Of some importance to the story is that someone had recently stolen my rear car license plate, so I put the front one in the back window of the little four-door black sedan. One of my pals had begun to roll a joint right about when we got to 32nd, I think. We had seen a Seattle Police Department motorcycle cop across the street presumably looking for speeders, and we thought we were being non-chalant and just proceeded to the right and down the road to the beach.
A very slight drizzle had begun to fall.
After I think the first turn, I glanced into the rear-view mirror and saw the flashing lights of the cop's motorcycle gleaming at me, but he didn't have on his siren. I told Steve or Jack to get ready to toss out our precious ganja around a turn, and maintained my speed. I thought, 'Maybe it's the license plate', and kept my speed normal and we all tried not to to act frantic.
He didn't have the siren on yet so I thought I could just say," Sir, I didn't look in the mirror, and didn't hear a siren...sorry."...
As luck would have it, I didn't need to worry. In my next glance into the rear-view, and after another turn, I quickly told Steve, I think it was, "Don't toss it!!--we're gonna be okay! Take a look back up the hill."
They did and we all took great relief in what we saw. The SPD motorcycle cop's huge Harley 1200cc had slipped on the road..probably on the oil that had risen to the top of the light rain water on the road. He was sitting there scratching the back of his neck. Someone told me you almost need two people to lift one of those old big bikes. And besides, I think he woulnd've been a little embarrassed by then.
What happened next? Well, you've got the clues.
Years later I lived by the Locks, not far from the story location. Jack and I had run into each other perhaps ten or more years before,( after several decades ) and he'd lived just up the street from where this happened. We had hung out for about ten years -ending in 2006 when he passed on- and bicycled together as we did in Yakima when we'd been 12 years old. In fact Steve and Jack and I all had identical blue Schwinn Varsity 10 speed bicycles when we were young. Most of the time, after Jack and I met up--now both 56 years old--we'd have coffee at a little coffee shop right on the corner of 32nd and 85th where this anecdote went down. Cafe Fiore, great organic coffee-perhaps the truly best coffee you can find! Many times we'd bring up the story, as we sat at Fiore and bitched about the Bush/Cheney crime families aka administration.
Recently, I met up with Steve again, and he told me he's told this story many times.
I'll miss Jack alot.