My boy Jason loaned me Hunter S. Thompson's book on the Hells Angels. I swapped him with my copy of Sonny Barger's bio. Both sides of the coin.
This is a pretty fucking sweet book, man. I really don't know much about Hunter S. Thompson. Most people's introduction is Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. There's a doc on Netflix about him. I'll have to peep it.
This book is probably the defining example of gonzo journalism. Thompson is embedded with the Angels for a year. Rolls with them, parties with them, gets high with them, and eventually gets stomped by them. And he recalls it all here. It's pretty far out.
I dig Thompson's style. It's very down to Earth. He's clearly a good writer, a learned individual. But his diction and syntax is very approachable. The only thing better than reading this book would have been if Thompson had an 8mm camera with him the whole time to capture some of this crazy shit. At the time he just had his notebook, though.
Anyway, I've read quite a few books on bikers and/or for bikers. This ranks right up there, man. It's a trip. It starts a touch slow but really takes off. Thompson gives his own insight, his own opinion, but gives you social context, too. It's great from a journalistic point of view. He's clearly among the Angels, but nowhere close to being an Angel.
The book gets exciting when he's documenting the Angels' weekend trips. It's craziness. Real class.
If you've ever seen a 60's biker flick then you know what you're getting yourself into. This is the literary equivalent. But real life is far crazier than the movies. That's for sure. If you ride a motorcycle; read this book.
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