Yesterday Hollywood contacted me once again to make a movie out of Channeling Biker Bob. Since I already have the script written, I sent it to this 4th possible movie producer to read and see if they want to make a movie from my script or write their own. They said they would get back to me Jan 3rd. Keep your fingers crossed.

We spent a few more day in Yosemite then decided to go to Tahoe and visit Randy’s grandfather in Kings Beach.

After another overnight journey at forty-five miles an hour, we arrived at the lake with few remaining joynts and nine dollars between us.
Staying at his grandfathers trailer park we were able to remain in Tahoe for another three days before our money ran out.

On the last night, after deciding to return to the San Francisco Bay Area, I went into a gas station to take a leak and sitting on the back of the toilet, in contrasting black, stuffed full of money, sat a joyously fat leather wallet. Being a teenager with no scruples, I grabbed that billfold, sprinted back to the car and screamed for Randy to get us out of there.

After going through the wallet, we found a disappointing fifty dollars cash and a pile of credit cards.

Continue reading →

It was mid summer, a year before the summer of love.  I was sixteen and free and looking for adventure.

The smoking den out back of Randy Blacks parents house was the place I spent most of my time. The sheer poundage of smokable marijuana that found it’s way into that building exiting only as a vaporous cloud sometimes, even now, boggles my mind. Many plans of adventure were hatched and blearily worked out in that building. Very few actually bore fruit but the ones that did were doozys.

Randy and I sat one morning, completely hazed into a stupor with the latest Colombian shipment. On a whim we got into his old, ratty, fifty four Chevy, borrowed from his dad. Between us we had twenty dollars and a pound of weed. Then a pound of weed was $65.00 and we could finance a trip and have as much to smoke as we wanted.

The twenty got us to our first stop, Yosemite. Gas was twenty cents a gallon and a fill up was three dollars and change.

Continue reading →

In 1982, after long considering the possibilities that I could, I purchased an old Royal typewriter at a garage sale for three buck with the missing letter “A” and sat down to try my hand at writing a novel.

Those first thirty pages, as with any of my following novels were a breeze. I floated through them by the time spring was in full bloom. The following 170 pages took the next twelve years.

It was a slow progression, lots of starts and stops, with months of down time. Without letting anyone know what I was doing, I slowly plodded my way through the never-ending project until one day, almost by surprise, I was finished.

The momentum of completing that first book gave me permission to tell my friends what I had done and inspired me to start on my next novel with a more defined determination to write one page a day no matter what.

Continue reading →

In addition to my novel writing, over the years I have taken small side journeys and written true stories about my wild past. I’ll post these two or three page vignettes from time to time. Hope you enjoy.

SAN GREGORIEO, CA. 1967

The first motorcycle I owned at seventeen was a Triumph 650 twin. Before I graduated to Harleys, I spent a few years riding California back roads. Gas was cheap, the wind was wonderful and most of all, girls loved to be on the back. Was there a better reason to ride?

San Gregorieo is a three-mile stretch of beach about thirty miles south of San Francisco proper. Back then it was wild, open and one could do whatever they wanted without park rangers or paying ten dollars to park your car.

One balmy sunny day, six of us rode across the San Mateo Bridge, then a dinky one lane, and up into the coast range mountains through Hillsbourough and over the pass to Half Moon Bay and highway one, a familiar winding road with lots of banks and turns. With the vastness of the Pacific Ocean to the west, it was pure heaven for any motorcycle rider. Continue reading →