The posse has been chasing me for eight days now, and my rations are about gone – only a few bits of jerky and some stale biscuits remain!
This is all the result of mistaken identity on the part of the citizens of Los Cupelos de Sano, which is a town on the northeastern edge of Death Valley.
My name is Vincent Taylor. My friends call me Vince. The year is 1850 and I am on the run for my life – simply because the horse I ride is black as coal on a dark winter’s night. And my clothes are of black denim and black leather. The only flash about me is my matched pair of Colt .45s with hand-carved ivory grips.
I’ve been branded an outlaw simply because of what I ride and what I wear!
My destination now is to try and reach a series of high-walled canyons that the Indians call “Valleys of Magical Spirits” with the hope that I can lose the posse or at least find a place to hole up for a spell so I can rest up and allow my horse to graze and rest also.
I’ve just entered the third canyon of how many I’m not sure, but this canyon looks promising because it has a rapidly flowing stream banked by grasses that are knee-high. I’ve also spotted fresh deer tracks … so food is available. It is now close to sunset and I don’t believe my good fortune as I sit here upon my horse and look at the stream and the waterfall from which it flows. I can tell that there is a chamber or cave behind the waterfall so I can ride into the stream so as not to leave tracks.
As I ride through the waterfall I have an eerie feeling and I try to shake it off.
I’m in the cave now and have built a small fire for warmth as well as to dry my clothes. There I am in just my long johns when right before my eyes there appears a withered, drawn-up-to-skin-and-bones old Indian, who speaks as if his voice is being echoed back out of a well.
He tells me that the spirits are with me and that they have sent him to deliver their message. He tells me to rest and when the moon is full it will be time for me to travel as I’ve never traveled before.
Then he tells me that I will enter into a new life, many, many moons into the future – because I am desperately needed there.
I wasn’t the least bit scared. Hell, I knew right then that this Indian had been smoking the pipe and eating peyote buttons. But, oh, was I in for a huge surprise!
When I woke up I… What in the hell are those, those wagons without mules to pull them? And that sound… like geese honking as they fly south for the winter! And these wagons going every which way!
Slowly, so as not to disturb those lying around and to the sides of me, I stand up with this huge smooth stone building that I’ve placed my back against, slowly I look all around me… Flashing lanterns of red, yellow, and green hanging by ropes suspended at the crossroads, I turn and look at the building I was against and there above my head is a sign that reads, Los Angeles Mission!
Further down this food path I see another sign that reads, Union Rescue Mission!
I see men coming out of there with small bags of food, so I go there to get one for myself. Before I get there, I pass a large glass window and I see my reflection. My hair is long upon my shoulders and my beard is full and long also! Then I see my pistols so I button up my black leather duster so I don’t alarm folks. But I can still get to them because I’ve cut out the side pockets and my holsters have been altered so that they pivot, barrel up!
I enter this rescue mission and I’m given a bag that contains two sandwiches, an apple, and one orange. I’m also given a see-through squeezy container of Mountain Valley Spring Water.
As I reach the exit a man near my age and looks walks up to me and says, “Hey, ol’ man, how about going down to the corner bar and having a pitcher of cold beer?”
“Hell, that sounds good to me, but let me ask you something. Where in the hell am I?” He replies, “This is Skid Row! I always stop by here after I’ve been on a run, ’cause the beer is cheap, but ice cold!” I said, “Yeah, I know all about being on the run!” And he said, “Yeah, I could tell you’ve been up and down the roads before! I sure have!”
I was beginning to think my mind had gone and left me.
Now my long-haired friend and I had only walked maybe 150 feet when I see all these things lined up against the foot path. Hell, there must have been 30 of the things, all shining like diamonds, big metal things set into a cradle of pipe, between two wheels. Hell, the only thing I really recognized was a small saddle of sorts sitting on top of the things.
Once inside the bar I begun to feel much better because this was a full-fledged saloon and it had some sort of a fancy music box! Hell, there for awhile I was beginning to think my mind had done up and left on me!
So there I sat drinking ice cold beer from an icy mug and I felt the need for a smoke, so I dug out the makings and as I began to shake out some tobacco to roll, my new friend says, “Hell, you sure is a tough sum bitch if you smoke that old sawdust tobacco. Here, have one of mine.” And he shakes out one that is already rolled perfect and it had printing on one end that said, Camel! Well I’ll be if that don’t beat all I’ve ever seen!
“Hey, where are you staying, ol’ man?”
“Hell, I don’t rightly know, see I … well hell, here it is, my horse has up and disappeared on me, along with my bedroll, canteen, and my rifle along with what ammunition I had left.”
“Hell, ol’ man, what are you saying? Are you trying to tell me your scooter was stolen, or that you got shit-faced and can’t remember where you left it?” There he is just sitting there grinning at me, when he says, “Hell, don’t worry about it, you can stay at my place if you don’t mind riding on the fender pad. Well, come on, drink up, we’re out of here!”
Now, once we were outside, my friend straddles one of those two-wheeled things and begins to jump and kick down with his right leg, when all of a sudden that thing came to life. It reminded me of two old buffaloes fighting, only louder!
And then my friend said, “Hop on and let’s go!” Well, to be totally honest, I was all for the “Let’s go” part. But not the “hop on” bit!
But hell, there he sat on the thing and after all I was a man with gumption, so I climbed on and damn near fell off backward as that thing took off.
About two miles later we came upon a huge road with four trails going one way and four going in the opposite direction and I seen a sign that read, Santa Monica Freeway and that is where we headed. Hell, one thing’s for sure – whatever we was a’straddle of, it sure could get up and move. Real fast like!!!
Shortly we arrived at my friend’s cabin. It was up a narrow road called Topanga Canyon and it sat up on this little knoll and was pretty much hidden by a dense growth of trees and shrubs. Once inside and seated at a table, my friend handed me a brown bottle with a label Budweiser Beer and it was so cold it had frost on it. There on the top of the table was a newspaper with the date of Friday, November 13, 1998!!
I slowly placed my head on the table when my friend asked if I was feeling all right. I answered, “No … well … I’m not sure.” And I began to tell him about the posse, the waterfall, the old Indian, the waking up at the place called Los Angeles Mission, and of meeting him in the Union Rescue Mission. Then he up and says, “Hey, don’t worry about it, ’cause stranger shit has happened. Now, you just take it easy, and we’ll get you on your feet and educated so you can make it here in this modern world. But it’s going to take some doing, though.”
…with a bare frame and with the help from all the members, I was able to build my own custom Harley!
“By the way ol’ man, my friends all call me ‘Lurch,’ ’cause I’m so tall.” And tall he was. I figured that he would top out at 6’8″ or maybe 6’10”. One thing’s for sure, he was a big man! Then he asked me what I was called and I told him my name was Vincent Taylor but that most everyone who knew me just called me “Vince.” And I swear he looked like he had just seen a ghost! He sputtered, ‘good enough’ and we shook hands.
Over the next several months, Lurch took time to teach me about things that really mattered if I was to survive in this “new life.” And he answered all my questions, which were many! Like that two-wheeled thing … what’s it called? He said, “That there is a Harley-Davidson motorcycle. I bought it brand new two years ago and tore it all down and rebuilt it custom so we could fit together better.” I learned how to drive the club’s “chase van” and after a collection of spare parts was given to me by most of the club that Lurch was “president” of, I began with a bare frame and with help from all the members, I was able to build my own custom Harley!
Then one day about a year later, Lurch handed me a piece of paper he called a “birth certificate” and told me I was going to get my license so I would be all legal and such. When I opened it I seen it had my name on it. It caused me to wonder…
One day, out in front of the shop, I drew my pistol and shot a rattlesnake, when out charged Lurch yelling, “What the fuck!” I told him to chill out, that all I had done was shoot a snake with my gun.
And Lurch yelled, “That’s not a ‘gun’ ol’ man. This is a gun!” And he whips out this thing that fired a good 50 rounds in less than 30 seconds! I said, “What the fuck is that?” Lurch said it was state-of-the-art firepower called an Ingram Mac Ten in .45 cal. Hell fire! I sure was impressed!
It has now been 18 months that I’ve lived here in the “future.” And it has been one hell of an experience, what with all the bikers, bars on most every block, and – oh the love of my life, the titty bars. Now, that’s progress! Seems like ever since I took in Angie I don’t visit the titty bars as much. But it’s worth it and I’ll get over it.
One thing’s for sure. I’ll never get over the death of Lurch. You see, he was killed three months ago when a cage took a left turn in front of him.
He left a will and the lawyer whom Lurch had retained read it. It seems Lurch had done well for himself. He had made plans. Lurch left me his house and the surrounding property along with his collection of Harleys, his truck, tools, and $1.5 million. But, there was a catch. I was to take Angie in and make her my wife. The lawyer said Lurch had so much he wanted to tell me and share with me, but somehow couldn’t seem to come up with the proper words. The lawyer said I was to pay real close attention to the family photo album. “Here, sign on the dotted line. Thank you very much!”
Lurch had been one of the first investors in a computer company called Micro-Firm, Inc. He had over $20 million in various banks and it was all held in trust for his son, the child Angie was pregnant with and I was to raise this child and be the trustee of his well-being! I had a job to do!
That night, Angie and I sat in Lurch’s den, with me getting drunker by the minute, as I looked through the photos there before us. And I reflected back on a conversation between Lurch and me where he tells me that being a biker or an outlaw isn’t a crime, it’s a lifestyle very few have the heart to live!!”
There on the first page of the photo album is a photo of Lurch and me on the day I finished building my scooter. I had to build it long and low so it would fit my 6’8″ frame. There’s a photo of Lurch at age 8 sitting on his dad’s 1949 Panhead and one of his dad, sitting on his dad’s 1903 Harley-Davidson! And as I turn the page, I get all shaky like, and my eyes water up on me real good because… There on the page is an old tin-type photo of myself! I remember that day well because it was made on the morning of the day I was mistake for someone else. Next thing I knew I was being shot at and chased by a posse! There under the tin-type, Lurch had written, “Turn the page.” So I did and there was a letter he had written to me the night before he was killed.
It said…
Dear Great Grandpaw,
I write this just to clear up some questions I know you have a this time.
You are my great grandfather. You are Vincent Taylor, Sr. your son, my grandfather was Vincent Taylor, Jr. My father was Vincent Taylor, III and I’m Vincent Taylor, IV!
Family history is that you, my great grandpaw ended up living his life as an outlaw because the citizens could not understand your need to be different, to live life differently from them.
Well, that legend had been handed down to me! And by the way, that old Indian was right! I needed you then and I, or should I say, your great-great grandson needs you now! You see, Angie, the hot lil’ redhead down at the “Bottoms Up” bar is pregnant with my son! She’s only three months along! And it would be nice if you’d bring him up right. Teach him well. Teach him to be his own man and don’t take shit from anyone!
Well, that’s about it. Sorry I couldn’t tell you this when we met. But, I love you, Gramps. I hope I made you proud. One thing’s for sure though … I bet you never thought that you would see the day that you would be asked to raise your great-great grandson!
Well, Gramps, I’m up here in Harley Heaven watching out for ya’ll. One more thing … it looks like you’ve come “full Circle.” Enjoy….
Love always,
Your Great-Grandson
Vincent Taylor, IV
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