February 6th, 1987, Normal, Illinois. It’s about 10:00 at night, and everything is shut down in Central Illinois. It’s been below zero for a week or more and even ISU’s classes are cancelled due to the extreme cold. My 3 roommates and I have been sitting around drinking beer all day and watching TV when the phone rings. Roommate Tom answers and says “Scott, It’s for you”. I make my way unsteadily to the phone to find it’s my friend Andrew over at U of I in Champaign. “Dude, I need you here, bad.” I ask what’s going on and all he does is sob. I hang up wondering.
I bundle up and go out to my ’78 Chevy Impala to warm it up. It won’t even turn over. I go inside to ask someone to give me a jump and no one will get off of the couch. Not that I can blame them. So, I get the bike keys off my dresser and go back outside. To my amazement, it starts right off. Ok, so I’m gonna ride the bike 46 miles to Champaign. Thinking back to my last long-distance ride from Pheonix of 1226 miles, I figure this is a piece of cake. I go back in the apartment and start putting on my leathers and layers. My three roommates are looking at me like I have lost it and start telling me I’m nuts. “I gotta do what I gotta do.” I tell them as I head out the door.
The first 15 minutes were getting acclimated. The next 15 minutes the shakes started. At about the halfway point I realized that to stop and turn around was as bad or worse than continuing ahead and there is nowhere to turn around on I74 anyway. And then the panic sets in. This is far worse than the trip from Pheonix. I’m on I74 with no breaks from the high cross winds and nowhere to even pull off the highway. There is nothing in the way of truck stops or any place to stop. It’s close to midnight. I consider getting on the CB and calling out a mayday in the hopes that a State Trooper will hear me. But if they do, can anyone get to me fast enough? I’d be dead before they find me. The panic is getting worse, I am seriously doubting my judgement in doing this. I can’t feel anything from my waist down, my legs are gone, my feet don’t even exist any longer. I can keep the bike upright and moving by pulling the throttle and locking it, but that is becoming difficult as my hands are getting numb. I don’t know what I am going to do when it comes time to stop when I get to the Champaign exit. The panic is screaming at me now.
The Champaign exit is about 7 miles away when I start trying to put my feet down. No luck. I can’t feel them. I know that at the end of the exit is a stoplight, and if it isn’t green I’m going to have to run it. It’s 3 blocks past the intersection that I have to turn and 4 blocks to Andy’s frat house from there. The stoplight is red, and there is no traffic, so I run it figuring that if I’m seen by a cop, I’ll have to plead it. 3 blocks past there and turn right in 4 blocks. I’ve parked the bike around back on the patio before, so I throttle down and run up along the side of the house. Once I get on the patio, I pull up alongside the building and stop, leaning against the wall. I’m shaking so bad that I can barely turn the key off. I get it off, turn the ignition back on and start beeping the horn in short bursts. Dot dot dot, dash dash dash, dot dot dot, SOS. And no one comes out. I keep doing this over and over for about 20 minutes with no success and I am thinking that I’m gonna die out here and they won’t find me until Spring. It is time for drastic measures; I reach into the left inner pocket of my leather and pull out the 45. I rack the slide, cock the hammer back and get my fingers around the trigger, aim it up into the air, and BANG. Pause, BANG. Suddenly people start flooding out the back door. They haven’t got a clue what to do. Someone yells “Hey, it’s Easy Rider, go get Andy!” I talk someone through putting the kickstand down and setting the bike up. Two guys peel me off of the bike and carry me into the house. Someone hands me a bottle of something and I start drinking it not caring what it is. Someone peels my leather off of me. Someone else peels off my boots. I’m in tears because it all hurts so bad. They peel my gloves off of me and my hands start screaming as they feel warmth.
So about now Andy comes downstairs. He looks a wreck, like he’s been crying. I’m thinking that one of his parents or his brother died. “What the fuck is going on Andrew?” I ask him. “She dumped me” he says. “Who dumped you?” I ask. “Julie” he says. Now, if I could have gotten up from the couch I was laying on, I would have thrashed him. “I rode here in -20 temperatures for you because some GIRL dumped you?” I screamed. “As soon as I can get up, I am going to pummel you.” I told him. At least the other people in the room thought it was funny. One of the guys near me tells me that Andy got hooked up with this sorority chick a couple weeks ago and has been obsessed with her since. I just risked my life for some 2-week obsession.
I had to wait two days for the temps to go over zero so I could ride back in the sunlight. I never did totally forgive Andy.
If there is one thing that my (few) friends will tell you about me is that I show up. No matter what the time of day or weather, I’ll appear. I always keep at least $500 cash in the safe and I never let my gas tank go below half. I’ve been to Cook County jail at all hours to prove the point. I’ve been there to console and care take. I’ll bring the beer if need be. If you need me to bring a shovel to bury the body, I’m your man. Just call.