A “MAXED OUT” HONDA “50"
I think I was the first junior officer to buy a Honda “50” motorcycle in Japan.  Mine had a metal suitcase-like tank with a chrome bar at its front right behind the seat.  It was just right for securing flight gear or an overnight bag.  While we were in port Yokosuka, I would spend my evenings cruising the countryside within a ten or fifteen mile radius.

Since my college degree was in Agricultural Education, I enjoyed observing the Japanese farmers at work in their intensively cultivated fields.  Later in the cruise, a couple more guys bought “Hondas,” and we had some really good times touring The Philippines, Japan, and even Hong Kong. 

In this story, we are in port at Cubi Point, Philippines, for a week or so, and are doing little flying.  So, in the evenings, after we had toured the base, savoring such adventures as racing down the curving roads into and out of the Kalayaan housing area, and chasing the wild boars rooting in the base garbage dump, we would visit the Officer’s Club for a toddy or two.  The Club was a rustic bamboo building with bug screens covering its huge “windows.”  It sat just over the lip of a steep hill, and we could look right down on the runway and the pier where USS Ticonderoga was moored.

At the end of this particular evening, we climbed up the steep stairs to where out trusty Hondas waited to take us down the hill to the ship.  A kick on the starter pedal, and she was purring.  I was ready to roll -- or was I.  You see, just then a familiar voice at my elbow said: “Hold on a minute -- I’ll ride back with you.”

Oh No!!  We’ll all be killed!  My little Honda will be mashed, or at least seriously injured!  There’s no way it can carry a huge load like that!  (Picture a bicycle with two elephants riding it.)  What to do?  One just does not say “NO” to his Skipper!  Oh well, when The Skipper asks for something, we nearly always comply with the request.  So, I braced for the loading, he climbed aboard, thereby mashing that poor little Honda down another couple of inches, grabbed me around the waist, and off we went, weaving and wobbling, down that long dark hill.

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DISASTER!  I’VE LOST MY SKIPPER!
It was late in the cruise, and Skipper had bought himself a Lambretta scooter.  Yes, he had seen us having too much fun without him, but our Hondas were just not (shall we say) robust enough to carry him.  You’ll have to forgive me for not recalling all the minor details, but most of the story that follows still remains vividly in my memory. 

We’re in port Yokosuka when Skipper comes to me and asks if I will accompany him on a bit of a tour on our motor wheels.  Of course I will.  I’m always ready for another sightseeing tour of the countryside.   He says we’ll stay overnight at a hotel somewhere, so I pack my overnight kit, do a brief check of the Honda, and I’m READY!  Off we go, heading to the West across the Kanto Plain, just North of the Sagami-Wan (bay).  Our road parallels the ocean, then eases SW toward Atami: the limit of my previous explorations.  It seems that Skipper has a destination in mind, but has kept mum about it.

Eventually, well after dark, he turns in to the drive of a very fine hotel, and after we park the rigs, we walk into the lobby for a look around.   

I’ll never know what he didn’t like about the place, but he whispered to me: “Lets go!” and headed out the door ahead of me.  We fired up our trusty steeds, and got back on the road, with him in the lead.  On the road to where?  (Sounds like the title for a novel doesn’t it?)   It wasn’t long before the terrain was looking unfamiliar, but I felt sure that we were headed in the general direction of Yokosuka, so I didn’t worry. 

Before long, we found ourselves high on the side of a mountain on a narrow dirt road with a steep brush-covered hillside below.  We didn’t know where we were going, but, up to that point, we had made good time:-)  Consider the situation from my point of view.  It is a black night, I am lost on a high mountain road in the middle of Japan with my Skipper: the one man who holds my Navy career in his own two hands.  I mumble something like the following to myself: No problem, it’s the Skipper’s outing, and I’m here just to be a good “Wingman.” 

Then, from behind, I heard the sound of a really big motorcycle overtaking us.  The rider, a young Japanese man in his “grubbies,” pulled up beside us and gave us a big toothy grin as he looked us over.  The big old machine had one huge cylinder, and the slow boom, boom, boom, of its exhaust sounded like a distant cannon.  After riding alongside each of us in turn, he dropped back and took a position behind us.  Skipper motioned me to pull up close to him, which I did.  Sort of “out of the corner of his mouth” he said: “I don’t like this a bit!  Keep an eye on this guy”  I nodded and, for some unknown reason,  pulled on ahead of him. 

Remember that I said we were high up on a mountain?  They say all things that go up must come down, and we were no exception.  The road down was steep, rocky and rutted: in a word, treacherous.  I was paying close attention to the task of remaining upright when the “boom, booms” were suddenly right beside me, and the rider was trying to get my attention.  He was yelling: “You Flend - You Flend!  and pointing back behind us.  Ever feel your hair stand on end?  Considering the situation, it was NOT a good feeling!

So I braked to a stop, looked back, and saw NOTHING.  No movement, no Lambretta, and, worst of all, NO SKIPPER!  With the Japanese rider leading the way, we proceeded back until I recognized an area where I was sure he had been with me.  He had well and truly disappeared!  With sinking heart, I realized that he could only have turned back without telling me or he had gone off the road.  Yes we eventually found his tracks, and they led right over the edge: we knew he was “down there.” 

Over the side we went, sliding down past the Lambretta to where we found him carefully checking himself over to see if his injuries were serious.  Thankfully, they were not.  So, with the young Japanese man one side of him and me on the other, we slowly and painfully inched the big guy back up that steep hillside to the road.  Then my new “flend” and me reluctantly eased ourselves back down the hill once more to fetch that heavy Lambretta. Yes, it did run, and, yes, it did carry him back to the ship.

To this day, I do not know if he ever told anyone about that “adventure.”  But, I know for sure that I didn’t! It was a great ride we had with him, and we’ll remember him forever!

Captain Ronald C. Miller