The Harley and the Swamp Grass

The Harley and the Swamp Grass

It was a 1949/50/51 Harley Davidson 125 motorcycle, a single cylinder, 2 cycle steed that produced ever bit of 3 hp and would do 50 miles an hour downhill with a tailwind! It was based on blueprints pilfered from Germany as spoils of war after WWII, and it was my pride and joy in 1965 when I was 15. This particular night it was my transportation to Smitty’s house for an overnight stay.

Smitty was a classmate whose Mother was raising him and his brother alone after being widowed when the boys were young. She was very protective of her boys and I was one of the few people his age she was comfortable having over. I don’t have a clue why, if she only knew what transpired the night in question she would surely have changed her attitude! It was the end of the school year and the guys in the class always had a bonfire and a camp out. It was pretty much open invitation for anyone that wanted to show up but of course Smitty’s mom wouldn’t hear of it. My father gave me the option of going to the camp out or Smitty’s house. I wanted to go to the camp out but my Mother, who was friends with Smitty’s Mother, over ruled my selfish judgment and I went to Smitty’s house.

Smitty was known for trying to stretch his mom’s apron strings every chance he could and tonight would be epic. As soon as everything in the house was quiet and his younger brother was asleep He poked at me.

“You awake?”

“Yeah” I managed through a foggy half sleep. “What do you want?”

“Let’s go to the camp out.”

‘We can’t go now, it’s too late. And besides my Dad said I couldn’t go.” The bed was nice and warm and I didn’t really want to leave.

“We can sneak out the window and take your bike.”

“What about the dog?”

“I’ll get something out of the fridge for him.”

“What if your mom hears us?”

“She won’t, come on, you chicken?”

Now that was personal for a 15 year old! I didn’t say anything; I just got out of bed and started getting dressed as quietly as I could. I could feel his excitement. He tiptoed as stealthily as a 15 year old could into the kitchen and pilfered a piece of leftover meatloaf. When he got back into the room we froze for a few seconds and listened for movement in the house. When we were satisfied the coast was clear we opened the bedroom window as far as we could and climbed out meatloaf first. The dog trotted around the corner and downed his treat in a single gulp. We closed the window gently as low as we dared leaving just enough of a gap so we could get back in when the time came. I did my best impression of an Indian scout on the path to the motorcycle, Smitty close on my heels, followed by our new best friend the dog.

I reached the bike and steadied it so I could put up the kickstand. Smitty climbed on the back.

“What are you doing?” I hissed tersely. “We can’t start this thing here, we’ll wake everyone up!”

He nodded and got off and started helping me push it down the lane. The dog escorted us to the end of the lane, and figuring out he wasn’t going to get any more treats,  turned around and trotted back to do whatever dogs do all night. We pushed the bike down the road until I was certain the noise couldn’t give us away. I climbed on and went through the starting ritual. The second kick on the starter brought the beast to life. He climbed on the back and we slowly, quietly as possible started on our adventure. The night was just warm enough to feel cool as the wind from the motion of the bike flowed across our faces. The clear country night air was a euphoric drug as we breathed in deeply. The full moon was our partner in crime lighting our way since there was no working headlight on the bike. In the country, in the ’60’s at this hour of the morning there wasn’t another vehicle on the road, lucky for us. Up around the bridge, a right turn, a left turn, and we made our way about five miles to the meadow with the campfire. The meadow was situated about twenty feet below the road with a creek skirting the edge that was lined with trees.

I stopped at the top of the road and told Smitty to get off the bike. As he trotted down the inclined road to the fire I was preparing to make my big entrance! I saw below a grassy hill just right to Motto cross down. I put the beast in first gear, twisted the throttle a few times for effect and shot down the hill. I was ready to howl at the moon! I was standing on the foot pegs, letting the bike buck up and down like a half broke Philly. As I reached the bottom of the hill I sat down on the seat in anticipation of the transition to flat ground when it happened.  I heard a hiss from the hot exhaust and a glug and then silence. It took a minute to process what had just happened. I was thigh deep in swamp grass and water! Everyone came running to see what had happened. They were laughing like a Red Skelton audience at his TV show. When they recovered enough Kent and Richard helped me pull the bike out of the swamp. Instead of speeding up to the campfire and sliding to a stop with the back wheel heading the opposite direction like a proper dirt bike rider I was resigned to pushing the soggy bike to the fire. I wondered it would ever run again at that point.

Richard had his dad’s pickup truck that had a utility bed loaded with tools. He and I got to work on the bike. We took the sparkplug out and the air breather off and checked for evidence of water. I cranked the engine over without the plug to see if there was any water in the cylinder. We positioned it so the fire could warm it but not so close the fuel would boil out and explode. Every fifteen year old knows this science, right? (Sarcasm dripping) While the Harley was drying out on one side of the fire and my pants on the other I went exploring in my skivvies and my squishy shoes and socks. At the edge of the meadow was a line of scrubby trees gathered on the banks of a small creek. In one place was an eddy of water that was deeper and clearer than anywhere else.

“Let’s go skinny dipping,” said a voice behind me. It was Kent.

“I’ll go if you will,” I said. My bruised ego had some ground to gain back. What did I have to lose, I was already wet.

“You first.”

I should have known something was up but I my bruised ego wasn’t allowing me to reason through clearly. I took off my shoes and what little dry clothes I had on and slid into the water.

“How’s the water?”

“The water’s fine!” I said. The water wasn’t fine. It was so cold with the spring rains that my testicles moved up into my abdomen and threatened to never come out! It was so cold if I could have seen my toes in daylight they would have been blue! “Come on In.”

He hesitated and mumbled under his breath and walked away back to the campfire with a big grin on his face. When I started out the night I didn’t realize I was going to be the entertainment for the evening. I didn’t stay in very long. I dressed and went back to the warmth of the campfire trying to not visibly shiver in my misery. My pants weren’t dry yet but   the bike was. We put the plug back in and put the air breather back on. I said a little prayer and started cranking on the kick starter. The old beast started on the third try! I was back to howling at the moon! I revved it a few times just so I knew it was alright and put it in gear and popped the clutch. The Harley and I in my soggy shoes and skivvies and t-shirt, raced across the pasture. I have to interject here that cows are smarter in some ways than fifteen year old boys. They ate all the grass and tasty weeds and left all the thistles intact. It felt like buggy whips against my legs! I turned around and headed back to the fire immediately, trying to keep the tears of pain from running unabated down my cheeks.

It finally occurred to me why, besides being “A special kind of stupid” that night that I had endured all the pain and humiliation. God’s punishment for me disobeying my father had been swift and effective. I just hoped Smitty and I could get home safely that night! My pants were almost dry and I had had all the “Fun” I could handle for one night. Smitty and I said our goodbyes and headed up the hill on to the road. My exit was way more subdued than my attempted entrance.

We got close to Smitty’s lane so I shut off the motor and coasted as long as I could. We pushed the bike down the lane and parked it where it was before we left. As we turned the corner to the back of the house where the bedroom window was the dog came tearing around the corner at a full decibel bark. It seems we had forgotten about our re-entry strategy. Smitty tried to console the dog while I opened the window and hoisted myself up through it with the finesse of a wounded buffalo. He followed with the same results. I kicked off my shoes and climbed into bed and pulled the blanket up to my eyes. I smelled like a swamp rat and my legs still smarted from the thistle whipping! In the silence we could hear his Mother stirring in her room. The dreaded knock on the door came moments later.

“There is a prowler outside!” She said in a hushed voice.

“Ok,” he said in his best sleepy voice, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

We both opened the door after what we thought was sufficient time to get dressed since we already were. She handed him a flashlight and told him to go investigate outside. She would stay by the phone in case she needed to call the police. I hung back trying not to let her catch a whiff of the swamp rat. She didn’t know she was putting the prisoners in charge of the penitentiary. We pretended to go around and look but what we really did was kick a few things and shine the light around.

“Must have been a coon in the trash,” He said with enough conviction that even I believed him. “Go back to sleep Mom, everything is alright.”

She went back to bed and so did we. This time we took the time to get out of our clothes. At least I didn’t smell quite so bad. I don’t know if anyone else slept any that night but I know I didn’t. I lay there with my eyes wide open contemplating the events of the night. My eyes finally closed about the time the sun was peeking through the bedroom window. Geez, what a night!

Dan Fulton

O3/06/ 18