[Elspode]

When I was in high school, it was extremely difficult to find a suitable location for a bit of the old in-out, in-out, and so my trusty '66 Chevy Biscayne become my trysting spot of choice. Even so, one must have a place to park the portable boudoir, and the place I liked was back in a semi-inaccessible area of our local park, down a much-overgrown but still easily passable road which crossed through a low water crossing of the meandering river, and back into dense woods.

It was rather secluded, even romantic, and fairly secure...fairly being the operative phrase here. One afternoon, my girlfriend and I were, shall we say, "in the clinch" in the backseat, free from care of discovery in our green and shady parking spot, when suddenly there arose the unmistakable noise of dirt bikes. Within moments, the car was surrounded by four of the sputtering, smoking monstrosities, ridden by helmeted and unrecognizable youths. There was little we could to conceal ourselves (or our identities, unfortunately, as it turned out), so we just sort of waved and waited for the catcalling and hooting to subside, which it did in a politely short amount of time.

We laughed about it all, and the incident didn't really diminish the experience much, if you get my drift.

A few days later, back at school, while standing at the gym door, waiting for the bell to ring for release to the next class, a guy I knew slightly walked up to me.

"Do you drive a red Chevy?"

"Yes, I do. Why do you ask?"

"Do you ever go to O'Donnell Park?"

"Yeah, I go there all the time...I live right next to it."

"Well, my buddy was out riding motorcycles the other day..."

My girl and I were the butt of numerous good-natured jibes during the next couple of weeks, but actually, I think they were more along the lines of jealous good-natured jibes because, after all, we were both getting some.

Okay, I've broken the ice. Next!