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Show Wednesday, April 12, 1978 Page 9 This weekend I had to do it. Clear skies and warm dry winds made it unavoidable. But first I had to dig it out. As I walked into the garage it wasn't even visible; it was buried under a winter's win-ter's accumulation of stuff I hadn't taken time to store properly. The poor thing was leaning against the wall under an ice chest, a sleeping bag, three boxes of assorted junk, a torn tent, and two car tires (I'll get around to taking off my snow tires next weekend). ; Finally, it was free. I rolled it out into the sunshine. sun-shine. There, under a mantle of dust resting clumsily on two flat tires, was my good old dirt bike. Spring was officially here. - Tom rode up, his hot new dirt bike growling and eager to go. Its shining ferocity made my worn out steed seem tired ready for the glue fa ?tory. But it has always gotten me where I was going. And, usually, back again. We pumped up the tires and hoped they would hold. I sprayed a little oil on the chain (is that rust between the links?) and checked all the nuts and bolts to make sure they were tight. I once had an axle nut come off during a desert race but that's People, Places And Things By Doc Murdock another story. I hit the spokes a few times with a screwdriver to see if they were tight. If they are tight they go "plink." If they are loose they go "klunk." This time, most of them went "klunk." Tom grumbled grum-bled about the escaping time while I looked for the spoke wrench. I finally found it and when they were all "plinking" tight we were ready to go. As soon, that is, as we put in some gas and pushed it up and down the street about ten times to start it. It started and then sat there sputtering and missing and coughing out a winter's worth of dust. "Where do you want to go?" I asked Tom. "Emigration Canyon," he said flatly. His bike started with one kick and he took off. The sun smiled its approval and I followed. Today, nothing could go wrong. Or so it seemed as we started off that sunny morning. As we rode, I realized why Tom wanted to go all the way down to Emigration Canyon. It's true the trails are great there; they are many and diverse, winding through the trees along several routes all the way from Salt Lake to East Canyon to Morgan to City Creek. And it was true that all the good Park City trails were still the domain of the cross country skiers : under six feet of snow. But, you see, Tom is a hot dogger. So my best guess was that Tom chose Emigration because it had something Park didn't: people. An audience. On a good, early spring day like this Emigration would be alive with kids on dirt bikes. And most of them were willing to do a little trail racing. Tom was already jerking the front wheel of his bike off the ground as we rode down the highway. In anticipation. There was, however, one problem with the Emigration Canyon trails: they were illegal. few 3 vj&Cl 1 coming ;. r&r3 jj Monday ; foO P I feu APRIL24 hz)x S Nsk Doors open at 6:30 jJy ' i ; : s show starts at 7:30 1 j VA' jaws Sf.'"i Private Party ADVANCE TICKET SALES ONLY Beginning April 21 $3.00 at The Claimjumper Desk or the Prospector Lodge APPLICATIONS FOR GONG SHOW ACTS to be picked up and turned in at the Claimjumper or The Prospector Lodge PRIZES WORTH MORE THAN $1,000 BILL "OUTRAGEOUS" ORWIG Master of Ceremonies DOOR PRIZES FUN ZANY ACTS Get Your Tickets early - Limited Sales They rarely came up on the trails to enforce the laws, but the cops sometimes set up roadblocks1 to check registrations and equipment and to warn us to stay on the paved roads. Up ahead Tom was riding with his feet up on the handlebars. What a hot dog. Over the top of Parley's the air was cold as we rode between the remaining roadside snowbanks. We stopped at the summit and killed the engines. We coasted all the way down, getting some real speed up. My headlight rattling in the wind was the only sound as we sailed down the long canyon. The headlight is only there for show; to make the bike look street legal. It doesn't work and neither does the little taillight. I was right about the kids being in the canyon. As we hit the upper Emigration trails, we met a group of six kids on unmuffled two-strokes. They had come up the canyon. "Cops out today," their leader yelled as they pulled alongside. "Where?" Tom shouted back over the din. "Everywhere!" the kid yelled back and gestured with a sweep of his arm. "They're up on the trails too." The others nodded in agreement. I hesitated. If we were smart we would turn back now. Go for a nice ride over to Oakley or somewhere. Tom didn't even think about it. With a roar he was off down the trail. I reacted and followed him. The kids were hot on our trail. Tom, of course, left us in the dust. He is willing to hit it hard on any trail, take a blind curve in a full drift, or push to get air off a surprise jump. After about ten minutes he had left me behind but I had a good lead on the pack of kids. I came around a corner and found Tom in the hands of the law. Two cops on dirt bikes, their own from the look of them, had him stopped and were asking for papers. When I rolled up they started on me. "What, no registration? No inspection?" in-spection?" They acted incredulous.. "Why doesn't this headlight work? " asked the tall one. I shrugged. "They don't work so good without wires," offered of-fered the other one. He was fingering the chopped chop-ped off ends of the headlight's wiring cable. They took out their ticket books and were just getting into a writing mood when the group of kids came around the corner, their noisey two-strokes two-strokes popping and crackling as they decelerated. The boy in the lead quickly sized up the situation and got on the gas. The others followed suit and they all went by us looking straight ahead as if they didn't know what was going on. The short cop was jumping up and down and yelling at them to stop. As the group disappeared around the next corner, he jumped on his bike and took off after them. He yelled for the other cop to stay with us. . ru - -' It was as if Tom had planned it.' As the kids went by he had casually sat on his bike. When the cop took off after them he waited for a count of two and then fired up his big bore machine on the first kick, as usual. Before the other policeman could react, he dropped the clutch and took off straight up the side of the canyon. By the time the cop got his bike started Tom was near the top, his bike snarling as it searched for traction throwing dirt and rocks out behind. I watched as they both disappeared over the top of the ridge. I was left sitting in the middle of the trail as the dust settled and the forest silence closed in again. Birds chirped. Nearby, a stream gurgled. I carefully started my motorcycle and had a pleasant ride back to Park City. I put my bike in the garage and covered it with the torn tent. I went for a walk: threw a stick for a lost cocker spaniel, watched the skiers fall down on the slush covered beginner's runs, and wondered how Tom was doing. He got home after dark that night. He ran in excited and said they had chased him all that day. He was so happy and pumped up he couldn't stop talking for two hours. He said they had used every trick but that he had outsmarted them. He mentioned helicopters. He raved about carrying his bike over his head through swamps and about backpacking it over rocky peaks. He said he made a rope pulley, at one point, and hid his bike in a tree while they passed below with sniffing tracker dogs. He said lots of kids had met him at the trail junctions and helped him elude the cops. He was the Jessie James of dirt bikedom. When he calmed down a little I told him about the lost cocker spaniel but he didn't pay any attention. at-tention. He fell asleep on the couch. He's there now, snoozing happily as I write this story. He keeps making noises like a dirt bike as he dreams: "rrremm, rrrumb." Now, on the TV news, they say the cops organized a big trail bike bust in the hills. They say only a few escaped. They arrested hundreds. I wonder if the dirt bike cops will be up here this summer to try to keep us off the Guardsman Pass trails? If so, Tom could build up quite a reputation: he could be the Clyde Barrow of the Summit County trails. You remember old Clyde, don't you? Pass Prices Reduced To make skiing even more enticing during these sunny spring days, Park City Resort is reducing lift pass prices. Beginning Wednesday, April 12, an , all-day adult pass will go down to $9, and a children's pass will be $4. Half-day passes will be reduced to $6 for adults. $3 for kids. As of Tuesday, April 11, the First Time, Three Kings and Payday lifts are closed for the remainder of the season. The Ski Team chairlift is now closed during the week, but will be open on weekends. Assistant Marketing Director Laura Thomas said the resort will remain open as long as there is snow, with the '77-78 closing date set for May 8. |