After leaving the paved roads, we found ourselves at the top of a rise, looking over an expanse of farmland, probably taro fields. We were on Guam, Trust Territory of the Pacific, A U.S. “possession”.
My buddy was “Willy” from Ohio. His last name was Wilson and for the life of me, I can’t remember his first name. We were riding 1970 Yamaha 250 Enduros. They were essentially “dirt” bikes which could also be driven on the street. They were our only means of transportation.
They got us to “work” and we rode them hard in the bush/jungle.
We cruised down the roads toward the water/beach. We stopped again and looked at the water and took in the view. That’s when I heard a “crack” and the dirt near my bike puffed into a mist.
“Fuck that was a .22, somebody’s shooting at us.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I,m sure,” another puff of dust rose, nearer to Willy’s bike.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here, that guy could hit us if he wanted to.”
We screamed down the road away from where we had come from. We reached a fork and took the left, which took us nearer to the ocean. We were deeper in the jungle so maybe safer unless the asshole chased us and I had a feeling that he would not.
We were probably going about fifty and in the distance I saw a large lizard, probably eight feet long , skittering off the road and into the jungle. The tail was extremely long and they were not often seen by humans because of their nature, being very private and careful. We saw two, Monitor Lizards.