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The harsh California sun exposed the mad wrath of a terrified mob. Thousands of homes and business had been burned and looted. Millions of abandoned cars shimmered lifelessly on the freeways like dead salmon in barren streams. The city was in hiding, ashamed or afraid of what they had done, what had we become? Broken humans wandering astray in the streets like zombies, devoid of emotion as thousands of bikers rumbled through the ruins of a lost civilization, the city of Lost Angels.

I visited every pier on the west coast on a motorcycle; over 100 of them. Passing within feet of gigantic aircraft carriers, I crossed incredible bridges that launched the bike airborne; beheld beautiful castles in the sky and slept serenely on Crystal Pier as the ocean rushed beneath me. Historically, piers embraced great sailing ships, welcoming goods and people from exotic lands. Whether bearing silks of China or rum from the Caribbean, this was its Ports O'Call. Those days are long gone yet the memories echo on and it's still somewhere close to far away. Standing at the end of a pier high...