It’s September, 1977, a beautiful Indian summer day. After an anxious wait I have just picked up the Trike from the painter. I immediately drive to Lisa’s house. I slide to a halt in her gravel driveway, with an aggressive wick of the throttle the short pipes scream and I get her attention. She jumps on the Trike and I throw the hammer and we head for old man Jensen’s pond. I pull right to the water’s edge. Lisa immediately jumps off the Trike, and then sheds her jean shorts and tube top. She turns around and smiles, the shimmer of the pond blinds me as she runs towards the water. READ MORE
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