Way back in the day I was known officially as Blue Bike.....there were 3 of us...Red and Green were the other two. The reason for this was that the Helo could spot us from the air. We had what ever colour were crossed over the top of our lids in thick duct tape.
On this particular day...we were up country...down near the border. The helo was making passes overhead on a regular basis and my hand held was squawkin go this way go that way...then I'd spot the tape they dropped...and follow it to the gold field. Or in this case the big green mellow field. The rest would show up up to an hour later. Count the plants rip em out...make a pile spray diesel all over em...and set alight. Stand down wind and try not to get busted breathin the fumes...A bloke would be with us, he'd take a sample, and mixed it in some stupid looking test tube thingy, when it changed colour to what he thought it outa be he'd issue a certificate that said yep this marijuanna....of courte those of us in the know already knew it..Cause our bikes would never start properly after the 3rd burn of the day....I ripped my right leg open that many times...when my foot slipped off the kicker...cause I was so ripped.

The last trek of the day was down this dirt road...I was roaring along and the radio was buzzen...the pilot was giving me directions....to the next turn...something felt strange...I stopped mid run...and asked for a grid ref...Hold one...came the reply...Shit...sorry got caught up in the moment..came back. Stand by someones come up on Guard...I'm sitting in the bush for 15 minutes...bike idling away ..the 4wd's pullin behind me...whats going on...? Dunno..but I'm failry sure we have crossed the border back aways...I figure we are in Victoria...Shit ...Blue bike...squawks over the radio...Blue bye...Damn your good...yep we are in Victoria...Can you go 3 klicks down turn left ..find the tape and drag it back to the main road...Roger that...The rest of you can head back to base. Off I rides...found the road and  the tape...tied it on the back and road out...stopped and tied it off...Next thing there is a thundeous sound above me...Looking up there is huge sikorsky hovering above me , and 3 faces peering down at me...with white flight helmets on them...the radio squawks....Rider identify yourself....Yeah that makes alot of sense doesn't it,  ya stupid mexican...if i weren't who I'm sposed to be how could i be talking to you on a radio....silence.....oh yeah....okay thanks for the help you can go now...Sure your guys won't get lost following the tape? Get outa there Bluebike! You are outa your jurisdction....Yeah your welcome I reply. I jumpon fire up the ol 600 and away i go...

So here i am, 70 miles from base...and less than a 1/4 of a tank of gas. Shit.....hope i can make Wiyndham....before dark....I stop check my map...work out a few back forest rds,and off i go...i made the 30 miles to Wyndam in record time..had i run out i would have spent a cold and lonely night in the bush. The radios we use are only good for about 400 metres...on the ground...or ground to air..if he's above me...useless any other time in heavy tree'd areas. I came down outa a bush trail and turned left...onto a bitumen road...coming down the main street...I was on reserve and the motor stalled...I grabbed the clutch and coasted in to the garage. The bowsers were those ones mounted straight into the path. Looking around I could see it was shut...Damn!...I re arranged myself...and headed across the road and down the street...into the only place open and where i hoped the owner of the garage would be. The pub. In i walk and about a dozen heads turn to face me...Leather boots jeans and t shirt under a flannel shirt. Don't spose the garage fella is here? say me....a bloke at the bar says yeah why...Need gas says I...He fished in his pocket...here..help yaself..bring back the key....and tossed me a key ring...I walk back across the road...unlock the pump...and put in 10 bucks worth...reach for my wallet...and find i only got 5....damn...looking in the window i see a familiar book...Government stores...great...Hang on the cop shop here is closed down...well if he still has the book...it must be legit...tucked into the tool bag is my Gov't stores docket book. and a pen...So i scribble out a receipt...sign it off put on the speedo reading and serial number for the bike...put it back, and go back in to the pub armed with the script. Hand over the keys...tell him I pumped $10 bucks worth...but tell him i don't have 10 bucks cash..He puts down his beer and turns to me.....what ya mean yoiu don';t have 10 bucks!..Well i only got a fiver..but its ok...I said..i saw the Governemnt stores book through the window....and here's a receipt for $10 bucks worth...you can fill in the details in the book when you wants....Like bloody hell says he...The cop shops closed here...Everyone in the pub has stopped and are listening to us...several big bearded mountain types are paying me particular attention... we'd been in the area almost 2 weeks and had found about 5 or 6 sizeable cash crops...So the cops weren't the most popular lads about.So who are ya says the garage proprietor? Me I'm a linesman for the electricty commission..i ride the trail looking for power line problems...Oh..says he, everyone thinks this is plausible...I dunno says the prop...Your mob aren't fast at paying script...well I can give ya 5 now and send it in for 5....he thinks on it...Nah $10 bucks ain't nothing...no harm done....Ok see ya then...i turn and start to walk out...i pass a bloke coming in through the door...Hey says hey..there is this bike parked over at the garage , and its got the portable radio strapped to the handle bars...they are calling for this blue bike....the bastard must be a cop i reckon ...cause he's got blue tape stuck over the top of his white lid...he'd be one of them trail bike cops...i shot out the door and run across the street...jumped on the bike and tossed the helmet over my head and hoped to god the bloody bike fired....Hey you!  A good half dozen blokes came outa the pub...including the 3 mouintain men...i fired thebike and slammed it into gear..and roared off....my shirt came undone and whipped up my back exposing the shoulker holster i had strapped to me...i could hear the howls of agrivation as i poured on the speed, and flew outa town..........8pm in the dark...I rolled into the motel and pulled up in the dark....several offduty chaps came over....Shit Jonesy they are organising a search party for you....Just then the boss walked up...what happened to you? Ran outa fuel...Yes i have heard...I can tell you something for free Jonesy....You are about as popular as a pork chop at a bartmitsfa back in Wyndham.....appears they don't like liars as much as they don't like cops.... the boss just looked at me and laughed... 

God was watching over you. Glad that you lived to share it.