Bound for destruction, a biker skids to a halt
The spring of 1984 was a tough one for me. I drank away my wife, my home, and my job--everything, except my motorcycle. I was living from couch to couch, fortunate that I was pretty good with a wrench and that people still cared about me. I built their bikes, repaired their motorcycles, and stayed in their homes. Otherwise, I was unemployable and would have been on the streets. My drinking prevented me from being able to hold down a real job. I had to drink--I had no choice.
One day, the inevitable happened. My buddies and I were out on our bikes, bar-hopping. I had been drinking. I...
-- Ernest C.