From: aweaver@epcot.spdc.ti.com (Andy Weaver)
Subject: another story
Organization: TI Semiconductor Process and Design Center
Date: Sat, 7 Nov 1992 03:26:02 GMT


	I've been in a writing mood lately, so I'm writing down a few
of the memories that I have from riding.  I have tons of stories, but
I'm just getting around to writing them down.  This one is a little
long, but I thought it might be good reading if you're just looking for
something to read.   If you are interested in reading this sort of stuff,
let me know and I'll try to post more.  If you really want something long
to read, I'll send my race write-ups from what cross country racing I did
this year.  I sent them to Mark Frampton, and I think he is still reading
it, but I don't know if it is of general interest to the group.

________________________________________________________________________
	When I was just first getting back into motocross riding, sometime
during the summer 89, a couple of freinds and I went riding at this place
south of the DFW airport called 360.  This is a big section of land with
tons of criss crossing winding trails through it.  People also use this
land to shoot guns with targets against creek banks.
	We had been riding for a while, then our group split up and we
went our separate ways to pursue what individually interested us.  Allen
and I had been riding some jumps for quite a while without seeing Bruce.
We started to get concerned when we hadn't seen him for a couple of hours
(this is a big place).  We looked around for him for a while then he
finally came walking up one of the trails that we were on.
	He said that his bike (86 CR125) was really stuck in a mud hole
somewhere over there (as he pointed west).  He had tried to ride around
the bog on an off camber and it just kinda swallowed him.  I figured that
the bike was really stuck since Bruce would never leave his ultra-pristene
bike without a fight.
	So I went back to the truck and grabbed a couple of tie downs in
case we needed them to pull his bike out, then Bruce got on with me and
we went to get his bike.  We started off going back down the trail he had
come walking out of.  Unfortunately, he hadn't marked the trails he had
come down in any way, so we were just sort of riding around looking for
his bike.  It was only a couple hours until the sun would be going down
so we were in somewhat of a hurry, but we couldn't find where the bike
was.  
	We spent at least an hour looking for the bike.  We'd stop everyone
that we'd see and ask them if they saw a CR125 that was stuck.  At least
75% of the people we stopped said that they had seen it, but they weren't
sure just where it was they saw it.  "It's over that direction somewhere,
I think." was a typical response, but noone could lead us to it.  Finally,
we ran across a couple good ol' boys that said they knew where it was.
	When I say good ol' boys, I mean they were a couple guys out there
with no safety equipment playing around on old beater dirt bikes while out
drinking beer.  I assume that these people are everywhere, but if you live 
in Texas, I'm pretty sure that you know their type.
	Anyway, they were finally able to lead us to the bike.  It was about
time because my 86 CR500 was running hot riding around slow looking, plus
it would soon be getting dark.  These guys were nice enough to help us try
to get it out since it would be a major job.
	The 125 was stuck in the mud up to about the top of the cases.  The
place we were in was very jungle like, trees and plants all around and it
was very hot and humid.  When I finally got my helmet off, I could hear
automatic gunfire not too far off in the distance and a smattering of other
gunfire around.  It made me think of what it must have been like to be over
in Viet Nam.  
	While we were trying to get the bike unstuck, one of the good ol' 
boys commented, "This sure would be a good spot to stash a body."( read with
heavy country accent)  We all just agreed and went on trying to get the 
bike out.  It was in a bad position to get much leverage on it, but we 
finally freed it by hooking the tie downs to the bars.  With three people 
pulling on the tie downs and two pushing the bike, it came out.
	It was getting near dark by this time, and the 125 didn't want to 
start.  All the time it sounded like the gunfire was getting closer to us.
Then a shot went off pretty near us, it scared me, so I yelled, "Hey, we're
over here."  Just when I yelled this, one of the good ol' boys ducked down
and said, "Ssssh, don't give away our position!"  Now I was concerned for
our safety.
	We finally pulled the 125 out of the swamp area with the 500 to
get away from the gunfire, then we managed to get it started by pulling
it.  We got out of the trails just as it was really getting dark.
	The beer never tasted so good.

Andy
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