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The following day I headed out still on Hwy 10. I could have gone through Dallas heading east but my destination was Florida and to get back to 10 taking the more northern route was about 75 miles more. The road behind me had few gas stations. At least in the early '80's.

Funny side note. Since I had to stop every 100 miles for gas I would buy a coke while I was stopped. I had on a full set of leathers (black) and almost to a person ALL the clerks would say "ya want that to go?". Like I wasn't welcome to sit there for 5 minutes and drink a coke.

Between El Paso and San Antonio was uneventful. Thank God. I got up the next morning and continued east. What follows is absolutely true. I have always had a lucky survival sense and it was put to the test. I got off the freeway somewhere in Houston to get gas. I was right beside the freeway and to get back on I would have to cross 4 lanes running perpendicular to the freeway overpass the gas station was under.

I had the bike on the center stand with the nozzle in the tank. In those days you didn't have to pay first. I looked up and two Mexican guys were running across 4 lanes of traffic coming straight at me! I, for some reason, looked over my other shoulder and from across the street were two black guys running across 4 lanes of traffic coming straight at me! As God is my witness! This actually happened.

I threw the gas nozzle over my shoulder. Jumped on the bike. And roared out of the gas station popping a wheelie! The gas cap was still open and gas was splashing out onto my chest!. Call it a stroke of luck or a Guardian Angel or what you will but the second I fired up the bike the light changed in my favor and I shot across 4 lanes of city traffic and onto the on ramp!.

Behind me I heard gunshots! By time I hit the freeway I was approaching 100 mph. I closed the gas cap. Caught my breath. And said FUCK! a half dozen times. I continued on at 100 mph. Im serious. I wanted to get out of Houston before the cops showed up. I didn't pay for the gas. Although I wonder now if the cops were even called? It was Houston and there weren't any bodies laying around. Unless the mex and the blacks blamed each other for the biker getting away.

I continued on at a high rate of speed stopping again in Bumfuck Louisiana for gas, They used to have signs saying next exit gas. Then you'd get off and the gas station would be 3 miles down a 2 lane country road. So I pull into this gas station in the middle of nowhere. Bad ass bike. Cal tags. Full set of leathers. And all of a sudden im surrounded by 8 backward ass black guys all talking at once and I literally could not understand a word any of them were saying. I just kept nodding my head. put a gallon in, and handed the nearest one a couple of bucks. Fucking A! I revved up and the few standing in front must have realized it was time to move and scooted back.

I made it to the, yuuup, Holiday Inn in Baton Rouge and hit the sack.