Wilsons Sandbox

This is my story and I'm a stickin to it.... As a young Helicopter Maniac in the ARMY stationed at Hunter ARMY Air Field in Savanna, GA. I had been assigned CQ duty on a Thursday night. By 6am on Fri. Morning I had been up for 24 hours straight. Around noon there was going to be a Company "B" party. I should have hit the rack for a few hours and then went to the party, but no I had to ride my brand new Honda CB750 out to the party site and see what the first wave(Advanced Party Party) was doin. When I arrived they had already started to roast the 2 butchered hogs. They were also icing down the 10 kegs of beer. Now most GI's don't like a lot of foam in their beer so these 10 kegs had to be sampled. When I entered into the service my Grandfather gave me one piece of advice, "Keep your hands clean, your head clear, and Never, NEVER volunteer." Well, now someone had to sample all 10 kegs to make sure that they didn't have too much foam, and well I was there, and wasn't on duty, so I volunteered, figuring my Grandfather wouldn't mind too much. A few too many samples later everyone arrived and the party started. Around noon the hog was served and tasted bad to me and I had to wash the taste out with more beer. Around 3 in the afternoon, after having been up for about 33 hours, not eaten anything and having more than confirmed the foam ratio in each keg, I decided it was time to ride back to the barracks. I put on my helmet, leather jacket and threw a leg over the bike and started er up. I got about 2 feet and fell over. My ARMY buddies came over laughing, picked me up, dusted me off and here is where you would think they would pull the key and find me a way home, but noooo. They plopped me back in the saddle and like the biker scene in the Pee Wee Herman movie, they patted me on the back and off I went. About a mile down the road there was a sweeping curve and I would usually really lay into it. This time was no different other than the foam must have had some strange affect upon the workings of my inner ear and as I laid into the curve I just kept on layin. Just about the time the sparks started flyin, my brain went into slow motion. I remember thinking get your leg out of there or it will get crushed by the bike. I remember sliding along the road holding onto the handle bars and thinking, let go and slide away from the bike. I remember looking straight at the moving pavement from about an inch away saying to myself "Turn your head if you want to keep this nose". The bike and I both flew off into a thick grassy embankment and I jumped up sober as a judge. As we had not really hit anything there was only minor damage, I adjusted the handle bars, thumbed the starter and was gone before anybody came by. Back at the barracks I checked for damage. Through my blue jeans I got a silver dollar size rug burn on one knee. That was it. My leather jacket still bears the scars though. Thank God for dead cows and helmets. The bike had minor damage, turn signals, break lever and I still have the scratched points cover hanging in Mom's garage with the caption "Drunk-n-Ride, Fall-n-Slide, Down in 77". It's just my story and like I said, I'm stickin to it.