GOOD ACID, POOR CHOICES AND 3 DEAD MOTHERFUCKERS
















Hog Jimmy and three dead mother fuckers . . .

This little reflection of dropping LSD and being a member of the Dirty Dozen that may point out my acid trips,
guns and motor cycles, at times, were some poor choices, on my part. And there's a lot of things I won't get
off my chest until I meet up with God.




























Jimmy and I lived on our bikes. One wet cold December night, Jimmy and I were putting back to Mesa from
Phoenix. It was about 1:00 in the morning, a very light rain was falling and we were doing about 75mph on the
freeway next to each other. At night, we always rode real close to each other so both our headlights gave us
more vision. All of a sudden, right smack in front of us, was a big ol' fucking Christmas tree someone had lost
or threw off their truck. We just calmly split that tree by inches and went back together on the other side and
went on puttin again. I glanced over at Jimmy and he just said "whoa." and we went on to Mesa. At that
speed, that tree would have laid us out and maybe killed us. The next day, I met up with him and said
"wonder how we missed that tree last night".  He took a big ol' toke on a joint he was smokin, coughed a little
bit and just said, "fuck an a Tic, mystery to me".

Jimmy and I always had a lot of guns, big ones, long and short ones, small ones. Just a lot of guns period.
We always had some on us. We always argued what was the best to smoke someone. He liked big ones,
rifles, noisy bastards. I liked a little gun, single action up close and personal, unless it was going to be a shoot
out, then a semi-auto or Thompson which were hard to come by. My favorite, though I never owned one, was
a BAR or Browning Automatic Rifle. I'd shot quite a few in the Marine Corps and they would just clean out
everything.
.
One Saturday, we did a little acid and decided to practice our techniques on a couple of small time drug
dealers. For some reason, Jimmy had an old 40's Mafia car. It was big and black and the seats went forever.
Late in the afternoon, we picked these two and their stash. We had our cuts on and two snub nose. Even on
a little acid, we knew we werent going to kill them, just scare them some and then take their dope. They got in
the back, lit a joint, and they we're soon just talking all over the place, saying how much they liked us and the
Dirty Dozen, how cool we were and so forth, and how safe they felt being with us. They just kept jackin their
jaws and Jimmy and I got quieter and quieter, driving further away into the desert, with the sun going down.
All of a sudden, they started looking all around, left and right, almost both at the same time. "Hey, where you
guys taking us".  Jimmy just said in the coldest fucking voice ever, "Shut the fuck up you stupid
motherfuckers", and I turned and put my piece right in their face and said to Jimmy ‘Stop the fucking car". We
were part on dry land and irrigated fields, high desert and half crops. Jimmy said, "let's just shoot these two
right here" I looked at him and said, "Really Hog." and Jimmy said, "Fuck ya." These assholes are getting on
my nerves." So I says, "Not in the car dammit". Now the acid was trying to play tricks on me cause I thought
we were really going to shoot them by the tone of Jimmy's voice. We got them both out, then Jimmy says,
"look, you guys aren't so bad, just give us all your stash and we'll forget the whole thing." boy, you never saw
two people so joyously happy and relieved in your whole life. They were crying and telling us how much they
loved us and we said, "sure, we love you guys too, but don't jack your jaws so much".  Then I said, "but we're
gonna teach you a lesson, you're gonna hoof it back to town so you can think about all this a little". They said
"no problem, we don't mind one bit". We were about 10 miles from Mesa. We took all their stuff and left them
with a small portion to get high on. We shook hands and told them to bring some girls and dope and party
with us and the Dozen. We never did see them again. Jimmy and I drove a little and he finally said, "Tic, were
you thinking what I was thinking"?  I said "what was that, Jimmy"?  "Well, he said, I was thinking you were
really going to cap them".

I said, "Jimmy, that's exactly what I was thinking, but I didn't want to do it, in the car cause we would have to
hose it out and ruin these nice seats."  He then mentioned it ‘s a good thing we can handle this acid to be
able to have fun and practice techniques. I agreed and told him we were ok because if they had come at us, it
would have been self-defense, that they were setting us up to steal the Mafia car. After all, they were dealers
anyway and you can't trust them ever.

About 6 weeks later, we were on a 3 day run and a bunch of us were all fucked up on everything from acid to
Reds and Crosses. We told some of the guys about our Mafia car and the two we ripped off for some fun in
the desert. One of our guys said  "you know they found two bodies a few weeks back all shot up and
decaying near Mesa". I said "wasn't us, we let our guys go and made them walk back to town". Couple of
guys said, "are you sure" and I said, "fuck yah I'm sure".  Later that day, when Jimmy and I were alone he
said, "Tic, we let those fuckers go didn't we"?  I said, "fuck  yes Jimmy. I'm sure we did, aren't you"? Then I
got to thinking how acid can make you think and see things that appear real but aren't, especially good acid
like we'd got from the Bay area. For instance, one time Jimmy and I and our wives dropped and putted to a
late movie show in Tempe. It got out around 11:30 PM and we all commented how we must have got burned
because not one of us felt anything. We rode back over to Mesa, dropped the girls off at my place and took
my pickup to get a little beer. We drove out to Lehi and I spotted a little Mexican Villa up on the plateau.   I
knew of the place and it had about 30 Pueblo type Mexicans who lived there.

Some were wet. As we drove on the little narrow dirt road, we could see the place was lit up with bright lights
and happy. We pulled in and went into the Cantina and the joint was filled with people drinking, dancing and
laughing. one older fellow recognized me and came running up with a couple of beers and ask us if we could
leave our guns at the door. We still had our patches on and the girls were going crazy over us. Jimmy and I
just started having a ball, dancing, kissing them, hugging, and rubbing on us, I mean it was like we walked in
to Paradise. I could see we were going to get laid by two or three girls all at once. Every time we took a drink
of Tequila or beer, it just got more and more fun. Jimmy said, ‘brother, we've gone to Heaven". All the guys
and men folk were clapping and they had this unreal band. It was just about the best time you could ever
have - that is until - bang! all of a sudden the music stopped, the lights came on - and Oh my God, I couldn't
believe it!  There weren't 30 or 40 people but about 8 or 9 and there wasn't one of them under 70 or 80 years
old - they could barely stand or walk, no band, just one old guy who had a beat up guitar, not 8 or 9 of the
most beautiful girls in the world, but 3 old women in there 80's, about 4\10" and no teeth - we'd been kissing
and tonguing them for 20 minutes. They as well as the men were high on peyote and cheap wine, not high
dollar tequila.  All of a sudden, I remember our guns and looked toward what I thought was a big fancy
entrance. There were our weapons laying on the floor by an old wood single door - it wasn't even a Canteen,
just a empty room about 20x20 and one light hinging down from the ceiling on an old extension cord.  So
much for getting on some bad acid - this shit was for real in a big way. Jimmy and I just stood there with the
dumbest looks trying to figure out how we're going to get home and more important, how to exit this place
without offending these poor people. The old women with no teeth were literally hanging on to us as we
backed out to the truck. We lied and said we were going to get beer and whisky and soon be back. We
started driving and sure enough, we were lost.  We'd drive what felt was for miles and miles of fence line and
old dirt road. Finally, I looked ahead, with a full moon on us and could see the main highway, McKillips Road.
Boy were we ever happy we'd been on this road for hours. Soon we were driving home and listening to good
music. The girls had gone to bed but we were to learn of their trip later. The next day, I drove out to where
this all happened and to my next big surprise, the road we were lost on was just a long dirt driveway and only
about 1000 feet from the Mexican villa. We must have been driving about 50 feet, stopped and then going
another 50 feet - that's why it took a couple of hours to go less than 1000 yards. That kind of shit happened
to some of the Dozen when about 20 of us went to Nogales, Mexico one time. After dropping some paper acid
and partying on Canal Street all day, we were heading back to Mesa and Phoenix around 10 at night. We
were in two packs, the one I was in was around 8 of us. We were cruising along about 75 minding our own
business, letting quite a few cars pass us, which was a little unusual as we always went faster in those days
then cars. Out of now where, there were red lights and cop cars all around us. Now the  speed limit was 60
MPH then and even 55 in some places.   We pulled over, with the Highway Patrol in front and back of us. I
said, "what's wrong Officer?", the lead cop says, "are you guys ok.  Is there a problem?"  Thinking the next
thing he was going to say was you are busted for speeding, but instead, he says, "we were concerned that
you were having problems because you're only going 30 miles per hour".  Back in those days, not many of us
had speedos. Here I thought we were just flying and we all were barley moving.  Now it made sense to me
why the cars were going so fast - fucking LSD, more fun then you could ever tell anyone about - but
dangerous.

























Jimmy took a little break from the club one summer for a couple weeks. He loaded Geri and the kids and went
to the mountains in Wyoming. Always on the highways you see a lot of interesting things and some real idiots.
On their way back, there's lots of long straight stretches in the eastern part of Wyoming. It was around 6:00 in
the evening, the sun was starting to sink; Jimmy was going about 65 mph enjoying a nice drive, when he
looked in his rear view mirror and saw a car coming from behind at a very high rate of speed. He looked
again just as the older Chevy exploded by, barely missing them, at over 100 mph with three guys in the front
seat. The guy in the middle flips Jimmy and his family off and the guy in the passenger side, tosses a beer
out, just missing Jim's rig. Jimmy just quietly says to Geri, "those guys are dead." sure enough, about a mile
ahead, he saw a huge cloud of dust. Upon getting to the dust area, the road curved just a tic. Their car with
the three idiots didn't make it. Instead, it was laying 75 yards, upright, all crushed on the prairie. Jimmy pulled
over, grabbed his piece and told Geri, "it looks bad; you better stay here." in those days, of course there were
no cell phones. As Jimmy approached, he saw one guy crawling on his belly away from the wreck. As he got
closer to the car, he saw the driver was dead. He approached from the passenger side and leaned in. The
driver, his head split to the brains, was lifeless and slumped forward. Another guy, the one in the middle that
had flipped them off moments earlier, was saying, "help me, I can't breath." His chest was pressed in with a
gaping hole in it. His legs were bent back under his twisted torso. Jimmy just said, "you're dead, you stupid
motherfucker. I'm just going to watch you fucking die; you're going to be dead in less than a minute, so how
do you like that. You dumb fuckers thought you were so cool and could have killed my family - now you're
dying. The sun's going down and you'll be dead before it is." the guy mumbled, "can't you help me?"  Jimmy
says, "Nope! There's nothing I can do. You and your buddies killed yourself's" and about 30 seconds later, he
died. Jimmy then walked out to where the one he saw crawling and watched him take his last breath.  Jimmy
sat there awhile, grabbed one of their beers and thought "what a waste. Probably 3 construction workers
finished for the weekend, liquored up and now dead on the prairie". Jimmy went back to Geri and told her all
3 were dead and we'll tell someone in the next town. He told me this when he came home and it stayed in my
mind all these years, like so many events in my long life.  

I thought of Hog Jimmy and so many others as I still ride today, of the amazing experiences, both fun and then
not too. Because of our youth, the troubled time of the 60's and 70's, of our innocence and foolishness, our
brotherhood, our great bikes and powerful runs, we were able to experience life at it's best and worst, at it's
rawest, which kept it exciting and very much on the edge. There's are many adventures for sure, but the best
kept secrets are the one's you don't tell.
Hog Jimmy was one of my closest pals during my
years in the Dirty Dozen. He was a crazy fun loving
guy about 6',190 lbs and had natural strength. He
mostly did steam fitting and pipe work as a welder. He
came to the Dozen shortly after myself in the
mid-sixties. We rode many miles together, saw a lot of
violence and scary times come and go. He was "Filthy
Few" as I was and shared the brotherhood of our club
and the Oakland HAMC style with  a few others in
those early years of wonderful madness when it all
was so new. I also introduced him to his wife to be
"Geri", who came from the Penrod clan in the White
Mountain town of McNary, who were early settlers of
Arizona. She was a Shelly, and they took care of
business. Jimmy and I were from the Mesa Crew
called Mesa Heavys. We rode a lot with the Phoenix
guys, the great Cheeta, Al, Bombo, Rush and LJ.   
Because there weren't a lot of us back then, 35 to 50
for the first few years, we had one large Arizona
Chapter, not like now with the HAMC having 6 or 7. So
church night on Thursday was big and when we went
to the bar after church, every week, you'd see one hell
of a pack. We were everywhere, and we all packed.
We all rode every day, to work, to the store, just where
ever. And every night we'd all be doing something, like
working on our scoots, chasing girls, or fighting
someone just controlling our state.
Hog Jimmy and Tic at
Mexican border, 1968
Sister Christian by Night Ranger
The Weight by The Band

I read history, try and learn from it, and apply it to our present lives - October 5, 1892, Emmett Dalton lay
near death, with rifle slugs in his right arm an hip and eighteen buck shot in his back and shoulders. If he
lived, if the lynch talk from the citizens of Coffeeville streets stopped, he still faced and eternity behind
bars. Three days later, Adeline Younger Dalton arrived from Kingfisher, Oklahoma. The inevitable had
happened. Three of her six boys were now dead by gunshot and violence.

Five months passed before Emmett was healthy enough to stand trial. He was charged with the killing of
two of the four towns people who fell in the Dalton's double bank stick-up. He was sentenced to a life term
in the "iron corral" of Kansas State Penitentiary. Hauling his 200 pound frame on crutches; it was March
1893 and he had just turned 21. The rest of his life is quite amazing but I'm not about to write about it here.
But I want to say here what Emmett reflected on that's important to how I've felt about being an outlaw
biker. Emmett said, pointing to the graves of his brothers in Coffeeville in 1931, "I challenge the world to
produce the history of an outlaw who ever got anything of  it, but a hard death or to be huddled for years
in a prison cell."  Even if I could credit the old fashioned outlaw that seldom shot his victim in the back,
which requires no guts at all, or my brother Bill Dalton who was chopped down by police while playing on
his porch with his crippled daughter, serious crime most always ends in violence". The biggest fool on
earth is the one who thinks he can beat the law - I learned that big lesson in our shoot out in the
Coffeeville raid.
My pal, Hog Jimmy and Geri
Wedding Day, 1969
Drift Away by Uncle Kracker
My Compadre;  HOG JIMMY
DDMC Patch and Dice Retired October 1996
Dirty Dozen MC in Mesa, AZ Cemetary
Heartbreak Hotel,  Elvis