The Truth About the Great In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida LIE!

You know me. I tell only the truth in my stories.a song called In-A-Gada-Da-Vida?""Yeah!""Jim
(Mostly.) So maybe this once I told a big lie, justplayed the drum solo on that song," I confessed,
so I could tell an even better story that's actuallywith dramatic reluctance. "That's Jim Ottea, man.
true (mostly.) Was it worth the sacrifice of myThat's HIM!""No shit? WOW! Hey, I play drums,
very soul? You decide.Jim Ottea and I had beentoo.""Ask him for his autograph when he gets
cruising through Colorado for several days, he onback, he'll be glad to give it to you."About this
his Yamaha FJR, me on my BMW K1200LT. Aftertime, Jim came strolling back along the wooden
almost two weeks on the road, the trip waspier, and as he approached, I announced, "Jim, I
nearly over, but the fun was not. As far as we'retold this guy you played the drum solo for Iron
concerned, it's not over 'til it's over. People haveButterfly on In-A-Gada-Da-Vida. Think he wants
been hurt trying to prove us wrong.We'd beenyour autograph."We locked eyes. Jim gave me a
laying our bikes down low enough to kiss thelook of disbelief -- poor guy, he has a little trouble
pavement up near Telluride, traveling fromovercoming his own, deeply ingrained senses of
Silverton to a little town called Ouray (pronouncedhonesty and justice and right."You gotta be
"OO-ray") where the cutbacks are sweet and thekidding me," his piercing eyes accused. "Nope, not
drop-offs are steep. The roads were so fine wekidding," my conspiratorial wink replied, "You're in
spent two days on them, staying more than oneon this, like it or not.""Sign an autograph for this
night in a nearby town so we could play onguy," I coaxed aloud, "He's a drummer, too."Then
Highway 550 again and again.Winding down intoI explained to the kid, "Jim's embarrassed about
Ouray on our last day in the neighborhood, I rolledthat drum solo. Thinks it's immature and childish,
out of the final hairpin and pulled up next to Jimnow. But believe me," I assured him, "you can still
on a road-side pull-off, with Iron Butterfly'slearn a lot about rock 'n roll drumming from that
In-A-Gada-Da-Vida blasting out of the speakersclassic In-A-Gada-Da-Vida drum solo."I don't know
on the Beemer."How many times have youif that is true or not, I'm not a drummer -- but to
listened to that record?" Jim asked, possiblymy credit, I thought perhaps it could be true
annoyed for having heard it blaring at the last 3 orwhen I said it."I can't believe this," Jim muttered. I
4 stops. (I'm also not sure he was completelydon't remember if he actually said it aloud or
comfortable with my wanting to play my ABBAsimply implied it with another piercing look of
CD whenever we'd pull up near Harley guys inprofound disappointment in me, but I was having
their leathers and do-rags.)"About seven," Inone of that. The game was on, and it didn't
answered, "I just found it this morning in my CDmatter in any case -- celebrities are known to be
case. Pretty nice stuff, huh? Ever hear thisbashful and sometimes reticent. Jim's acting
song?"Jim snorted, and I continued, "The drumsquirrelly now could only enhance the charade.The
solo alone is good for 20 miles, even on theseaspiring drummer produced paper and pen and
winding roads." I cranked it up a little more for hiseven a clipboard, not believing his fine fortune on
listening enjoyment, just in time for the song's bigthat happy day.To his everlasting shame, Jim fell
finish."Yeah, yeah, yeah," he winced, obviouslyfully into the wicked spirit of the thing. His
jealous of my six-cd-changer. I shrugged, and wereluctance resolved quickly into alacrity. His eyes
pulled back onto the highway and out of town,twinkling, Jim Ottea (Wow! the REAL Jim Ottea ,
headed toward Gunnison and points east - theit's HIM, man!) graciously produced an autograph
general direction of home, although neither of usthat could one day be worth hundreds, perhaps
wanted to face that ugly fact, not yet.The nexteven thousands of dollars -- if he ever actually
day we were on our way to raft the Royaldoes make something of himself.Meanwhile, I
Gorge, although we didn't realize we were on ourgrabbed the camera and captured the moment,
way to raft it, for conceptually, that adventurewhile Jim, with bold hand and proud flourish,
hadn't yet occurred to us. We pulled into a littleshamelessly autographed -- HA! Get this:Stick with
park where the Arkansas River storms past ait, kid.Jimmy "Rotten" OtteaIron ButterflyThe two
wooden deck overlooking the water. On theof them spent the next few minutes discussing
platform stood a kid about 20 years old, snappingthe subtle differences between traditional
pictures of the white water rafters as theydrumming styles versus I don't know what. I
splashed along in the rapids below (to sell atmust say Jim held his own in the conversation,
outrageous prices when they returned to theeven though he hadn't a clue what the hell this
rafting company's headquarters.)While Jim wentexcited young fellow was jabbering on about.
back to his motorcycle, undoubtedly to seeMostly, "Jimmy Rotten" just nodded sagely and
where he might be able to mount agrunted in a manner befitting an accomplished
six-cd-changer and 8-speaker sound system onprofessional. I was very proud of him in that
an FJR, the young man and I chatted about hismoment.And, of course, he offered the lad much
job and his cameras, about life in general andencouragement. That's important for young folks,
about nothing in particular,"Hey," the kid said toand Jim is a caring sort.Now, I should admit that
me, out of Jim's hearing, "Anyone ever tell yourbefore we left the scene, we told the kid the
friend he looks like a rock star?"I leaned backwhole truth, explaining it was all intended as a
against the railing, taking in the full warmth of theharmless jest.I should admit that, but I can't, I
sun, and replied with nonchalance, "Funny youwon't, we didn't. We never confessed a thing. The
should mention that. Which one do you think heway we saw it, why spoil a young dreamer's big
looks like?"I already knew where I was going withday, just to save our own miserable souls?And
this. I am the Bad Ted, and this was just toonow you know the truth about the lie. I
easy."Well, I'm not sure, but he looks familiar. Heswear.Ted A. Thompson On our way home two
just looks like some rock star I might have seendays later, halfway across Kansas in 104 degree
somewhere.""Someone recently said he looks liketemperatures on the ungodly, flat, baking-hot,
Keith Richards," I suggested. "You think?""Wow,wearisome Interstate that cuts through the
yeah," the kid agreed, animated now. "Hey," heMidwest prairie, I pulled up next to Jim on my
added, more hopeful than doubtful, "He's not, ismotorcycle, matching his speed at about 85 MPH.I
he? Keith Richards?""Nah," I laughed. "But..." I drewgot his attention with my horn, grinned, and as he
it out as if I was hesitant to reveal A Really Bigwatched and wondered what I was up to, I put
Secret, then relented."Ever heard of a band calledthe Beemer on cruise control and pantomimed
Iron Butterfly?""Yeah...?" ("C'mon," his eyeswild drumming motions with my arms, fists closed
pleaded, "you're going to tell me he's someonetightly around imaginary drumsticks.It was a close
really cool, aren't you?! I KNEW it!")"Ever heard ofcall.