Thompson's book on the
Hell's Angels reads more like an
anthropology book than his other more
gonzo experiences. In its pages you can see his fascination with the
danger that they embody. He was
Jane Goodall watching the
gorillas, not being drawn into their society but trying to
objectively chronicle their existence and life style. Ironically, the book and Thompson's research of the Hells Angels ends when one of them decides that he doesn't like Hunter anymore and
beats the shit out of him.
On a personal note, this book changed my life. I was in college again when I read it, I think in conjunction with a class and I decided maybe I could do a similar project observing and recording the culture of the
hippies. I knew a couple of guys that met the criteria of "hippie" who lived out in
California and I decided I would track them down and write of my experiences. I was a pretty straight arrow "
go to work every day" kind of guy at the time, so for
camouflage I let my hair grow long, put my oldest jeans in the washer with too much bleach to distress them, got a couple of
counterculture T-shirts, one of which I remember said "
Bad Company" and enacted my plan. I found that there were plenty of hippies in my part of Colorado and I didn't have too look too hard to find them. I was amazed by the unconditional friendship that I was shown by the
peaceful,
loving people I met. I was totally accepted for whoever I was, whatever I looked like. I also learned what it was like to be disliked for my appearance alone, something that was an eye opener for the
middle-class white bread straight boy I was.
Well, I never wrote the book, yet, didn't get a haircut for 4 years and went to California after all. I have never regretted joining the hippies, there aren't so many vestiges of my former enlistment in my life now, but I still like
brown rice and
stir fried veggies.