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“About a week earlier I had finished a book (on the Hell's Angels, scheduled this fall by Random House) and I felt that I needed about a week of total degeneration to cool out my system. To this end I went down to Big Sur and Monterery and filled my body with every variety of booze and drug available to modern man. For six or seven days I ran happily amok - spending money, sitting in baths, and futilely hunting wild boar with a .44 Magnum revolver. At one point I gave my car away to a man who paid $25 for the privilege of pushing it off a 400-foot cliff.

- to Max Scherr editor, Berkley Barb 7/20/1966”
― Hunter S. Thompson, The Proud Highway: Saga of a Desperate Southern Gentleman, 1955-1967

“Today, while sitting in my car, I saw a couple of Hell’s Angels bikers. One smiled at me broadly. I smiled back and gave him a thumbs up. He nodded and was gone in a flash. All is right in the world.”
― Wayne Gerard Trotman