Rebel Without Applause is a section that I'm starting, more for myself than anyone else. I wanted to learn more about the pioneers and unsung heroes that made the motorcycle culture what it is today. Well, maybe not what it is today, more of what it was in the golden ages of chopperdom. The featured folks will be of old and new, male, female and some in between creatures I'm sure. You may even say, "Well everyone knows about this guy!" Then I'll say, fuck you. Because I didn't. I hope some of you guys learn a few things along my journey through motorcycle history. If there is anyone you would like me to do a little diddy on, please email me @ newfrontier206@gmail.com. So without further blabber, I give you Hunter S. Thompson.
Hunter Stockton Thompson was born in 1937. He wasn't one of those privileged tit sucking kids. At the age of 15 his dad died. This event pushed Thompson and his family into the gutter. Without any form of stable income, Hunter began his short life of crime to provide for his family. I say "short life" because by the time he was 18 he was charged with abetting a robbery and sentenced to 60 days in the joint. Not able to finish any sort of formal education, Hunter decided to enlist into the Air Force. He began writing for a local paper in Florida but because of rules set by the Air Force, Thompson was not allowed to keep a job while he was enlisted. As a result his name was never published under any of his columns.
After leaving the military with an honorable discharge Hunter S. Thompson traveled the states by hitchhiking. He also spent some time in Puerto Rico where he wrote a short novel titled The Rum Diary. In 1965 he was given another opportunity of a life time. An editor offered to have Thompson write a story based on the California based Hells Angels. After riding with the Angels for over a year, writing and publishing their stories, Hunter was accused of exploiting the club and had the living shit stomped out of him by the club.
Hunter's most recognizable work must be named,
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. In 1971 this book was golden. Uppers and downers, monsters and demons, creativity at it's finest. This book turned into one of my all time favorite movies. Go watch it. Right now.
This amazing writer died on Feb. 20 2005 in his fortified compound. He blew his creativity all over the walls while his family was in the next room. He died in front of his typewriter with the imprinted date, Feb 22 05 and the word counselor following. His funeral was star clad with politicians and actors of every kind. His ashes where shot out of a cannon while Norman Greenbaum's "Spirit in the Sky" and Bob Dylan's "Mr. Tambourine Man" played in the background.
"We can't stop here, this is bat country!"
