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I survived Jack. I was now down to my last training partner—another cantankerous officer—Wilbur "The Toad" Kennedy. He was nicknamed "The Toad" because his voice on the police radio sounded like a toad croaking.

Wilbur's job was to orient me to extreme high-speed pursuits. After practicing for days, Wilbur decided it was time to hit the Harbor Freeway (now Interstate 110) that runs from downtown Los Angeles to the L.A. harbor. Wilbur instructed me to enter the freeway and then run at progressively higher speeds to build my confidence in the machine and my abilities.

On the last high-speed run, urged on by Wilbur who rode behind me and talked through the radio, I managed to get my 800-pound machine over 100 miles per hour. I was petrified. Suddenly my handlebars started oscillating. I had entered the high-speed wobble zone, a phenomenon unique to Harley-Davidsons that usually occurs only on motorcycles operated by inexperienced riders. I tried to get out of the wobble—by easing the throttle and then re-applying it—but nothing worked. I just knew I wasn't going to live to see tomorrow.

Then I heard the Toad's voice on my radio. "Rick, I think you're in a wobble."

No kidding, I thought. Was your first clue the fact that I'm violently weaving side-to-side, using all four lanes?

The Toad's instructions crackled over the radio: "The best way out of a wobble is to very, very slowly decelerate." Then I heard him calling our dispatch center. "Los Angeles, this is 77-110 Mary (his radio call sign). 111 Mary (my radio call sign) is in a high-speed wobble. Start an ambulance, code 3, to southbound Harbor Freeway at the I-405."

Desperately, I tried Toad's advice. It worked. As I pulled to a stop on the shoulder of the freeway to let the overdose of adrenaline clear from my system, I thought, That old Toad just saved my life. A moment later, Wilbur was beside me.

"That was great," he grinned. "I've never seen a high-speed wobble before. Amazing."

"Then how did you know what to tell me to do?"

He grinned, punched me in the shoulder, and roared back onto the freeway. "Just a wild guess," he radioed back.

I successfully completed my thirty days of training. But about a year later, I had another brush with death.

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