The Great Red Shark has made its last road trip through the desert night. And Gonzo and his attorney have had their last high-speed, hallucinogenic adventure. There will be no more Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

The definitive wildman and literary adventurer, Hunter S. Thompson, is dead.

It's strange, but I guess it makes sense how it ended--with a self-inflicted gunshot wound to his head.

Many of us grew up following Thompson's escapades in the pages of his books. He took a real close, very raw look at the madness of life and captured much of that madness, and his own, in those pages.

After hearing the news yesterday, I pulled a few of his books from my shelves and traveled back in time for a few moments, recapturing the essence of this tremendous writer and his wild exploits. It was an entertaining, albeit brief, journey.

Raise a glass to Hunter Thompson, and give your accelerator an extra kick in tribute. The spirit of Gonzo lives on...

"It was almost noon, and we still had more than a hundred miles to go. They will be tough miles. Very soon, I knew, we would both be completely twisted. But there was no going back, and no time to rest."
--From Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, by Hunter Thompson.