The businessman loved his crotch rocket almost as much as life itself. He often said it was better than sex, and he enjoyed racing his motorcycle through the canyons even more than running the multi-million dollar business he created. One day, while running through the canyons in the foothills above Malibu, California, he noticed that it was a little hot in the canyons, so he turned back up the windy Latigo Canyon Road and took PCH (Pacific Coast Highway).
From there, he headed west and was careful to drive the speed limit because his driver’s license had been revoked and cops were everywhere on PCH. His license had been suspended or revoked often, on and off over the past two decades. He definitely had a need for speed. One of his favorite things to do was turn onto Mulholland Highway at Leo Carillo Beach, wait for the second hand on his watch to strike 12, then start the engine, drop the clutch, and race toward Decker Canyon to see if he could break it all. . -time record. He was sure that he had run that Canyon faster than anyone alive.
It was a blast and an adrenaline rush, until one day a baby deer got in his way, he tried to dodge it, started to lose control, recovered and rolled over with his knee on the pavement. and the peg of him scraping. His custom Yoshimura pipe scraped the ground and must have caught on a rock or something as the bike started to twist. He was able to recover again and his adrenaline was pumping like he had never felt it before. There was barely time left, and he tried to slow down as fast as he could before running out of track.
It would be the cliff on your right or the steep rocky mountain on your left, you chose the ladder and it cost you about $3000 in repairs. He jumped just before he hit the rock wall, and was actually more concerned with his motorcycle than his sprained ankle, sore wrist rest, minor scratch on the road, and bruised ego. The Kawasaki dealer would not stop repairing his GSR 750 for over a month, and parts were backordered all the way to Tokyo.
Well he had the money so he went to the Honda shop and bought a new Honda CBR 600 RR, he hadn’t had a Honda Hurricane in 10 years and he always loved that bike. He bought the latest model with all the bells and whistles, completely sold out. He drove the bike to Las Vegas to break it in and allow the rings to seat, and the following weekend he went to Willow Springs racetrack, stripped off all the plastic, put all the necessary bolts on and put it through its space. Coming out of turn seven, he must have caught a piece of tire that hadn’t worn properly.
He slid his bike into the hay bales at 135 miles per hour while pushing his bike and hit the hay bale right next to it, just shaking his head as he stood up and looked at his new motorcycle in a state of repair, wondering how he was going to get back. to home. Fortunately, he spotted one of his friends from The Rock Store, a bike hangout in the foothills of the Santa Monica Mountains, and his friend helped him load up his wrecked bike and drive him home.
Once he got home and unloaded his motorcycle, he began daydreaming about various modifications he could do. He had always wanted to build his own plane, an ultralight or an Experimental Aviation Association kit. He wondered if he could put a set of wings on this motorcycle, rebuild it himself, and turn it into a plane. I could use fiberglass and an expandable wing, I can use a rubber gear from the rear tire to spin a propeller, he thought.
The next day, he went down to his business, where he had a shop, and took some tools to his garage at home. He built a small conical nose for the motorcycle and a folding wing system. While doing this, he also got his old motorcycle back, brand new, and as good as new better, while putting the finishing touches on his Flying Motorcycle. He had realized that he needed a path longer than his windy path to take off, one that might not have major corners, and that was for his first test flight. There was a stretch of road not far from his house, near Malibu Canyon Road, that would suffice.
He did several runs, before working up the courage to actually blow the thing up. Everything felt good, the wings were lifting, it sure felt like it wanted to fly, so he decided he would use a stretch of road that was slightly downhill, and take off from there, and then fly through the canyon to the area. of the beach. He thought he could land before running out of fuel, near Point Mugu Rock and State Beach, where the road was very wide on PCH. Then he would simply pull over to the side of the road, fold up his wings, and drive home. At least that was the plan, but plans always change along the way.
Just before he was ready to take off, there was a police car in the distance coming towards him up the hill. He had already committed to flying, and was probably going to fast to get to the corner without scraping the wings he’d just unfurled. He didn’t want to smash his contraption or get a ticket from the police officer for riding a motorcycle with wings. He guessed that the California Vehicle Code was about as thick as a phone book, and there was probably a law somewhere against that.
As soon as he reached flying speed, he leaned back, downshifted, and pulled a wheelie, the bike jumped into the air, ripping him off, and he gave it full power bringing it to 11,000 RPM, and then shifted back and gave him more. power again, and then two more times. By then, it had taken off and crossed the street in front of him, just above and in front of the oncoming police car. “Oh shit! I know that police officer, and he’s going to recognize my helmet.” It was already too late and he enjoyed his flight immensely, and just as he had planned, he landed at PCH near Point Mugu Rock.
As he spread his wings, a CHP passed by, stopped behind him, and within minutes handcuffed him. Apparently, the first police officer flashed his lights after he flew over the car and called him out for evading a police officer and flying away. He bailed out that night and returned two weeks later to go to court. Apparently, the judge was a pretty tough nose, and he constantly went after young bikers for crossing the double yellow lines in the canyon, calling those actions a; “Malibu felony” because there have been many head-on collisions in the canyons in the hills above Malibu.
He tried to tell the judge that he was already airborne before he crossed the yellow line, and that he had already left the pavement before reaching the speed limit, and that the policeman did not turn on the lights he saw. . In addition, he asked if the police officer also worked for the FAA, which he obviously did not, so he had not committed the ticket violations. The officer said that he had it on the radar, and said; “yeah, but he wasn’t driving at the time, he was flying.” The judge realized that the young businessman was going to woo the media and put on another show out of his courtroom like Paris Hilton, Mel Gibson, Charlie Sheen, Nick Nolte and Robert Downey Jr. had done in recent years. .
The judge was tired of paparazzi and media events. He finally told the crotch rocket aerospace designer; “Not guilty, and now get the hell out of my courtroom, and if you want to fly that thing, get a pilot’s license and take it to Camarillo or the Santa Monica airport, or hell, build your own runway up the hill, but Don’t pull that trick again, or I’ll put you in jail, do you hear me son?
“Yes, sir,” he said. The police officer approached him later and said, “No hard feelings, I was just doing my job, do you think you could hire my son for the summer at your company?”
“Sure,” he said, “as long as you don’t write me out for speeding or wheelieing, I’m afraid that charge might have stuck, and I know this judge has it against me now.”