I had flown back from South America in my Cessna 182 and I had a bunch of five gallon, red, jeep gas cans in the back. This was in '75 or '76 and back then they didn't look at you very friendly when you check in at the airport with a bunch of long range capability, so I decided to land at Mike's (notice how that word always seems to keep popping up) and get rid of those gas cans.
At that time, the airstrip was up over the mountain to the south and you would fly over Mike's, rock your wings, and he would come and get you in his 4x4 in about half an hour. This is where my dirt bike riding came in. The clouds were right down on the mountains, but there was a hole right over the motel, big enough for me to spiral down through. I was able to fly the trail just like on a bike right up the stream to the t-shape, turn right and follow the trail all the way to the dirt strip, and I was never more than twenty or thirty feet above the ground.
Mike Senior, still owes me for those gas cans. Unfortunately, he was killed before I ever saw him again. Besides I could care less about those gas cans, I certainly didn't want to have them with me at customs.
This whole thing is just a stream of consciousness since Sven, who has "California Motorsport Adventours", wanted to know if I had any Baja memories. I couldn't think of one and then I woke and thought of one this morning, which led to another and another...
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