It started out innocently enough, even though the bar smelled like a dead wildebeest. It was my birthday and I was out celebrating with my old college roommate Dave and his brother, who’d just graduated from a gruelling stint at Harvard Law. The place we found ourselves in had a surreal vibe and a kind of psychedelic bolero-meets-drug-lord chic. It was probably really happening in 1984. To cut a long story short, we ended up in scuffle with two individuals we’d just a short while ago been enjoying drinks with. “Blame it on the wildebeest fumes.” I said as we high-tailed it into the Hawaiian night “but for the love of god, man, I should really get out of town for a while…”
Serendipitously, the next morning I get a message from Keith Teboul. “The swell models are off the charts. The radar’s gone from purple to black – it’s on! We leave at 18:30 tonight.”