When I was in my twenties, all I wanted to do was ride motorcycles.

My first was a 1994 FXR Harley Davidson I scored from a friend of my uncle who lived in San Diego. I took the train down from San Francisco, paid cash, got on the bike, and geared up for the long ride home. My plan was to stop off in Los Angeles and then take the coastal route back. Even though I let a few friends know I was coming, the L.A. pit stop was really about this chick, Lucy.

Lucy and I met during a long night of partying. Nothing happened (other than us doing copious amounts of drugs), but we’d been sexting and sending nudes to each other ever since. I’m a total ass man, and Lucy’s was like an onion — it made me cry. I mean, I wanted to bury my head between her cheeks like a cartoon ostrich head in sand.