Mr. Write's Page

There I was, a lad not long out of college. A brand new First Lieutenant in the Air Force. Living large in the Bachelor Officers Quarters at Cannon Air Force Base, Clovis, New Mexico.

I owned a fresh-from-the-factory 1965 Comet Caliente convertible (candy apple red, white top), in which I cruised the streets of Clovis with pride.

One sunny day, while cruising north on Prince Street, top down, I came to a stop at a red light. I was in the right lane. Moments later, a large and noisy motorcycle pulled up next to me in the left lane.

I turned casually to see a giant, gleaming Harley-Davidson, festooned with aggressive bumper stickers. A squirrel tail fluttered atop a long antenna. With each rev of the engine, the bike shuddered with torque.

The driver was a large and swarthy man with a heavy beard and mirrored sunglasses. On the front of his Nazi helmet — yes, he wore a Nazi helmet — was a grinning skull emitting red flames from its eyes. His jacket, pants, gloves, and boots were black leather.

Seated behind the swarthy man, arms wrapped around his sizable waist, was a woman of similar appearance and similar attire, except that she wore a different type of helmet, and she had no beard that I recall. She was large and sour-looking.

In the course of about one second, my gaze took in the Harley, the man, and the woman. I noted that the latter two were staring at me intently.

After displaying a weak and submissive smile, I turned my gaze quickly back to the red light and tried to will it to turn green.

“Hey you!” said a raspy voice in my left ear. With as friendly a look as I could muster, I turned toward the voice.

“Howdy,” I squeaked.

“Is this the road to Tucumcari?” the man growled.

“Yeah, yes. This is it. Go north to San Jon, then west to Tucumcari.”

“You wouldn’t be shittin’, me, would you?”

“Uh, no. This IS the road to Tucumcari.”

“‘Cause if you’re shittin’ me, I’ll come back and cut yer nuts out.”

“Well, I am not shitting you.”

The light turned green. The Harley roared off in the direction of Tucumcari, leaving a streak of rubber on the asphalt of Prince Street.

Prince Street, Clovis, New Mexico, circa 1965, looking north toward Tucumcari.