I arrived in Hawaii on the 20th of March 1979. Beautiful weather, beautiful scenery, beautiful women… Hawaii is a beautiful State. No tourist brochure can do it justice. I left my motorcycle in Florida and fully intended to live in government quarters, not go out much and save money. Oh well, the best laid plans …
My first weekend there I ended up at the local Harley shop and bought a brand new 1979 Harley Davidson FLT full dress motorcycle. It had everything – windshield, fairing, saddlebags and a great AM-FM stereo cassette player.
I became skipper of the LCU 1527 and unofficial Company relief skipper. One of the first things I did was set up a crew meeting at the “A” Club near the ferry landing every Thursday after work. Beer is a great social lubricant and there are times the crew needs lubricating if the skipper really wants to know what is happening on the boat. Too often soldiers will say what they think we want to hear rather than the actual truth. Not that they will lie but they will often leave things out. This meeting made it easier to work out maintenance priorities. The location at the “A” club was also convenient. The club – officially the Arizona Club – was close to the ferry landing. We were located on Ford Island and the only way to get on or off was by using the Ford Island Ferry, a US Navy vehicle ferry. This ferry was old and prone to break downs but it never seemed to break down on the way to work, only on the way home.
The “A” Club was a good place to wait until it was repaired.
It was also a good place to meet our Navy sailors. Ford Island was home to a lot of submarine sailors who attended schools between patrols. The “bubble heads” and “boomers” - fast attack subs and missile boat crews spent a lot of time in the club and we’d talk shop and swap sea stories. When a Navy First Class made Chief the initiation party was held at the “A” Club. We helped wet down the new Chief’s anchor.
I was snorkeling in about twenty feet of water and decided to go lower to check out a school of fish near the bottom of the reef. Suddenly a very large torpedo-shaped shadow passed under me. It was huge. It could only be a Great White checking me out for his next meal. I had no air but what was in my lungs. I went deeper and tried to blend with the reef. Lack of oxygen was beginning to affect me. My field of vision was starting to constrict and my lungs were beginning to burn. I had the choice of dying from drowning or taking on the shark. I pulled my diver's knife and headed up – to see several large porpoises playing around the boat, not a Great White in the area.
I nursed a minor hangover as I rode back up on the San Bernardino Freeway. As I passed out of the city I crested a rise and saw the desert spread out before me. I had a tape in the stereo and as I came down the other side of the rise with miles of straightaway in front. Born to be Wild by Steppenwolf started to play. I cranked up the volume and felt a thrilling exhilaration as I shot down I-10.
Not only did I feel the normal exhilaration of riding a Harley – a feeling akin to flying, a freedom and motion rush unknown to ordinary non-Harley riding mortals – but also a complete and total freedom rush. I had the open road in front of me, money in my pocket and plenty of time off to enjoy myself.
