This was a strange situation for me since I, almost exclusively, wear my leathers when Iím on my bike. I had spent nearly seventeen hundred bucks on riding accessories just so I could look cool Ėeven before I had realized the utility of those accessories. Generally I wear my helmet and Darth Vader style mask, with my one piece leather suit, matching boots and scuff pads that keep me from grinding my knees off on the turns.

I enjoyed wearing the suit because it made people afraid of me. They didnít like to talk to me and hesitated to even look at me. When they did, I could see that they thought I was crazy.

Once, I was in the Everett Mall. My suit was unzipped and I was carrying my helmet in my left hand. Iím walking out to my bike and Iíve got my Oakley sunglasses and two earrings on. My haircut is spiked on top and really long in back. I walked past a group of five or six boys, with a fringe of girls hanging off the edges of the huddle. One of them said something that I couldnít hear, but as I passed one of them called out to me.

"Hey, dude," he said. "Youíre this kidís hero." He pointed to one of his associates, who embarrassedly looked at the ground as I came to a halt.

I was flattered and felt bad that the other kids had made him the subject of their derision. I got down on one knee and shook the kidís hand and looked at the boy that had made fun of him. "Hey, everybodyís got to have a hero."

As I left the parking lot, I smoked off the tire for about ten seconds and did a wheelie. Somehow I empathized with the boy who had been ridiculed by his peers. I wanted to put on a little show for his friends, so he wouldnít lose any face. And deep down I wondered if I was really worthy of anybodyís admiration. Maybe a small part of me was, I decided.

Meanwhile, back at Fantastic Games things were getting strange. Scott was getting overly affectionate and too concerned for my welfare. It seemed as though he had some type of mother-complex and his constant attention and pats on the back began to make me uncomfortable. One night he tried to kiss me.

Iím proud of myself, that I had enough restraint to avoid killing him. I packed up my stuff and havenít been back since. Now I was in the unfortunate situation of having neither a job nor a place to live. It wasnít a problem that would plague me for long, because, shortly after, I got sick and ended up in the hospital for a couple long weeks of steroids, antibiotics, intravenous lines and hacking up chunks of green phlegm from my tortured lungs.

Even after I was released from the hospital I was in poor shape. I found a place to live in a house full of partiers living in Mukilteo, but usually had just enough energy to get up and fix myself some food. Not able to work, my motorcycle payments lagged. Fortunately, I had good insurance and it covered, not only my hospital stay, but my missed bike payments. The problem was the time frame, however. It took them several months turn around time to process the claims, and in the meantime, Scottís parents were calling me and badgering me to give them the bike so that they could sell it. I explained to them the money for the payments was on its way, but they didnít want to hear it. Since my falling out with Scott, they no longer had any tolerance for me and were interested in cutting all financial ties between us.

I tried to explain to them that they wouldnít be able to get the full amount of the loan if they turned around and sold the bike, and that they would be better of financially if they could be patient. My health was gradually improving and I figured that in a couple of weeks I could be working again, and shortly thereafter the insurance payments would come in, and I would be able to start making the regular payments myself. In response, they threatened me with legal action if I didnít forfeit the bikes.