By the Gearhead
Cruising down the slippery mountain pass up in Northern, California, in Big Sur, my two brothers took off on their Shovels like they were road racing. I had a full pack and my wife on board. I tried to be careful, because a lot can happen in Big Sur if you’re not careful.
My Shovel, a solid machine lumbered in the morning coastal mist. Tires and brakes were fair. We cruised down the windy pass, when out of nowhere a Kenworth bore down on the ass end of my fully packed chopper. His airbrakes on and his airhorn blew like I had someplace to go. My wife could almost touch the truck bumper. He screamed up behind us. Either he didn’t see us and panicked or his load had taken control.
I pushed my throttle like our lives depended on it.
We figured about ten minutes to the coast highway. We knew the coastal escape turn-out was a short one with an all-gravel surface. I was more nervous than a cat in a room full of old folks in rocking chairs.
I had to be responsible for my life and my wife’s. If I made one mistake, we were either red grill paint or over the jagged coastal cliff.
We approached the coastal turn out in a tight curve flying. My shades steamed, I searched for the escape. I tossed my dark glasses aside and spotted the sand and gravel entrance. At almost 50 mph I left the asphalt lane and entered the gravel spit.
Brakes locked, I shifted down to second gear and drove my left engineer boot heel into the gravel surface. I pitched the Shovel into a left-handed slide to maintain control. We stopped just feet from the drop off–thank God. I flipped the driver off, checked my wife. She held on like a champ.
The brothers parked on the south side of the turnout. I told TJ to give me a shot of whiskey to settle my nerves. I evaluated the situation. The wife had a bruised left knee and a little scuff on her leather bomber jacket and her bull hide chaps. We were alive!
You can believe David Mann’s centerfold. A biker and his old lady being chased down by a Kenworth, because my wife and I lived it.
— Gearhead
