TALE WHERE JOHN HUSSAR, SCOTT SMITH and "BAD ARNOLD"
RENT HUGE HARLEYS, HEAD TO THE FLORIDA KEYS
and LEAVE WISDOM FAR, FAR BEHIND
**Note!: The real name of the man known as "Bad Arnold" has been hidden
because he is far too responsible a person to be indentified with this website!
DAY ONE - "ESCAPE FROM FT. LAUDERDALE"
Morning in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida at Scott Smith's once beautiful (but now trashed) house). The previous night we went through a full bottle of Dewars (a medium grade Whiskey) between the three of us. This is not good. The hangover is bad, bad, bad. Enough so that I am certain I will lose all muscle control and crash my Harley for sure. I feel as if a knitting needle is being pushed through my eye-socket into my brain. After Bloody Mary's we head off to the rental place to get the bikes. There is a certain fear aspect here as I personally have not ridden a motorcycle in 4 years, and previously only rode sport bikes (ie. a Honda Interceptor) The ultimate test is whether or not we crash the bikes on the way out of the rental parking lot. Surprisingly, we don't.
THIS IS AN OFFICIAL LOOKING MAP- And the distance traveled seems insignificant - it is not. The distance to be covered is two hundred miles - each way. This is not that bad if you are cold sober - not horribly hung over, as we are. And, since we are devastingly hung over, we decide to begin drinking again immediately. The wisdom of this move is questionable at best.
On the Road, completely lost. Our plan to bypass Miami Traffic succeeded. We have also bypassed all know landmarks. Here we are on a road somewhere in the Everglades that could lead us in almost any direction. We are all acting as if everything is fine.
ROAD COCKTAILS. Still completely lost, it is decided that maybe if we have even more to drink we will forget that we don't have a clue where we are. So we pull out the Vodka and Bourbon and being drinking straight from the bottle. Oddly this worked! Within an hour we find the road south and soon hit Key Largo, the first of the Florida Keys. At this point there is no way for us to get lost - there is only one road to stay on for a hundred and fifty miles.
ARRIVAL. To our mutual amazement, we actually arrive in Key West. This was a long and scary ride. Getting lost early on caused us to ride the final 50 miles in the dark. This would not have been a problem had had clear plastic goggles - instead we had very dark sunglasses. Night riding at 80 to 100 milles an hour and not being able to see is challenging, being drunk on top of it is just plain wrong. Somehow we elude death once more and actually find ourselves in Key West. This is not a surprise - there is only one road.
After driving through town following Bad Arnold we pull into a very nice hotel, The Hampton Inn. Unfortunately this is not the hotel that we have reservations for.
STRIP BAR HELL. We immediately head to TEASER'S, an absolutely scummy low rent strip club that we saw as we drove into Key West. The girls are true biker sluts, and since they fit the theme of our trip we will try to marry one that night. We soon discover, after blowing through most of our bail money, that they do not actually love us! All they wanted was our money! Disgusted, we leave.
DAY TWO- "KEY DEATH"
DAY TWO -NOON - I awaken to a flashbulb in my face. You can see how awake and refreshed I am! We are also surprised to see that Scott Smith is no where to be found. We had lost him at about two am and he was officially declared MIA "missing in action." But more importantly than that, after looking through my pockets, I discover the phone number of a stripper.
AN HOUR LATER - Scott returns. We ask him where he was. He claims that 'he can't remember." This is obviously a lie, but we say nothing.
MISCELLANEOUS SHOT (meaning: we don't remember it happening, but apparently it did, because it is on film) This is a girl. She wanted to sit on one of the Harleys, so we let her.
SLOPPY JOE'S. Still feeling hung over and generally awful we immediately began drinking and smoking. Since we can't go back, we have to go forward. We head straight to "Sloppy Joe's" (Ernest Hemingway's old hangout) and begin drinking Bloody Mary's ( a fine and time tested hangover cure). Once properly drunk again, it is time to get on the Harley's and ride!
SLOPPY JOE'S II. We ride about a mile and I crash into the back of Bad Arnold. Luckily there is no visible damage, We make an immediate u-turn back to Sloppy Joe's Saloon where we decide we will stay for the rest of the trip.
AT THE BAR (2:00 am?) - We feel great. This is about 12 shots of Tequila into the night., Time has ceased to have meaning. All measurements are now based on Tequila. Tequila, we decide, is the most accurate way to measure time!
DAY THREE - "DOOMED."
Stupidly Bad Arnold and I had forgotten that we had to catch a plane back to New York at 3:20 pm. The moment of this realization came at noon. Upon doing the math we realize that if we left Key West for Ft. Lauderdale at that very moment we would arrive ten minutes after the flight took off. The leisurely trip back was now scrapped. It is now time to see how fast a Harley can go.
This was dumb, we were criminally late, but we decided we had to stop for Conch Chowder ( note: a conch is a giant sea-slug that lives in a very pretty shell). It looks as good coming up as it does going down! No pictures thankfully.
Another Biker Bar - John Hussar in front of "Alabama Jacks," a fine bikers bar in the Florida Keys. At this point we finally felt we had actually become bikers. And we understood why guys blow off everything and live in "Harley World." The reason is because you no longer give a shit about anything. Jobs, careers, women, money, your plane ride back to New York, it all becomes meaningless. All that matters at this stage of madness is you, and your bike.
We stop on the road again. We're doomed but we don't care. It is always time for a photo opportunity!
Well, we made the flight. In a continuing string of plain dumb luck we were wrong about the flight time. Our plane actually took off at 5:20pm.
The Moral of the Story: Honestly, we should have died on this trip, at least one of us should have. The stupidity of what we did was indeed, well, staggering.
And what did we learn from the trip? Miracles do happen. Even when you don't deserve one!
DISCLAIMER: The events depicted on this page were done by professionals with much experience doing stupid things while drunk. Do not attempt to do the same. Chances of death and dismemberment are almost certain (i.e. the loss of all life functions are a 99.9% probability) from similar activities.