There's a lot of responsibility that comes with riding a chopper. Unfortunately, when I started, there was no example to follow — the Fonz didn't show up until 1974, and this was still the sixties. With nobody to copy, we had to invent our own look. It's a little like a girl picking out an outfit: try this, try that, check yourself out, return it all the next day and start over. Guys aren't quite that bad. But there are similarities.
There was no helmet law in California back then, but for some reason I still felt the urge to get one — not just any one, a cool one. Near where I worked, a drive-in theater ran a free flea market every weekend. I'd go looking for motorcycle parts, and one Saturday I found a guy selling real Nazi service helmets. I figured if they had a decent liner, they'd work fine. The seller knew a company that did liners, so I bought one and had it chrome-plated at Orange County Plating. It turned out really cool — which is what this was always about. A brown leather flight jacket from the Army/Navy surplus store in old-town Anaheim, a cool set of combat boots, and I was set.
One day I needed to mail some bill payments at the post office. The building on Ball Road had maybe sixty feet of floor-to-ceiling picture windows, with two manual doors set in the middle. I picked a parking spot that showed the bike off the way it deserved, dismounted, set my helmet on the saddle, and walked in cool as could be. Took care of business at the counter, turned around, and walked back out just as cool —
— straight into one of those floor-to-ceiling picture windows.
I smashed my nose hard enough to make my eyes water, with the entire lobby now fixated on me. Good thing I was well practiced at diverting my eyes. I made it out the door, threw my helmet on, and tried for a quick getaway — except my bike, which always fired on the first kick, decided this was the day for three. I pulled out of the lot still practicing my eye diversion, very coolly.