OK. Let’s get this thing straight. An accident did occur on a lonely highway 24 years ago, but it didn’t go down like the Midnight Riders tell it. On October 3rd, my old buddy Jake (you may have heard of him. He “replaced” me in the Midnight Riders band) called me up and wanted to go for a ride. If you know me at all, you know there’s two things I can’t resist; hot chicks and open road.
Jake was a seemingly nice guy. He didn’t really have any talent and he was always writing these cheesy love songs, but we got along fine. Anyway, a little while later we met up, mounted our bikes and got ready to head out. Strangely, Jake stopped me before I took off and suggested we ride without our helmets – said they were “sissy” or something.
About ten minutes later I’m flying down the road blazing wind and roaring tailpipe when I see Jake flagging me down to the side of the highway. He started pointing and saying something about his front tire, so I walked over to take a look. The last thing I remember was a sharp pain on the back of my head and hot blood dripping down my neck.
I woke up a week later in some clinic in Mexico City. No clothes. No money. Nothing. First I went to the American embassy. No record of good ol’ Riggs Donner. Then I went to the bank. Never heard of me before. It was like I never existed.
I would of just booked it across the border, but who’s got an extra $2,500 to pay off some coyote controlling the smuggling routes? I spent the next 24 years going from cantina to cantina washing dishes, milking donkeys and playing gigs to scrape it by.
I’m sure Smitty, Ox and Dusty put Jake up to it. They were always jealous of my wicked bass guitar. Sure, I don’t remember playing half our gigs. But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t there, rocking out in a blazed hue of glory. Besides – how would a half-baked hack like Jake make it in the Midnight Riders if it wasn’t his reward for pushing me out?
Your Wicked Bass,
Riggs
