...but, I knew who it was.
I rolled up to the high school on my Suzuki GS-400, and parked near the band room door as usual.
As I walked in, I noticed a group of people standing near my locker. The band room, and the hall where my locker was located, sat about four feet lower than the main building, and there was a short, steep set of steps connecting the two levels.
As opened my locker, I noticed a black mark on the floor tiles, near the middle of the hallway. I recognized it, immediately, as a skid mark from a bicycle tire.
Of course, it helped that I had talked to the rider who made that skid mark, the day before. After finding an open door, he and another kid had ridden their bikes in and spent a heady 20 minutes, or so, racing through the halls and skidding around the corner. He had told me that he ended up jumping his bike off of the steps, and skidding almost to the doors at the end of the hall before he was able to stop.
I thought that he was making that part up, but there on the floor was proof of the stunt.
About a half-hour later, I got the call over the intercom. "Jon Grinder...to the principal's office!"
"What now?" I thought. Was I going to catch hell about parking on the covered area by the door, again? Or, was something I had done and forgotten about catching up to me? I had done the dance so many times that I rarely even listened to the music, any more.
I got to the office and not only was Larry Love waiting for me, but his flying monkey Fred Enis was there as well.
"We figure you have something to do with all of the tire marks in the halls," Fred started.
"What's so funny?" Larry spat at me.
In case you haven't figured it out, I was not a favorite with the administration.
"I haven't ridden a bicycle in a year and a half," I said. "If I had gotten in here, there would be some bigger tracks on the floor."
I had been in trouble with these clowns so many times, I no longer even cared. Familiarity breeds contempt, and I was very familiar with these two.
So many times it was like this: They needed someone to blame, and there I was.
"Well, do you know who's responsible?" Larry asked.
"Nope," I lied. "I can just tell you it wasn't me. Ask my mom, I was at home on Saturday."
"How did you know it was Saturday?" Fred piped up, in full Hercule Poirot mode. "We didn't tell you what day it happened."
"I heard Snow say that, in the hall," I said. Snow was our nickname for the janitor, Mr. Flurry. I won't tell you what we called Fred Enis...
We all stood there, for a minute, and Larry finally sent me back to class. When I sat back down in my desk, Taylor asked me what it had all been about.
"Just taking the heat for you," I said.
The mystery riders never were found out, even though about half the student body knew who they were.
I just wish I had been riding bicycles, as well as the motorbike, at the time. Sounded like a lot of fun, to me.