Money had become much less important to me after making it out of Vietnam alive. I felt I had a lot to be thankful for, especially if I had a roof over my head, enough food to eat and clothes to wear. I'd stopped drinking alcohol a little less than a year before I set out for California. I'd been doing a lot of partying since returning home from Vietnam and I knew I needed to clean up my act if I was gonna make anything positive happen in my life. I found that the only bad habit I had that I couldn't get rid of was smoking. I could handle living on popcorn and potatoes, and going without just about anything, but I couldn't handle living without cigarettes. I was having such a nicotine fit that I was picking up and smoking cigarette butts off from the sidewalks of West Hollywood. I'd never found myself so addicted to anything before in my life. It took not being able to afford them for me to see how dependent on them I really was. The filth of the nicotine reminded me of drinking muddy water out of leach infested rice paddies in Vietnam, but this was much more unclean...
I took a lot of long walks and went to a variety of places common to Hollywood culture, becoming more than well acquainted with Santa Monica Boulevard and the Sunset Strip. There was the Filthy McNasty's, the Whiskey a Go-Go, and then there was the Roxy. These were night clubs where musicians trying to make there way to the top were playing. The Roxy was famous for having groups that had already made it big. I was able to go to these places when I still had enough money for Seven-Up and a few cigarettes. While thoroughly enjoying it, I took in as much of the music as I could. For anyone wanting to hear top quality secular music, the Strip and Santa Monica Boulevard was the place where you could find it.
In the process of trying to maintain my sanity while being stranded, I walked the heals off of an old pair of jungle boots I had. The rest of the time, back in my room, I either watched old movies on a little black and white TV which sat on a wooden crate, or I read out of a bible that belonged to my cousin. I was at an all time low in my life and felt as though I was at the end of the line. I couldn't see anything working out for me after years of trying to make something happen. At one point, after finally realizing that things weren't gonna work out with the one I'd been going with, I just gave up. It was a lot of things together that all seemed to bring me to an end; the war, losing my brother in a car accident, several depressing years with my fiance, struggling to help my mother and youngest brother, and ultimately a few years of trying to make this last relationship work. I had no money, very little food and I was stranded in the worst place imaginable other than Vietnam...
I did, however, have some hours of enjoyment during the time I was there, aside from listening to professional live music. After it was brought back to running condition, I rode my chopped Triumph through the streets of Hollywood Hills and around the neighborhood where I was staying. It had short pipes and open exhaust so I didn't dare wind it out through the gears much in the expensive neighborhoods of West Hollywood. Most of the days were spent pushing it up the street to the corner of West Knoll and Santa Monica Boulevard while trying to sell it. I had a big for sale sign that I placed across the high handlebars while I sat on the seat for a couple of hours and watched the cars go by. I eventually got to know the bands that were playing and a lot of the local people in the area just from when I'd walked to the clubs and sat on my bike. Some of the bands who recognized me would honk and wave as they drove by in their rental trucks.
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