Part 1, family camping

Hello All,

One summer, while camping with my family and friends in the desert, I rode my father’s motorcycle off by myself. The bike was most certainly larger than what I should have been riding, but I liked its power. When I sat in the seat, my feet would reach the foot pegs, and not any further toward the ground. I could not stop and hold the motorcycle upright, because I could not reach the ground. My father did not mind my riding his bike; in fact, he got a kick out of it. He would start the motorcycle and hold it up while I mounted its seat. I had not problems working the controls, or even balancing the bike as I rode. Now, you have the mental image.
I rode my father’s bike up the trail which began at our camp site. It was proving to be a very nice ride through the foothills of the high desert. I estimated a quarter of a mile from camp and around three hills back in the desert, when it was time to consider a return. However, I could not find an area large enough for my “U” turn.
As I rounded a corner over the third or fourth hill, I could see an old river bed, a wash, in the distance. “This is it”, I thought, as I prepared and executed the left turn. Problem, I did not expect the deep sand, I was about to encounter, and I knew that I could not set my feet to the ground. This left me with only one choice, to commit myself to going straight with acceleration. I am now going down a wash, not a trail, in deep sand and in deep 5hit. I was fortunate with previous deep sand experience, but not on my dad’s bike! I knew the width of the wash would be decreasing, I just did not know when or where. So, I found a rock, off to the side of the wash, and aimed for it. I knew, if I could stop close to the side of the rock, I could place my foot on it for support and it worked!
There I was supporting the motorcycle on my much required rock and triangulating a plan of a 180 degree turn in my mind. “Ok, this sounds good”, I said to myself and I began to set all plans into motion. Just then, the motor shut off. “Oh no”, I exclaimed. I do not have enough weight to kick start my father’s bike, it is leaning on a rock, I’m upset and just want to go back to camp. I was 12 at the time.

Through my many attempts to start this engine, I did manage to flood out the carburetor with excess fuel. “Now what will I do”, I thought. “I need Dad”, as many pre-teenagers would resolve. I can not leave the bike here by walking back to camp, and Dad told me not to exit the trail. I need them to come to me, so I called. I shouted from the top of my little ridge in the hopes that somebody in our camp would here me. I yelled, from the top of my lungs down to my toes, “Help”. Ok, I know now, that was a mistake; but it was a lesson well learned.
After tiring of the yelling, I gave the bike more tries and it worked. It started and I executed my turn and made it all the way back to camp without any one person knowing there had been a problem- so I thought.
They were happy I had returned, for I did not know we, our whole camp, was about to go out for a day ride. Everybody went and had a wonderful time and I never spoke of my embarrassing moment.
Upon the return to camp, we could see Rescue vehicles everywhere. There was even a helicopter in the picture! Somebody heard me, all right! In addition, this person was not of our camp. I was reported missing to the San Diego Sherriff’s Department and they decided the need for a full scale search to find this person in need. They decided that time was crucial and they needed to respond. And, it was I, they needed to find without haste.

Part two, later

Reach