. All of the revolutionaries were asleep around me. I tried to see if there was a guard on duty but could only see part of the way to my rear. I thought that this would be the time to make a run for it. The key was still in the ignition of the bike. I took a deep breath and then pressed with all of my strength. The vines snapped and in one swift motion I jumped up and leapt onto the GS. As I flipped on the ignition and hit the starter all around me I could see movement. Little voices squealed and yelled. popped the clutch into first and snapped the throttle, spinning the back tire in the soft ground and showering the revolutionaries with dirt as I spun the bike around and faced it down hill. At this I let off the front brake, the back tire gained traction and I took off down the trail. I could see little figures in my mirrors trying to keep up with the bike but it was to no avail. They started to disappear behind me. Just then,
Page 39 as I crested a short rise, I could see something in the trail. At this moment he stood up. It was the guy they called, “Rip”, he was the muscle of the group, the brashest, and wasn’t about to give way. He stood, defiantly wearing his I Love Che Guevara t-shirt, in the middle of the trail. I stood on the rear brake and skidded the GS to a halt, dust clouds rose around enveloping us both. When the dust finally settled he was still there, refusing to go away. “Crap!,” I said putting the kickstand down and hopping off of the bike. “You just don’t know any better, do you?” I said. I took three quick strides towards him, snatched him up by his collar, and swiftly drop-kicked him into the lower branches of an Elm, growing close to the trail. As he sailed upward he let out an, “IiiiiiiiiiiiEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…” At this I turned to see the rest of the revolutionary group racing down the hill on stubby little legs, closing on the bike, and hence, my freedom. I swung my leg over the GS, jumped on the pegs, and ripped the throttle. And that is how I escaped and left the F.A.R.T.S. in the dust behind me, all the way to base of the mountain.
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