An excerpt from: 

An Unusual Memoir

Hell's Angels: A Free Car Repair

by Ken Roy

"Another day in paradise". At least that’s what I thought, living in Santa Clara Valley back in the early 60’s. We had near perfect weather, apricot orchards everywhere, minimal traffic congestion, and it was just a great place to live. I went there on a business trip twenty years later and hardly recognized anything. New highways were everywhere with endless electronics companies on every street corner and the orchards had disappeared. A brief moment of sadness overtook me, as it seemed this paradise was gone forever. I can’t imagine what it’s like today with its transformation to Silicon Valley. Oh well, change is the price of the often quixotic future.

I bought an Austin Healey Sprite once it was clear that my ‘better half" had taken sole possession of the family car. The Sprite was truly a joy to drive and a tune up was relatively cheap and easy. Not like today’s cars, where you lift up the hood and probably can't identify anything more than the engine. The perfect car for California living.

Since my wife was taking classes at the local college, I had plenty of free time to indulge one of my favorite pastimes, which was to drive on the Skyline. This is a road high in the Santa Cruz Mountains; a roller coaster with all kinds of dips, curves, straight-aways and minimal traffic: perfect for "pretend" sports car racing. One day I was cruising along at a good clip when my little Healey decided to quit running. Luckily it happened near a turnoff and I just coasted to a stop.

As I was pondering what to do next, a terrifying roar of motorcycle engines overtook the peace and quiet. When I looked, there were at least a couple dozen motorcycles bearing down the Skyline toward me. I was somewhat mesmerized by the scene, but waved, shrugged and gave a comic rising of my palms. In retrospect, this gesture probably implied I needed help. To my surprise and shock they pulled to a stop next to my car. It didn’t occur to me that I might have a problem until I noticed they all were wearing leather jackets clearly marked "HELLS ANGELS, OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA". I knew of the club's reputation but never thought much about it. To me, their activities had been on another planet. But not today, maybe I was in for some trouble on this day in "paradise".

On many drives in the mountains, I often would pass a band of motorcycles flying the Hells Angels colors. They were a grungy looking bunch but never a threatening issue for me. From what I knew, they were usually going somewhere to drink too much and cause pain to themselves and probably to anyone else who crossed their path. Today they were up close, looking pretty rough, and most were in need of a shave and a bath. One guy caught my eye and sent a shiver down my spine. He had a cowering evil stare that was very unnerving. It seemed like his eyes were too close together and capable of producing a death ray if he was so inclined. Another biker had a strange body odor that I picked up from several feet away. A revolting smell, that almost brought tears to my eyes. Several others, with various tattoos and missing teeth, looked at me like I was their next meal. I kept my mouth shut, being in a state of shock and sheer fright. Taking off running was not an option since there was no place to go. When the lead guy got off his bike and approached my car, I’m thinking, "What’s he got in mind?"

To my complete surprise, in a gruff but friendly tone, he said, "Need some help?"

My fear factor subsided somewhat and I stammered out, "Shhuuuure, the car just quit running."

"Let me take a look," he replied.

He strolled over to the car and within a few moments, the hood was up. Before I could catch my breath, he right away noticed that the throttle linkage was off the carburetor. He snapped it back in place and told me to start the car. It roared back to life. I thanked him profusely and offered him some money for his help.

He looked at me in a strange way and said, "Forget it". We shook hands and no more was said as I prayed they would quickly leave. My prayers were answered as he got on his Harley and they all took off in a cloud of noise.

I always wondered if this was Sonny Barger, the notorious leader of the Oakland Hells Angels. It must have been since as his legend grew it became known that the Angels partied at Ken Kesey's (author of "One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest") home in La Honda, which was on the Skyline and a mecca for the drug-fueled lifestyle of the 60’s.

Anyway, I sure was thankful for my free car repair.