The Truth
Copyright© 2015 by Old Man with a Pen
Chapter 8
While we're chatting ... I should talk about my motorcycle (s).
Bill is just enough older that he had his license. His dad owned a bar south of Saint Johns. A Roadhouse kind of place. There's a commercial lake to the west and a golf course across the road. It sets on the top of a hill. It's pretty successful ... Bill had a Zundap 250 motorbike, a '40 Ford sedan and a couple of others I don't recall.
I was just 14. Bill and I were cruising, as was our accustomed habit, the back roads of Clinton County. We were west of Ovid-Elsie but east of 27 ... a huge area but old age and the County Road Commission has modified that area and I'm no longer sure. On one of those gravel jokes they called roads we came across a real find.
At the time, there was a 'Flying Farmer' in the area. During the war he flew P-47's and racked up enough kills to make double ace ... and a couple more. 109's... 190's ... a single Ta 152 and a Storch. After that war, he was called up for Korea and flew F-51's until a Mig shot him down. Invalided out, he came back to the oh so boring family farm ... put in a runway and started collecting. Of course he was killed in a J3 Cub... 65 horses and molasses in January.
Down the road a piece was a little trash home with a scrounger living in it. The pilot ... deader n' dead ... left everything to the Little Woman and She was a mean spiteful wench.
"Get this worthless crap outta my barn," she told the scrounger.
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