High school senior Robbie Blake hadn't missed a day of school since the 2nd grade. His grades were a solid A. As a sturdy, good looking, athletic type, he defied the typical jock image.
"Mom, can I split from school today? It's the end of the school year, anyway, and it's senior class ditch day."
"Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt. What's your plan for the day?"
"Well, it's a weekend thing, Mom," he began. "Bob Lasher and I are going to drive out to Ramona, camp out, and swim at Black Canyon. What did you think - can I go?"
"But it's dangerous there. There's robbers, drug addicts, biker gangs, nudity, and drinking - and the crowd is a very bad influence. But... okay, stay safe. Oh, and just be back Sunday by 11 p.m."
Mom could be a pushover at times.
Sure, there had been a few murders over the years, and even some deadly drug overdoses, and some accidental drownings, but overall Black Canyon was a haven for rock slides, climbing, exploring, camping, bird-watching, photography, and it had a bad-to-the-bone waterfall, and some excellent diving from the cliffs. Fun!
With the Ford Mustang loaded up, the daring duo drove to Ramona. Just before the turn leading down the steep canyon dirt road, 19-with year-old Bob behind the wheel, both teens spotted a bus full of nothing but...teen girls. They were mostly Robbie's age, 17.
Bob gave chase, catching the yellow school bus in mere seconds. He honked the horn and the gals waved, giggled, and one stuck her tongue on the glass window at the rear of the bus. Yowza! Babes!
The bus sped up but was no watch for the powerful Mustang. Finally, the driver pulled over and into a deserted rest stop. Robbie was blowing kisses to the girls when the bus driver approached the Ford in a threatening manner with a three-foot club.
"You SOB's better back off. Now! The man pounded the ground with the thick, mahogany stick.
A bit shaken, Bob reached down to his right side and drew a .45 caliber pistol. "Back in the bus, grandpa; I'd hate to have to disarm you."
The driver quickly retreated. Robbie looked at the teen gals and they were by and large shocked, but some were grinning ear to ear. "I'm calling the cops!" the driver shouted.
"Yeah, do that, and give them my regards." Bob was the hoodlum of the pair, the antithesis of Robbie. He'd barely graduated high school the year previous and was always running afoul of the law.
Mike sped back to the dirt road to evade the cops who would be on the lookout for the bright red car. With his knee on the steering wheel, he massaged his broken right finger he had caught in a conveyor belt at work two days prior.
Black Canyon was a mile deep, and passing was only available in four spots because it was so barrow. Robbie waved at a little girl when Bob caught up with a slower SUV. She waved back. Bob pulled over to give the SUV some space.
Back in the 'Stang, they began the steep decline anew. Robbie looked at the canyon wall, a mere foot from his face. He spotted a lizard staring back at him. Meanwhile, Bob's finger became lodged between the steering wheel and the turn signal, and the Ford turned sharply to the left.
As Robbie responded to the lurch, all he saw was a clear blue sky. The car went off the cliff!
After several meters, the car collided with a rather small boulder, flipped on the roof and slid. Hitting another obstacle, it began to barrel roll like an oil drum. The sound of screeching metal filled Robbie's ears, mixed with the Beatles song, "Get Back."
At rest some 900 meters below, Robbie choked on the settling dust. He was alive. He crawled out of the missing windshield, smashed to the point that he cut his back slithering through the opening. Looking back inside the totaled Ford, he saw Bob wasn't inside. "Whoa, dude!"
He looked back up the cliffside and didn't see Bob anywhere. Inspecting the car, a rock had ripped a hole in the hood and tore the carburetor off, but had otherwise left the hood intact. All the windows were shattered. The Mustang looked like several kids had taken turns pounding it with a sledgehammer. It. Was. Toast.
Robbie found Mike up near the first boulder when he heard him groaning and crying out for help. Bob had broken his back. Miles away from the nearest phone, Robbie was unsure of what to do first. He used his Boy Scout training and conducted First Aid, using his disheveled shirt as bandages to stop Bob's bleeding.
Out of solutions, the SUV with the little girl pulled up on the dirt road. The kid had been adamant about seeing a car go off the cliff, compelling her father to go have a look.
Once the California Highway Patrol and the ambulance arrived to take Bob to the hospital, Robbie rode to the police station where he called his Mom and explained what had happened.
In typical mother fashion, she replied, "Were you on drugs?"
Robbie and the cop laughed. "No, Mom," Robbie replied, "we took the Black Canyon death dive."
