The first thing that came to mind as I opened my eyes was that I appeared to be looking at the underside of a motor vehicle? I instantly recognized the muffler and tail pipe. I looked from side to side and sure enough, I was under a vehicle. I looked at my wrist and discovered that my watch was still there. It was 10:30 am but I was uncertain of what day it was. I could hear the sound of people laughing and yelling and talking. I could hear the sound of motorcycle engines in the distance. My head pounded, my mouth was very dry and my tongue thick. I had grown accustomed to waking up in the strangest places but this was a bit extreme. Where the hell was I? The last thing I remember was standing, belly up to the bar at J.R. Ewing’s off of San Carlos Blvd. in downtown San Jose. I had drank quite a bit that Friday afternoon and I was at the point where I was going in and out of consciousness, on the verge of a total blackout, a state I was very familiar with by this time. I stared at the shot of Tequila on the bar in front of me and fooled myself into believing that I had a choice as to whether I would take it or not. I knew that if I took the shot I would definitely blackout and when this binge would end was anybodies guess. It had been that way for some time now, each time I drank, I blacked out, each time I blacked out, I didn’t know what would happen. Sometimes I would “come too” in a jail cell, not knowing why I was there. Sometimes I would “come too” in a hospital emergency room, not knowing what was wrong with me. Sometimes I would “come too” several states away from where I had started, not knowing how I got there or the people I was with. I had “come too” in a lot of strange places with no recollection of how or when I got there. If my past experience meant anything, it meant that if I took that shot something bad was going to happen. As certain as that fact would appear to any normal, sane person, I was always able to convince myself that this time it would be different, this time I would be able to control the outcome, this time I would be able to drink successfully. As I stood there at the bar with these thoughts running through my mind, I had no idea that I no longer had a choice whether to take that drink or not. Somewhere I had crossed a line where I had any power whatsoever to refuse it. The consequences, no matter how bad, had no effect. The legal ramifications meant nothing; the threat to my health meant nothing. The effect it would have on the people that loved and cared about me meant nothing at this point. The blackout that used to unnerve me so much and that I once tried so hard to avoid was now the desired effect. The last thing I remember that evening was taking that shot of tequila.
I rolled out from under the vehicle and stumbled to my feet. I was in a field on the side of a mountain. Where the mountain was I had no way of knowing. My vision was blurry but I recognized the vehicle, it belonged to a friend of mine and I had a vision of trying to climb in the side door, perhaps the night before? A woman screamed at me to get the hell out. I had evidently interrupted something? I saw a group of about 6 or 7 guys about 30 feet away standing around a campfire, they appeared to be passing a bottle around. Just what the doctor ordered I thought. I made my way over and noticed they were wearing denim vests with the crest of a chapter of the Hells Angels on the back. They were talking and laughing as I approached. I forced my way into their circle and the talking stopped. They all stared for a few seconds before a little guy across the fire asked me what the hell I wanted. His tone and demeanor irritated me but I wanted the bottle he was holding and I intended to get it. I looked around the circle with a sly smile on my face. These were some big boys and as they looked at my reaction they began to laugh. I’m not sure if they were laughing at me or with me and I didn’t care. I told the little one that I wanted a hit off the bottle he was holding and asked if he was going to pass it or if he was going to stand there flapping his gums all day. This brought howls and hoots from his buddies and his expression changed to anger. He told me he was going to hold on to it and that I could go fuck myself. Again, hoots and howls from the rest of them. I told him I would count to three and if he hadn’t passed it I was going to take it. His friends were laughing and taunting him but when I finished the count of three I stepped forward placing my boot in the middle of the fire, grasping the bottle around the neck just as my fist crashed into his jaw. He went down quickly as I stepped back out of the fire with the bottle, taking a large guzzle as I did so. The next thing I knew, I saw a flash of red followed quickly by a flash of white before everything went black and silent. I began to hear muffled sounds as my vision slowly returned. The left side of my head throbbed terribly and as I regained my senses, I noticed that I was down on one knee, there was blood dripping on the dirt in front of me and everyone in the circle was quiet as they stared at me in horror. I looked to my left and saw the biggest one of the bunch, a guy close to 300 lbs and almost as wide as he was tall, standing there with a clinched fist. On each finger was a large silver ring and I could see that one of them was a skull with some kind of red stone for eyes. This son of a bitch just hit me I thought and adrenaline started pumping through my veins. I rose up off my knee and began to lunge for him but someone stepped between us and the hoots and howls started up again. These guys were patting me on the back and hugging me as they laughed and howled. Next thing I knew I was on their shoulders with the bottle of vodka thrust into my hand. They danced around the fire with me hoisted high above them, blood spilling down on them as they went. The side of my head was burning with pain and I guzzled the vodka in an attempt to dull it. I wasn’t really sure what had happened, I thought maybe I blacked out again and missed something? I didn’t know why all of a sudden I seemed to be the hero of the moment, all I knew was I had the bottle of vodka and that is all I was after in the first place. As they set me down they were blabbering about me prospecting for them (an initiation process prior to membership) but all I cared about was that bottle, I didn’t want to be a member of anything. Apparently, when “Killer” hits someone they don’t get up and not only did I get up but I never really went down! As I chugged on the bottle I felt myself being pulled backward by the scruff of the neck, it was the friend whose van I woke up under. He yanked me out of the crowd and pulled me back over to his van. He had a sick look on his face as he held me by the shoulders and looked at the side of my face. He told me that he had to get me to the hospital but I pushed him away and told him I wasn’t going anywhere. He grabbed me again and tried to get me in his van but I broke away and stumbled across the field. He followed me trying to talk sense into me but I was beyond sense now, I had drank half of that fifth in twenty minutes time and I was ready for more. He realized I wasn’t going anywhere and he let me go. I could see a steep hill about a hundred yards ahead of me and realized where the sound of bikes had been coming from. I approached a crowd of spectators at the foot of the hill and as they turned and looked at me they backed away. I had already forgotten about my injury and wondered what the hell they were gawking at? There was a big guy halfway up the hill straddling a bike that he dwarfed by his size. Everyone was laughing at this moose of a man on this little bike trying to climb that steep incline. I began to laugh as well; it was a funny sight until I realized that this bastard was on my bike! I capped the bottle and shoved it in the waist of my pants and started up that hill on foot. I managed to grab the back of his collar and pulled him off my bike which flipped back with him as we all tumbled down the steep grade. He jumped to his feet when we stopped rolling and turned toward me a bit upset. I was cursing him and threatening him and asking how the hell he got my bike. One look at me and his attitude changed. He stood back, but his hands up in front of him and apologized; he said he didn’t know it was mine and that I should just relax. What the hell are all these people looking at me like that for, I remember thinking? I had long since forgotten the altercation with the bikers. I picked my bike up and pushed it to the side of the hill. I sat down on the ground, opened the bottle of vodka and started drinking. I don’t remember much of the rest of the weekend after that point and I don’t know where my friend got off too, there had to be a thousand people there. I now knew “how” I got there but beyond that I had no recollection. I had a sleeping bag strapped to the back of my bike so I guess I knew I was going there when I left but I still had no idea where I was except that I was on the side of a mountain somewhere in California. As I regained consciousness, I was stumbling around in that same field. Most of the people were now gone. It was morning again and someone told me it was Sunday. I was trying to find my bike and I was panicking. My pockets were empty, no keys, and no money. I wasn’t sure if I was robbed or not, it certainly wouldn’t have been the first time. I was asking the few remaining people that I came across if they had seen my bike. Eventually I was directed further up the mountain and beyond the steep incline where they were hold the hill climb, was a house and there in front of the garage door sat my bike, the sleeping bag still strapped to the back. I checked the ignition for the key but it wasn’t there. I thought about retracing my steps then realized the futility in that idea. I thought I had better look the bike over for damage as I had no idea where it had been or how it got where it was. As I checked I found the key in the seat lock. I turned the key, removed the seat and in the little compartment, I found my wallet and house keys. There was still money in the wallet and I knew I had to get to a liquor store and get a drink. My helmet was secured in the helmet lock on the side. I put it on, stared the bike and headed down the mountain. I was in no shape to walk at this point let alone ride a motorcycle. Once I found the main road, I began to negotiate the cork screw pattern inherent in most of the mountain roads of California. In no time I was flipping the bike from side to side as I wound my way downward picking up speed as I went. To my right were big walls of sharp stone and to my left the tips of Redwood Trees poked above the shear drop of cliffs. As I came around one bend I saw a puddle, I was moving to fast to avoid it and when I hit it, the bike went out from under me. Before I knew it I was sliding across the apex of the turn on my butt, my hands behind me for support and my knees bent up with my heels dragging across the macadam. My attention focused on my bike spinning like a top through the turn, heading for the cliff. I didn’t realize that I was also sliding at a slightly different angle for the cliff. As the momentum of the fall decreased, I went into a violent tumble that I couldn’t stop as hard as I tried. As I came around the front of my helmet smacked the blacktop hard pushing the mouth guard into my face and everything went black. I opened my eyes and stared at the tips of the Redwoods about a foot and a half to two feet from where I lay. I rolled over and sat up looking for my bike. Down the turn, about two feet from the cliff, my bike lay on its side. I got to my feet and took a step toward it and fell over on my side. As I slid across the turn, I had worn the heels of my Tony Lama’s to a point. I felt a cool breeze on my ass and discovered that I had also worn the seat out of my jeans as well as a layer or two of skin. My knee reported sharp pains as did the ribs on my left side. The shield of my helmet flapped from side to side as the right hinge had been sheared off. I tasted blood in my numbed mouth. I managed to reach my bike, I picked it up and noticed that the right handle bar was bent straight down and the master cylinder was gone. No front brakes. I pushed the ignition and the engine fired to life. I climbed back on and started back down in search of a drink, I deserved one now I thought.
When I reached the bottom about forty minutes later, I found myself in a small western town. It seemed as if I had hit a time warp. I have no idea where I was but this place looked like a scene right out of Gunsmoke. There was one road through the middle of town with a row of old brick and wooden buildings on either side. I immediately saw the signs for Interstate 80 north and felt better about my location and direction. I scanned the row of buildings and saw the neon beer signs in the window of the one with the “General Store” sign across the front above the door. I pulled my bike up in front, set the kick stand and painfully dismounted it. I attempted to remove my helmet but felt the worst sharp, stabbing pain as I tried to pull it up off my head. I figured I would leave it on and just go in, get my beer and cigarettes and leave. As I approached the door I noticed it had two swinging half doors like you would find on an old western saloon. I pushed one open and walked in. I was still have difficulty walking on the sheared heels of my boots but I was getting accustomed to them now. As I walked to the coolers people were looking at me in horror and almost scattering for cover it seemed? Several people hurried out of the store as I walked to the counter. The clerk never said a word, she just stood there staring in disbelief I suppose? I asked for a pack of Marlboro Menthol Lights, put my pint can of beer on the counter and threw a ten dollar bill down. She reached at it with a very shaky hand, drew my change and spilled it all over the counter. What the hell was the matter with her, I thought? I gathered it up as she stepped back away from the counter. I gave her one last look as if she were crazy and headed out the door, my face shield flapping around as I went. Once I reached the bike, I looked in the left mirror which was the only one left on the bike and noticed that my Kevlar helmet had crumbled from the impact of the spill like a piece of auto glass. I also noticed the large amount of dried blood that stained my neck, left shoulder and down the left side of me. The mouth piece of the helmet was crushed and as I opened my mouth I saw that I had broken three teeth. My mouth was full of blood and my lips covered in it. I still couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t get my helmet off so I broke the mouth piece the rest of the way off so I could drink my beer.

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