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Let's do launch
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Editor's Note: When we got to work today, we found another e-mail from that bartending, skateboarding buddy of ours in California. We decided to pass it along again. A word of warning: always wear a helmet.

Chapter Seven
... in which our hero executes the jump of a lifetime.

When you're doing close to 50 going downhill on a skateboard, you don't have tons of choices about how or where to stop. Now throw this in to complicate things: First, I was being pursued by the police. Second, I wasn't alone on my board -- I was also carrying a 150-pound, stolen barstool. And seated in that barstool about four feet off the ground with her legs dangling in front of my eyes and obscuring my vision was Janine, one of the most go-for-it boarders in San Diego County.

Hitting the bottom of the incline at Pacific Coast Highway, I threw a totally ill reverse. It gave whoever was chasing me in the police cruiser something to think about. That left me, Janine and the barstool -- which Michael Jordan had been sitting in only a few minutes earlier back at Lore's Sports Bar -- speeding toward a low chain that marked off a parking lot by the beach.

All I could get out of my mouth before I had to jump the chain was, "Hold on, Ja --"

It wasn't the highest jump I've ever tried -- once I jumped onto the roof of a Domino's delivery van to show I didn't appreciate getting regular when I'd ordered extra thin crust. But given the circumstances, I'll just call it my biggest jump ever.

As we took off, I held my hands on the barstool to steady it in the air. I had to make sure the support pole came down on the board. Because if it planted anywhere else it would have been, "So long, Janine."

We barely cleared the chain because of all the weight I'd launched. And then we landed: The board. Then me. Then Michael Jordan's barstool. And then Janine.

We skidded past the Lincolns and Mercedes in the parking lot. No time to even think of enjoying the successful landing before the pavement ended. As I wiped out, I looked up and saw Janine somersaulting off into the night toward the Pacific.

When I came to, I crawled around in the darkness and found her. The barstool was a few feet away. Janine sat up and brushed some sand out of the green streak in her hair. She looked totally stoked.

"I've never ridden doubles before," she said, patting herself to make sure that if she had any broken bones they weren't broken too badly. For a selfish second I thought of looking around to see if anyone had videotaped the jump. But I knew the police would be looking for us and that we needed to get off the beach and hide.

Fortunately, the parking lot we'd boarded through belonged to The Jonathan Club. I'd worked as a temp bartender at The Jon before. It's a private beach club. The kind where somebody has to recommend you before they allow you in the door. In other words, the opposite of a skate park. The police wouldn't figure on finding a fugitive from justice inside.

Janine and I strolled in off the beach. There was a big benefit party going on and everyone was too drunk to notice or care that Janine and I didn't look like we belonged. They only noticed enough to think we were funny. Particularly a guy named Tuggle, who was working his way through his fourth or fifth champagne cocktail. He had curly gray hair and red cheeks and he was wearing one of those short, white jackets commodores wore before they died out.

Tuggle explained that he was the one throwing the party. He said it was a fund-raising auction for the U.S. Olympic Synchronized Swimming team. Then he laughed and said what was really funny was that the team didn't need the funds, he did. And he went on muttering about some stock market stuff called Etoys, which he used to be proud of owning a lot of but wasn't anymore.

I told him that by coincidence the barstool Janine and I were lugging had been occupied by Michael Jordan not more than an hour ago. Tuggle seemed excited about that. Within five minutes we'd entered that barstool in the auction. It went for $20,000.

I hoped that would get me out of my $11,000 debt to MJ. But Tuggle, being an entrepreneur, said that wasn't how the new economics worked. I came away with just two grand to split with Janine and the gratitude of U.S. synchronized swimmers everywhere. Which didn't solve my immediate problem -- eluding the police.

"I'm sailing to Catalina tonight," Tuggle offered when he caught wind of the jam I was in. He offered me a job as his first mate on the cruise. Sort of a payback for the deal they'd gotten on MJ's barstool. It wasn't a job I could turn down.

"Looks like I'm going to scour the seven seas," I said to Janine.

"I'll always remember that jump over the chain, Wheeler," she said, looking really deep into my eyes. "It was probably the greatest skateboard jump I've ever seen. Better even than anything I've seen Tony Hawk do. I guess when the police are chasing you, it gets you pumped up."

"You've got it wrong -- I wasn't pumped because of the cops, Janine," I said. "I was pumped because I was carrying you."

I guess this is what they call true love.



	ALSO SEE: Wheeler's X-Cellent Adventures: Chapter 6 Wheeler's X-Cellent Adventures: Chapter 5 Wheeler's X-Cellent Adventures: Chapter 4 Wheeler's X-Cellent Adventures: Chapter 3 Wheeler's X-Cellent Adventures: Chapter 2 Wheeler's X-Cellent Adventures: Chapter 1