The Eye of the Storm
By Thomas S. Daly
Dorrie and I were on acid all night in my warehouse in the middle of a big tropical storm that
had hit SF. We'd been bouncing off the walls for hours and it was with great relief and joy we
became aware of a cool bluish light fading in through the skylights overhead. The rain had
slackened, and the light was indicating a glorious morning to come. It was the eye of the
storm. We donned our bike in the morning clothes, pushed the Triumph Tiger 750 out the
loft and onto the freight elevator, then down and out to the street. VVRRROOOM...off towards
The City, with the skyline in sight, down Third Street, sun threatening to rise over The Berkeley
Hills, along the waterfront and just past Broadway. I turned left and roared up the Telegraph
Hill I knew so well from living on previously for two years. Houses wall to wall with cars parked
in front at 90 degree angles; quite a steep street, Filbert or Green I think it was. Just before
the intersection at top I hit the gas, shifted to second gear and did a wheelie across the street
while lifting off the lip that dropped down the other side. We got some good air and landed
perfectly without the bad luck of someone backing out into the street in front of us. (I usually
scoped it out before I made jumps like that). Then we turned around and did it the opposite
direction just for grins.
We were impervious to danger it seemed, regaling in the sounds, sights and just the YAHOO
factor. It was such a fantastic morning, and we were peaking out on some good strong drugs..
WOWIE ZOWIE! ZOOM ZOOM ZOOM.
We hit an old North Beach bar, Gino and Carlos, for chilled Stoli's which helped cut the raging
speed down, but we were way out of place at the time there with the Old Italian Morning Crew
sipping espressos and reading the horse racing forms. Before they gave Vinnie a call to clear
out the riff-raff, we left, whooping and hollering. Then I was making a turn on Columbus and
spun out in an intersection with a bus coming at us fast. Dorrie had managed to jump off and I
had kept it running, and had to keep my grip on the clutch and my leg was trapped under the
bike, so she gave me her hand and pulled me up..jumped on..and off we sped to a favorite bar
on the water, back near the warehouse, with Bloody Mary’s and a deck, The Mission Rock
Resort. We were known there and considerably more welcome. She was quite a trooper,
Dorrie was. We had some wild and crazy times at the warehouse loft. That was one of em.
Cheated death again.
By Thomas S. Daly
Dorrie and I were on acid all night in my warehouse in the middle of a big tropical storm that
had hit SF. We'd been bouncing off the walls for hours and it was with great relief and joy we
became aware of a cool bluish light fading in through the skylights overhead. The rain had
slackened, and the light was indicating a glorious morning to come. It was the eye of the
storm. We donned our bike in the morning clothes, pushed the Triumph Tiger 750 out the
loft and onto the freight elevator, then down and out to the street. VVRRROOOM...off towards
The City, with the skyline in sight, down Third Street, sun threatening to rise over The Berkeley
Hills, along the waterfront and just past Broadway. I turned left and roared up the Telegraph
Hill I knew so well from living on previously for two years. Houses wall to wall with cars parked
in front at 90 degree angles; quite a steep street, Filbert or Green I think it was. Just before
the intersection at top I hit the gas, shifted to second gear and did a wheelie across the street
while lifting off the lip that dropped down the other side. We got some good air and landed
perfectly without the bad luck of someone backing out into the street in front of us. (I usually
scoped it out before I made jumps like that). Then we turned around and did it the opposite
direction just for grins.
We were impervious to danger it seemed, regaling in the sounds, sights and just the YAHOO
factor. It was such a fantastic morning, and we were peaking out on some good strong drugs..
WOWIE ZOWIE! ZOOM ZOOM ZOOM.
We hit an old North Beach bar, Gino and Carlos, for chilled Stoli's which helped cut the raging
speed down, but we were way out of place at the time there with the Old Italian Morning Crew
sipping espressos and reading the horse racing forms. Before they gave Vinnie a call to clear
out the riff-raff, we left, whooping and hollering. Then I was making a turn on Columbus and
spun out in an intersection with a bus coming at us fast. Dorrie had managed to jump off and I
had kept it running, and had to keep my grip on the clutch and my leg was trapped under the
bike, so she gave me her hand and pulled me up..jumped on..and off we sped to a favorite bar
on the water, back near the warehouse, with Bloody Mary’s and a deck, The Mission Rock
Resort. We were known there and considerably more welcome. She was quite a trooper,
Dorrie was. We had some wild and crazy times at the warehouse loft. That was one of em.
Cheated death again.
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More Jungle Journals
