Maybe It's Just Me, Bike Lanes Are Annoying

  Maybe it's just me, and usually it is, but bike lanes on streets are a waste. 

  It's not like they are used that often. I go days without seeing a bike on them. Has anybody ever done a cost/benefit analysis? Why aren't they licensed, and the fee used to pay for bike lanes themselves? 

  Do they have to obey traffic laws? I see no evidence that they do. They can run through traffic lights and stop signs, and whiz by me in school zones. 

  And what about those bikes that have a motor attached? The people who ride them shouldn't be trusted with a gallon of gasoline and a two-stroke engine. They're like a suicide bomber on a mission.

  I live in Boise, Idaho. It is a city that is as obsessed with bicycle lanes as it is with the Boise State Broncos.  

  Several years ago, there were three automobile/bicycle collisions within a few weeks of each other. The automobile always wins. A local TV station displayed the pictures of the three cyclists (none sustained life-ending injuries). Here's the strange coincidence: they were all photographed in competitive cycling attire with numbers. My take is that because they were "skilled" cyclists, they thought they owned the road. Indeed, it was discovered later they were at fault, but because they were cyclist, they were portrayed as the victims. 

  Near the same period of time, I personally witnessed an automobile/bicycle collision. A cyclist was speeding on the sidewalk. He had his racing helmet and tights on. He was slumped forward like he was heading for the finish in the Tour de France. With a bike lane available, he chose the sidewalk. He didn't bother checking for traffic because, after all, this was the Tour de France. An automobile, having the light and about a three-thousand-pound advantage, collided with the bike. I'm grateful the cyclist was not killed. 

  The bicyclists and the lanes are a menace and should be changed into something useful. I don't know what, but I do know when something is useless; it's when seldom used. 

A Cult in Paradise; Episode 32, Secret Weapon

This is episode thirty-two of the fifth book in the Trace Troy Adventures in  Paradise series. The Title is A Cult in Paradise. It will be featured in episodes over the next few months. It will eventually be published in full on Amazon. All of the Trace Troy books, as well as my other novels, can be purchased on Amazon by clicking the Bookstore tab above. I hope you enjoy. And thanks for stopping by. 

Secret Weapon

Coyote broke into a restless snoring pattern. Sage breathed heavily. Sleep finally came to Trace.

Trace woke to a hint of sunlight piercing through Coyote’s cell window. He mentally speculated what might be next. Would there be some sort of interrogation, a trial, punishment, or worse? One thing was certain, in his mind, he had to be near the pickup point when Adam and Pete would be there in a rubber boat. He had a plan, but some things had to fall into place. And he read enough about Demeter, or Me’Achad, that he was certain of the successful completion of his plane. Unknowns could not be accounted for, other than they might occur. What shape they take, who knew? And they will have to be dealt with then. ‘Plan for what is known,’ he thought.

The door opened and a guard walked in holding a tray. On the tray were three bowls, three spoons, and three cups.

The guard slid the bowls, the spoons, and the cups on the floor through the bars. “Oatmeal and tea,” he said.

Trace, Sage, and Coyote ate and made disparaging remarks about the quality of food. They spoke quietly. They were afraid that complaining about the food would leave them unfed.

Soon after they finished, the guard returned for the bowls, spoons, and cups. They thanked the guard and he said nothing in return. 

“Have either of you ever been in jail?” Trace asked.

“Nah,” Sage said. 

“A couple of times,” Coyote said, “two days someplace in the Oklahoma panhandle. They charged me with speeding in Oklahoma while being from Texas. I didn’t have the money on me to pay the fine. It was a mayor’s court. The mayor let me go for my belt buckle. Then there was the mistaken identity, It was Adam they was lookin’ for.”

“What about you, Trace?” Sage said. 

“A few months back, I was held in a shack,” Trace said. “Remember, I told you about the coup.”

“That’s right,” Sage said.

“This is the most secure,” Coyote said. “The other places they didn’t even bother to close the cell doors. It was almost like they was hopin’ I’d leave. It would just save them the cost of keepin’ me and the paperwork. Those small towns, they really don’t like to keep anybody overnight. They have to pay overtime to watch you.”

“What do you think will happen next?” Sage asked.

“I think we’ll be seeing Demeter before long,” Trace said. “This is a serious intrusion. He won’t trust anybody but himself to question us. I don’t think he’ll ask a lot of questions. Especially if there are others there. You see, the more questions he might ask, the more we talk. And he doesn’t want anybody to hear us and possibly relate to us. Whoever talks, controls the floor; Demeter can’t allow that to happen. He can’t give up the floor. In everything I read about him, the conversations were always one-sided with no rebuttal, no challenges. It’s as if his words are the words of god.”

They lowered their voices.

“Why did you allow yourself the get captured?” Sage asked Trace.

“I figured it was the only way I could get close to you two,” Trace said.

“What good is that going to do?” Coyote said.

“Don’t worry,” Trace said, “I have a plan.”

“What is it?” Sage said.

“I surrendered so willingly, they didn’t bother to pat me down,” Trace said. “I have a pistol tucked behind me. As soon as the opportunity comes along, I’ll use it to get us out of here.”

“One pistol against all of them,” Coyote said bewildered. “I hope ya have a good plan. What is it?”

Trace paused, then said, “It’s a work in process. It’s very complicated in its simplicity.”

“That means, you ain’t got no plan,” Coyote said.

“But he has a gun,” Sage said. “And guns go bang.”

“Well, at least, that gives us options,” Coyote said.

“Indeed,” Trace said, “Sometime tonight, we get the guard to come in here with the keys. We pull the gun on him, take the keys.”

“And?” Sage said. 

“And I have weapons, hidden, not far from here,” Trace said, “And then we make it to where you hid the rubber boat. Adam and Pete are coming for us. They’ll be there.”

“What if we become separated?” Sage asked.

“If somehow we become separated,” Trace said, “at the northeast edge of the compound there is a path encircling it. There is a palm tree so close the the path that the path goes around it. Five steps straight in from the path is a heap of underbrush. It hides a cache of a couple of weapons, rations, and maybe even a grenade.”

“You know,” Coyote said, “if I get back home, I ain’t gonna say a thing about this or that other escapade we went on. Folks have a hard enough time believin’ me as it is. This stuff will ruin what little credibility I have.”

“You said, ‘if’ you get back home,’” Trace said. “It’s ‘when.’ We’re going to succeed.” 

The Button

It was one of those nights for philosophy, speculation, and
wandering thoughts. It was on Tim’s back porch, and the stars dotted the night like a distant celestial city.

“Tim, did you ever stop to think that if just one little thing in your life changed, it might alter your entire life?” Dick said.

“Yeah,” Tim said. “But it’s nothing I spend a lot of time on.”

“Like, it’s really surreal when you think about it,” Dick said.

“Yeah,” Tim said. “Something as simple as a missing button.”

“What!” Dick said.

“A missing button,” Tim said.

“No,” Dick said. “Something like a major decision. You know, like, should I go to work at a factory or drive a beer truck? Come on, a missing button?”

“It happened to me, Tim said.

“A missing button?” Dick said. 

“Sure, changed my whole life,” Tim said.

“No way,” Dick said.

“It was in the first grade,” Tim said.

“A missing button in the first grade altered your life,” Dick said incredulously.

“I raised my hand when Mrs. Oliver asked who could spell ‘Cat,’” Tim said. “I knew, so I raised my hand. That’s when it happened.”

“What happened?” Dick said.

“I noticed the button was missing on the sleeve of my shirt,” Tim said. “Mrs. Oliver was about to say ‘Tim,’ but she saw my hand go down, so she called on Wayne.”

“And how did that alter your life?” Dick said. 

“I wasn’t asked to be on the spelling team,” Tim said.

“So?” Dick said.

“The rest of the class went out for recess,” Tim said. “Normally, we would have been having reading class.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” Dick said.

“That’s where I met Bobby Luterbien,” Tim said.

“How did meeting Bobby Luterbien alter your life?” Dick said.

“Well, it wasn’t really Bobby Luterbien,” Tim said. “It was his pencil.”

“What about his pencil?” Dick said with a half-cocked grin.

“He dropped it,” Tim said. “And I picked it up.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Dick said. “So you gave it back to him and what?”

“His class already went in from recess,” Tim said. “That’s when I found it.”

“How did you know it was his?” Dick said.

“His name was on it,” Tim said. “His parents were rich.”

“When did you return it to him?” Dick said.

“I didn’t,” Tim said.

“Where’s this taking us next?’ Dick said.

“Our class was called in from recess,” Tim said. “Sally Watkins yells out that I have Bobby Luterbien’s pencil. The teacher thinks I’m a thief. I‘m sent to the principal’s office. They take a closer look at me and decide I should be in a class for less than motivated learners.”

“And…” Dick said.

“I moved along with that class for five years,” Tim said. “They decide to introduce music therapy. I learn to play the guitar.”

“I didn’t know you played guitar,” Dick said.

“I broke a guitar string and have to go to the music supply room for another string,” Tim said. 

“What happens there?” Dick said.

“I don’t make it there,” Tim said.

“What happens?”

“I walk by a class and the teacher is screaming, ‘Can anybody please tell me what was the first capital of the United States?’” Tim said. “I stuck my head in the door and said there were actually nine different capitols, but under the current constitution, it was New York City. So impressed was the teacher with my answer, she took me to the principal’s office for another evaluation. That’s where I met my future wife.”

“She was in the principal’s office?” Dick said.

“Her mother was,” Tim said. “But we eventually met.”

“This makes absolutely no sense to me,” Dick said. “Any one of those things mean absolutely nothing to you meeting your wife.”

“Of course they don’t,” Tim said. “You have to let me finish.”

“If I’m following you, this might take the rest of the evening,” Dick said.

“More or less,” Tim said.

“Can you shorten it up?” Dick said. 

“Well, you don’t have to get so impatient,” Tim said. “You wanted an example, and I’m giving it to you. Do you have anything to compare with this?”

“What does this all have to do with where you are right now?” Dick said.

“Okay, okay,” Tim said. “Last week, it was open house at little Timmy Junior’s first-grade class. He’s in the same exact room I was in. I got my hand in my pocket, fumbling with loose change. From nowhere, Junior’s first-grade teacher comes up and introduces herself. I pull my hand out of my pocket, and the change rolls all over the floor. Junior immediately springs into action and collects all the change. I’m talking with the teacher. Junior disturbs a lot of stuff that was under the heat register. I look down. There’s a button. The button; that I lost 25 years earlier.”

“And what does that have to do with now!” Dick said.

“I bent down to pick it up, just then a bullet comes through the window and lodges in the wall. My head would have been in the direct line of that bullet. A guy next to the school was cleaning his rifle, didn’t know he had a round in the chamber, and it fired. So you see, it was the button. The button lost twenty-five years earlier. It saved my life.” Tim said.

“And you said you didn’t lie awake thinking about these things,” Dick said.

“That’s right,” Tim said. “You can’t make up stuff like this.”

A Cult in Paradise; Episode 31, Surrender

This is episode thirty-one of the fifth book in the Trace Troy Adventures in  Paradise series. The Title is A Cult in Paradise. It will be featured in episodes over the next few months. It will eventually be published in full on Amazon. All of the Trace Troy books, as well as my other novels, can be purchased on Amazon by clicking the Bookstore tab above. I hope you enjoy. And thanks for stopping by. 

Surrender

Trace strapped on the backpack, stuck the pistol in the rear waist of his pants, and grabbed the rifle. He hunched and moved into the palms and bushes. He reached the area near the compound. 

He belly-crawled to the edge of the compound. The excitement had settled and some of the lights once on were now off, yet adequately lit.

Trace back-crawled away from the compound. He stood and hunched, making his way to the other side of the compound. That is where the stockade was. He stopped at where he stashed his gear and rifle. He added to the cache, Adam’s backpack and rifle. The pistol remained tucked in the back of his pants. 

Again, Trace ducked low and made his way to the south end of the compound. He stood and laced his finger behind the back of his head. He walked slowly into the compound. 

“Stop!” A guard said and pointed a rifle.

Trace stopped. “I’m surrendering.”

The guard turned his head toward the hub of the compound. “Captain of the guard!”

A flabby man in a khaki uniform with two gold bars on the epaulets hurriedly walked toward them. Two other guards were on each side. 

The captain looked startled at first and composed himself. In a high-pitched voice, he asked. “Who do we have here?”

“This man surrendered,” the guard said.

“Who are you?” The captain asked.

“My name is Trace Troy. I was hired to help get a couple of kids off this island. When it came time to escape, they said there wasn’t room in the boat for me. I was double-crossed.”

“Do you know anything about this island?” The captain asked stepping closer to Trace.

“No offense,” Trace said, “but all I was told is that there was nothing but a bunch of religious fanatics here.”

“Don’t you have any weapons?” The captain asked.

“I tossed them in the rubber boat,” Trace said. “They took off with it. They left me with nothing.”

“Why are you surrendering?” The captain asked.

“I don’t even know what I got myself into,” Trace said. “This guy offered me five thousand dollars. I told him I had a lot of experience. Truth is, two months ago I was working in a warehouse in San Antonio. I took all my savings and came to Samoa. I lost all my money gambling. I was desperate for enough money to get back home and hold me over until I got rehired.”

“We are a religious order,” the captain said. “This island is our retreat. It is sacred to us.”

“Believe me,” Trace said, “I don’t judge any man’s religion, but I respect them all. If I know’d this was sacred ground there’d be no amount of money that could have made me come here.”

“The people that escaped,” the captain asked, “do you know where they were going?”

“They didn’t tell me anything directly,” Trace said, “but they sure talked about Bora Bora a lot.”

“How many men were involved in this?’ The captain asked.

“Let’s see,” Trace said, “there was me, a guy named, Adam another one named Pete, and a father and son; Coyote and Pete. Coyote and Pete were the same as me, promised five thousand dollars. We were kept in the dark by Adam and Pete. Oh yeah, there was this pilot. Can’t remember his name.”

“Our leader, high breast, and unifier is resting,” the captain said. “You will have to see him in the morning.”

“Geez,” Trace said, “I don’t know nothing about Catholic stuff. I’m in big trouble, ain’t I. I’ll screw up in front of him. I won’t bow right. And that sign thing with the cross, I’m not sure where to start or end.”

“We’re not Catholics,” the captain said. “Me’Ached will be able to tell if you are telling the truth or lying.”

“Geez,” Trace said, “talk about a bad draw. I always sound guilty. I had to go before a judge, one time, and he said the evidence proved I was innocent but I was acting guilty—three days in jail.”

The captain smirked. He motioned with his head. “Follow me.”

Trace followed the captain. Two guards walked beside him and one guard to the rear. They stopped at the stockade where now there was only one guard. 

“A couple of your friends are inside,” the captain said.

“If it’s Adam and Pete, tell the high priest they won’t be in any shape to confess their sins. I got a score to settle with ‘em.”

A guard opened the door to the stockade. A guard walked Trace in. The guard opened an empty cell and Trace walked in. 

Coyote was in one cell and Sage in another. 

“Coyote! Pete!” Trace said. “What do ya know, you got double-crossed too.”

They began to talk superficially. 

“Big time,” Coyote said.

“Real big time,” Sage said.

The guard closed the cell door and locked it. He walked out of the stockade. The guards mumbled among themselves.

“I just plain surrendered,” Trace said. “I figured, what the heck.”

“We was hid and scared up a flock of birds,” Sage said.

“Gave us away in a snap,” Coyote said. “They was on us like stink on a cow’s ass.”

“What do you suppose they’ll do with us?” Trace said. “Have they told you guys anything?”

“Nothing,” Sage said.

“They’re religious,” Coyote said. “They believe in god and mercy—I hope.”

“Those guards didn’t seem all that bad,” Trace said. 

“I don’t know about that,” Sage said. “One of ‘em walked me on the back of the head.”

“He might have just been having a bad day,” Trace said. “After all, we got them up in the middle of the night.”

“All I know is when we get out of this mess, I’m looking for the guys that got us in this mess,” Coyote said.

“I can guarantee we ain’t never gonna see any of that five thousand,” Trace said. 

“We’ll just have to take it out of their hides,” Coyote said.

“I don’t know where to start looking for ‘em,” Sage said, “but as sure as the devil, I’m going to try.”

“What about those kids we got out of here,” Trace said. “Whoever got them out had to bankroll this whole thing. I’ll find them. And if they don’t come up with somethin’ I’ll drag ‘em back here.”

The guard called out, “Okay, that’s enough in there. You’re going to need some rest.

“Sorry,” Trace called out the guard.

Sage and Coyote called out they were sorry too.

“We’re just venting,” Trace said. “Good night.”

Trace, Sage, and Coyote lay on their bunks. Breezes passed through the palms. The leaves rattled restlessly. Trace heard his heartbeat. It felt as if it was about to leap from his chest. 

A Cult in Paradise; Episode 30, Plan B

This is episode thirty of the fifth book in the Trace Troy Adventures in  Paradise series. The Title is A Cult in Paradise. It will be featured in episodes over the next few months. It will eventually be published in full on Amazon. All of the Trace Troy books, as well as my other novels, can be purchased on Amazon by clicking the Bookstore tab above. I hope you enjoy. And thanks for stopping by. 

Plan B

Trace disappeared into the bushes, palms and the night heading toward the compound. He low-walked until about thirty yards from the compound’s clearing. Then he low-crawled in the undergrowth until arriving at the edge of the compound. Guards dressed in green military clothing milled around in every direction. Each walked as if they had a real purpose. He backed away from the edge. He stood but hunched down and walked around to the other side of the compound; the stockade was there.

On the other side of the compound, he lay down in the undergrowth. He had a clear view of the stockade with four guards near the front door. 

“They have them,” Trace whispered. Then he thought, ‘If they knew who they had, they should triple the guards.”

Then he thought, ‘There’s no way I can leave them here. If I leave now, I don’t know what will happen to them and also, if I leave and come back there is no guarantee they will be here or that I can get back on the island.’

Trace removed his backpack. He covered it and his rifle with the underbrush. He rushed back to where Adam, Pete, and the rubber boat were.

“It’s Trace,” he whispered as he approached them.

“Do they have them?” Adam asked.

“Yes,” Trace said, “they’re in the stockade.”

“Is it too dangerous to break them out?” Pete asked.

“It’s well guarded,” Trace said, “and the compound is crawling with guards. It looks to me like they are in panic mode. No boats and no airplanes. None of them ever figured on this.”

“I have an idea,” Trace said. “I need you two to go back to The Tramp Islander and get another rubber boat. Bring it back to this spot tomorrow night.”

“I don’t want to leave you here,” Adam said. 

“I don’t want to leave me here,” Adam said.

 “I’m not alone. I have Sage and Coyote,” Trace grinned. “But I think I can break Sage and Coyote out.”

“Shh,” Pete said and placed his finger on his lips. He whispered, “Three guards walking on the beach, coming this way.”

They hunkered down peeking through the bushes as they passed. They listened.

“They took Nick with them.”

“I knew if he got a chance, he’d leave.”

“Lucky dog.”

“If I’d caught them, I’d beg them to take me with ‘em.”

“Me too.”

“Dem is in a frenzy. I’ve never seen him like this.”

“A seaplane came for them.”

“Whoever did this was well organized. They damaged everything that could have been used against ‘em.”

“I heard one of the guards in the tower broke his leg and another one has some cracked ribs.”

They moved on further and their words turned to mumbling.

“That may be a ploy,” Adam said. “Meant to attract one of us or one or their own.”

“It did sound overly brazen,” Trace said.

“Yeah,” Pete said, “they were talking a little too loud.”

“Broken leg and cracked ribs,” Adam said, “sounds like a typical night down at Sneaky Pete’s in the old days.”

“I’m glad to see those days over,” Pete said and looked to the sky. “I wonder what the weather will be like tomorrow night.”

“Before leaving, I checked the weather for the next three days,” Pete said. “Cloudy tomorrow. Perfect for your return.” 

“Let’s give this a couple of minutes to stew,” Adam said. “We got a couple of hours of daylight remaining.”

“We have to give ourselves time limits,” Trace said.

“And we have to establish some sort of communication,” Adam suggested.

“We can’t break radio silence,” Trace said.

“If we leave at midnight, we should be here at 1:00, “ Adam said. “But I sure wish we could do it all in the time we have left, tonight.”

“There’s just no way I can do all I have to do,” Trace said. “Yes, if some things fall in my lap. On the other hand, you might not be able to make it back before sunup. This gives us all a chance to rest a bit. It’s been an exhausting night.”

“Come on,” Pete smiled, “let’s not waste any more of your son’s time.”

“Dad,” Trace said, “I’m taking your weapons and gear. When I break them out, I want to make sure they’re armed.”

Adam handed Trace a pistol, a rife, and tossed his backpack at Trace’s feet.

Adam gripped Trace’s shoulder. “Take care, and we’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“If we’re here, I’ll flash the light in intervals of four,” Trace said.

Pete shook Trace’s hand. “If your dad was only ten years younger, I’d say he’s the best man for the job.” Pete grinned, “But you’ll do.”

Adam and Pete grabbed each side of the rubber boat. They waded into the surf, hopped into the boat, and paddled toward the open sea. Trace watched until he heard the faint sound of the motor between the breaking waves.