The Edge

Sorry, not the guitar player from U2.

This is the Edge.

Hunter Thompson's Edge.

Through the books I have read so far, one of Hunter's themes, either in your face or subtly, is his pursuit of the Edge. His description of the Edge is pretty much as you might imagine, an extreme pushing of the limits. Of many things.

This manifested itself in the one very intensely descriptive flat out motorcycle ride down the coast highway of California. The 3AM, helmetless, 110 mph flash down the twisted curve infested roadway. Maybe at times with no headlight and only available moon or starlight to guide him. Pushing the speed in the turns to the limits of the tires grip on the road. No goggles and tears peeling back from his eyes and drying instantly...making the road a literal blur. Believing no other vehicle was on the road that night, in either direction. Surviving this night to only do it again when the notion struck.

Another angle on the Edge was his love of Wild Turkey and/or Rum. There was never enough drink or enough people to drink with. Everything went better with a drink or several in the bag. Whether it was covering the Super Bowl or the Kentucky Derby. Or a crazy presidential race as only can be described in Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail, 1972.

Hunter's obsession with gambling. On everything. Whether it was handicapping political races, horse races (not his favorites), basketball, football. He even once took all the white players on the left half of the TV screen against the black players on the right half. I don't even remember the sport. Being a sports writer for much if not all of his life, there was not much of a limit to how far he would go to place a bet, or a friendly wager as it were.

And then the drugs. His stories of acid, hash and other mind-altering substances are rampant throughout his writings. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas has the whole gamut from ether to cocaine. I mean how else do you identify Bat Country? Whether he truly did all these things, seems left to the reader's imagination. You suspect after a while that no human could have lived that long doing what he claims to have done, well, except Keith Richards and Steven Tyler.

The most "out there" Edge that Thompson pushed was the year he spent living with the Hell's Angels. The rides, parties, interaction with the law and local communities, Sonny Barger, an Angel leaders funeral, and of course in the end his own beat-down by the Angels before he departed. This book is the first book of his I read and I recommend it highly. It defies and defines his brilliance.

Finally he left this life as he lived it...on his terms and going over the Edge. He is certainly missed to this day.

His suicide note titled Football Season Is Over was left for his wife and printed in Rolling Stone. This is it:

"No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun – for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax – This won’t hurt."

And then he shot himself. As a true gun lover and self proclaimed "weapons expert", nothing could have been more fitting.

The funeral was the final over the top act of this man's existence.



And that was his funeral. RIP, HST.


Last line from Where The Buffalo Roam:

"But I don't think I'll believe he's dead, until I can gnaw on his skull with my very own teeth...because it still hasn't gotten weird enough for me"