I once had an old small BMW Bike. It was hared to find parts for it out here. whomever had the motorcycle before me made all their own parts. Well it ran pretty good while I had it. It looked kind of funny the fenders had been chopped pretty much all the way of and most of the other prats whir from other bikes. It really wasn't road worthy. So I uset to take it up into the hills and abandoned oil fields. In thous days there was a lot of off road vehicles. Domes bugies as we called them and everyone would go to the hills and desserts of California on the weekends. Its strictly a agents the low now days. Except in a few decanted off road parks. But it was a lot of fun while it lasted. It was my first driving experience and I was pretty wild in thous days. My last memory or thous days was dumping my bike withe me on it in to a humongous patch of Sonora cactus. The bike pining my right side to the cacti and the bike on top of me. I don't remember now if the bike staled out after I dumped it on my self of if I was Abel to kill the engine but it most not have been steal ruining. It was all I could do to keep th hot exhaust pipe off me. As I recall I feel lucky some one came close by in about 20 minuets. I do remember screaming for any one how might hear me and thinking that it might be days before any one happed by. The thousands of cactus needles of the Sonora cacti not small needle aether where perforating my howl right side. The weight of the motorcycle on that side. I was steal stradaling the machine whine a fellow dirt biker hapend by and was abil to pull the bike off me. Of cource I was stuck to the cacti and the chap had to reap me off of the desert foliage. I do not remember haw I got off the mountain if I pushed the bike all the way home or if I road it. Nethere was likely considering the cacti put my howl body in shake for several days. Now that I think bake on the I guess I was lucky I never got hit bay a bums buggy or a train for that mater as I was in the habit of using the rail roads dirt access roads for thoroughfares. Some times the accesses roads would end at a bridge and I would get right up on the gravel between the rails to cross the bridge. I do not remember now what ever happened to that bike. I was 17 years old at the time and neither me or my bike was licensed. I probably left it some ware on my way down the mountain on that last ride and never went bake for it.