I felt like what he was saying was total bulls.h.i.t, of course. I mean, what did it really mean, anyway, to go Hollywood? I'd had one show or another on television for more than six years. Hadn't I been famous for a pretty long while? But I guess I was starting to realize that there was a difference between being pretty well known, and being REALLY well known. Like, Sandra-Bullock-well-known.

"People don't get it," I told her. "They think I'm stuck on myself, or something like that."

"It's difficult," Sandy said. "Sometimes I think it's a pretty lonely path, being this recognizable. You have to work at maintaining some of your friendships."

But I didn't exactly feel like doing maintenance on my old school buddies. To me, it felt like a betrayal. If they didn't take me as I was in this moment, well, f.u.c.k them. I could make new friends.

Except it wasn't really as simple as that. Sandy was incredibly welcoming, in terms of trying to bring me into "her world," but when it came down to it, I was really a kid from the streets. That's just who I was. I knew that I was smart, and that I could hold my own in a conversation, but I just didn't seem to have much in welcoming, in terms of trying to bring me into "her world," but when it came down to it, I was really a kid from the streets. That's just who I was. I knew that I was smart, and that I could hold my own in a conversation, but I just didn't seem to have much in common common with her friends, some of whom happened to be the movie-producing elite of the world. Some of my hardest moments were going with Sandy to her premieres and award shows. I was incredibly proud of who she was, and it felt absolutely right to support her. But sometimes I just wished she was a teacher or something. That I could go to PTA night at the school, and support her that way. with her friends, some of whom happened to be the movie-producing elite of the world. Some of my hardest moments were going with Sandy to her premieres and award shows. I was incredibly proud of who she was, and it felt absolutely right to support her. But sometimes I just wished she was a teacher or something. That I could go to PTA night at the school, and support her that way.

"You look handsome," Sandy remarked to me, as we readied ourselves for a red-carpet entrance.

"I feel, uh, a bit out of my element," I admitted, from the backseat of our hired car.

"You're fantastic," Sandy said, looking me deep in my eyes. "Thank you for coming with me."

Sandy always saw the good in me, the promise I had. But all the love and support in the world still wouldn't have been enough to make me comfortable up on the red carpet with her. Sometimes I look back at the pictures we took together, and I can read the discomfort all over me: the clench of my jaw, the way I'm holding myself. I never could seem to shake the feeling that it was all a huge farce, one big mistake. How in the h.e.l.l did I end up in front of ten million flashbulbs? Wasn't I supposed to be selling refurbished furniture at the Long Beach swap meet with my dad?

The after-parties were even more painful. No matter how much I tried otherwise, I still felt like Jed Clampett there, stuffed into a suit, hoping no one would unmask the fraud that was me. If there was an unoccupied corner in the room, I'd quickly wedge myself into it, smiling weakly, waiting for the night to extinguish itself.

"Jesse James!" cried a drunk producer at one of these many shindigs. He looked nearly ecstatic to have found me. "How the h.e.l.l h.e.l.l are you?" are you?"

"Awesome," I said guardedly.

"Boy, I've been thinking about you a lot lot! I've been talking with my wife about restoring this vintage motorcycle-you might not know it from looking at me, but I'm a total total bike freak, man!" bike freak, man!"

I tried not to express my total lack of enthusiasm for Sandy's scene, because it was always her night, and the last thing I wanted to do was throw a damper on her mood. But she was a pretty perceptive person. She could always see right through me.

"You hated it."

"What?" I said, on the drive home. "That's not true. I had a pretty good time."

Sandy laughed. "Come on, be honest: you were miserable."

"Miserable's a strong word. More like . . . I hoped I would die?"

"I know those events can be a bit stuffy," Sandy said, patting my leg. "I'm sorry, Jesse."

"I just feel like . . . well, everyone's looking at me. I'm completely out of place there."

We looked at each other for a second, then both grinned.

"We're such an unlikely pair," I said.

"I love it," Sandy said. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

Sometimes I wondered if she truly felt that way, though.

I mean, if I I had been her, and I'd married some welder dude, I would have hoped to transform me, at least a tiny bit. My idea of a good time was to shoot guns, watch NASCAR, and babble about custom bikes. Truly, that's what made me happy. It couldn't have pleased Sandy all the time. had been her, and I'd married some welder dude, I would have hoped to transform me, at least a tiny bit. My idea of a good time was to shoot guns, watch NASCAR, and babble about custom bikes. Truly, that's what made me happy. It couldn't have pleased Sandy all the time.

"Let's get away together," she proposed. "Just the two of us. I have a friend who'll let us stay at her villa in Cabo San Lucas."

Lounging around in a private villa in Mexico with a hot movie star wife probably sounds pretty good to the average guy on the street. And h.e.l.l, I wasn't complaining. But every flight we took had to be a total military operation, because of Sandy's fame and the security it demanded. And then, once we'd successfully made it to our vacation house un.o.bserved, it was hard to leave. There was peace in that villa, but sometimes I felt caged. our vacation house un.o.bserved, it was hard to leave. There was peace in that villa, but sometimes I felt caged.

"Where are you headed?"

"I think I'll go take a drive. Explore Cabo."

"Are you going to take a map?"

"I'll live dangerously."

"Okay," said Sandy, laughing. "You know what? I'll come with you."

We showered, changed, then headed out to our rental jeep.

"I'm just going to get my cell phone," she said apologetically. "Just in case we get lost."

I sat in the car, jaw clenched, trying not to be frustrated. Next she'd be telling me to wear my seat belt.

As I waited for Sandy, I popped one of the CDs I'd brought into the car stereo. Circle Jerks blasted out at full volume, abrasive and mean.

"All set," Sandy said, opening the pa.s.senger-side door and slipping into her seat. "Hey, wow. That's a bit much for these eardrums. Can you lower the volume, please?"

I lowered it. Of course I did. That's what any husband would do for his high-cla.s.s wife. She wasn't some wh.o.r.e in the back of a Daytona nightclub: she was a lady, with gentler tastes. But in the back of my mind, I couldn't help but feel kind of cheated. It was like I was Huckleberry Finn or something, when Widow Douglas decides to adopt him. They were "sivilizing" me, and I didn't know how to make them stop.

In the s.p.a.ce of a few scant years, I'd gone from the h.e.l.lacious pandemonium of an ex-p.o.r.n star who didn't even know herself what her next move would be, to a calm, steady, and predictable wife, for whom a night at home watching a new-release DVD const.i.tuted a thoroughly stimulating evening of entertainment. Simply put, it was an adjustment.

It wasn't like I regretted my decision: I was in love with Sandy. I really was. It's just that our marriage wasn't quite as simple and easy as I had hoped it would be. But then, I suppose nothing ever is. I really was. It's just that our marriage wasn't quite as simple and easy as I had hoped it would be. But then, I suppose nothing ever is.

The custody battle with Janine raged on. Finally, the courts threw me a bone, and I was allowed to visit Sunny in Oregon when she was three. The visit wasn't long, but it upset me.

"Sweetie," I said, hugging my daughter to me, embracing her skinny bones. She felt light in my grip. Her skin was incredibly pale.

"Boy, does she ever get outside?" I asked Janine.

"Of course she gets outside," Janine snapped. "I know what I'm doing."

But things seemed kind of strange with my daughter. Sandy and I took her out for the day, hoping to get to know her and sort of introduce our presence to her life. We took her to a playground, and she seemed disoriented.

"Look at her running up to the other little kids," I said. "She doesn't even know how to interact with them."

"She's not saying much," Sandy observed.

It was true. My daughter wasn't talking. She was running up to the other children, looking fascinated, as if she'd never seen another little person her own size, but didn't seem to know where to go from there.

"This isn't right," I said, frustrated. "Janine is keeping her isolated in the house all day. It's not the way a kid should grow up."

We played with Sunny all day, and I had never felt quite so sad being around one of my kids.

"Someday real soon, she's going to live with us," I told Sandy. "I swear." My determination to get my daughter had never waned, even in the face of the slow-moving justice system. But now when I saw just how pale and fragile she was, it was renewed a thousand percent.

"I believe in you," Sandy said. "We'll keep at it. Come on. We better bring her back."

It was huge to me that Sandy was so firmly in my corner. I knew that she could be a great mom to Sunny, and, if given the chance, could make a momentous difference in her life. But it wasn't just that she was capable of doing the job: I could tell that she wanted wanted to do it. Sandy wanted to support me, but even more, I think she wanted to change things for this little girl whom she'd just met and already loved. to do it. Sandy wanted to support me, but even more, I think she wanted to change things for this little girl whom she'd just met and already loved.

As always, the events of my life influenced how I approached my creative process, and one morning, I felt ready to announce to Sandy that I had news.

"I've come to an important decision," I told Sandy. "I'm through with Monster Garage. Monster Garage."

"Really?" she asked. "But why?"

"You know, I haven't felt that excited about the show in years. I don't want to milk it for all it's worth. I'd rather cut it off while there's still some interest there."

I'd been wanting to shift more of my energy to the home front, anyway, to getting custody of Sunny and running my motorcycle shop with a more careful eye. But the real straw that had broken the camel's back, I told Sandy, was the way the network had dealt with my journey to Iraq.

"I just didn't feel supported by them. I went overseas on my own dime, pretty much against their wishes. I don't know, I just felt like I was trying to do something good, and they fought me every inch of the way. It left a bad taste in my mouth."

Unsurprisingly, Discovery accepted my resignation.

"We'll miss you, Jesse," a network executive told me.

But I didn't think they would miss me too too much. I hadn't always been the easiest guy to work with. In any case, it was possible that they, too, felt much. I hadn't always been the easiest guy to work with. In any case, it was possible that they, too, felt Monster Garage Monster Garage had run its course. After all, we had done five full seasons, and there's only so many mutant vehicles a man can build. We didn't part on bitter terms, though. They ended up running the footage we shot with the troops as a two-hour had run its course. After all, we had done five full seasons, and there's only so many mutant vehicles a man can build. We didn't part on bitter terms, though. They ended up running the footage we shot with the troops as a two-hour special, special, Iraq Confidential. Iraq Confidential. In the end, I think we all felt the final chapter of our collaboration was a success. In the end, I think we all felt the final chapter of our collaboration was a success.

But with the show gone, there was an immediate gaping hole in my life. For five years, I had worked around the clock, leading crews, doing demolition, design, and reconstruction. Now, suddenly, I had a lot of time on my hands. It felt strange and very unlike me to be twiddling my thumbs.

What the h.e.l.l do I do now? I wondered. I wondered.

At first, I figured the easy solution would be to spend all my time at West Coast; after all, we still had plenty of business to attend to. But dealing with the constant daily pressures of customers, crowds, and payroll stressed me out.

"I don't know how I did this for so many years," I admitted to Bill. "What the h.e.l.l, man? We got thirty customers lined up to get their choppers, and every single one of them wants it now. now."

I had never considered myself an artist, exactly, but I had to be in a certain mood to get my work done correctly. I had to have a certain clarity and focus, or the products I produced were going to be subpar and unremarkable. Simply put, I had to want want to do it. And I felt that desire slackening. to do it. And I felt that desire slackening.

"I used to really need to prove myself to everyone," I explained to Sandy. "That's what motivated me. But now I feel like I've proved myself. Making bikes is just not making me happy anymore."

Sandy hugged me. As perceptive as she was, I'm sure she realized that my divorce from Monster Garage Monster Garage had left me feeling somewhat adrift. I also think she felt some mild guilt over her own stupendous career success. She was a sensitive, clued-in person, and she probably understood that no guy, no matter how generous he is, wants to be overshadowed by the woman he's with. She wanted me to feel as confident about what I did as she felt about her acting, where she'd achieved so much. had left me feeling somewhat adrift. I also think she felt some mild guilt over her own stupendous career success. She was a sensitive, clued-in person, and she probably understood that no guy, no matter how generous he is, wants to be overshadowed by the woman he's with. She wanted me to feel as confident about what I did as she felt about her acting, where she'd achieved so much.

"Well?" Sandy said, sympathetically. "What do you think we can do to make you feel alive again?"

I thought about it for a long time, but answers that important don't just appear out of nowhere. I was looking around for pa.s.sion, but couldn't quite seem to find it.

Racing, however, had always been a kind of hobby of mine. Ever since I was a kid, I had always been a natural at driving at high speeds, whether it be boxcars or BMXs. As I got older, it had evolved to trucks, dragsters, and motorcycles, as well as to more novelty items, like dune buggies or off-road vehicles. With more time suddenly on my hands, I figured I could probably get a little more devoted to the sport, and have plenty of fun in the process.

With practice, I managed to gain some competence. I played around doing things like Figure 8 endurance racing, where you whipped around on the same track until you were dizzy, crossing in the middle; but what I loved most and found I was most talented at was stock car racing. It was so incredibly fast. It satisfied the part of me that lived for speed.

"d.a.m.n," I laughed exultantly, after finishing one of my practice sessions, "why'd I even bother playing ball? This is so much cooler."

In a matter of months, I'd managed to place myself into the Winston West series, a preliminary stock car race that took place at the Irwindale Speedway. Sandy, ever supportive, came out to cheer me on.

"Aren't you nervous?" she asked. "I'm a little nervous." a little nervous."

"No chance," I said, patting my helmet. "This is going to be great."

I started out sensationally, ripping out of the gate, in contention to place. But minutes into the race, my rear axle broke. My car careened out of control, and I crashed head-on into the wall at 140 miles an hour.

It was an awful, gory wreck. The dash collapsed into my face and broke my helmet, nose, and cheek. I shattered my ankle, spiral-fractured my tibia, cracked my sternum. The car was completely destroyed, and when I woke up, I found myself in an ambulance, covered with blood.

"Where I am?" I managed to mumble.

"Oh my G.o.d, you're alive!" Sandy cried. "He's alive!"

Though I hadn't realized it at the time, I'd been unconscious for more than six minutes. It had been the chaplain who had gone and fetched Sandy-they hadn't thought I was going to wake up.

As I lay there on the gurney in the ambulance, my vision distorted, my face covered in blood, Sandy reached out and gently touched my hand. She was trembling, just super shaky. I still remember the look that was on her face. She looked like she'd already been told I was going to die.

"It's going to be okay," she whispered, finally. "You're going to be . . . fine."

My whole life, I'd always lived full throttle, placing myself in positions of danger over and over, as if that was my right. If I lived, if I died, that was my business. But there was something different about what I'd created with Sandy. To see her so shaken there, it really made me evaluate things on a different level-it made me realize that I had a responsibility to the woman I loved to stay alive, and live sanely.

"Look, I'm done," I told her, a few weeks later. "That NASCAR racing is for suckers."

Sandy didn't try to hide her happiness. "Thank goodness," she sighed. "I don't want you in a wheelchair."

"Yeah, me neither, I guess," I said. "Not unless you're in the one next to me."

"Ooh, a cute wheelchair duo," she said, laughing. "Tempting. Pink, perhaps?"

"They'd make a romantic comedy out of it," I said. "You could star in it. Keanu would play me."

"Oh, be quiet!" Sandy laughed. "I'm just happy you're going to be around for a while. You really had us worried for a second." Her face grew more serious. "I mean . . . I love you. I don't know what I'd do without you."

That night, I couldn't fall asleep. I lay in bed next to Sandy, feeling her warm, innocent body next to me.

Why had I really crashed? I wondered. I wondered. Was it really the car's fault? Or had it been a mistake I'd made? Was it really the car's fault? Or had it been a mistake I'd made?

I was getting older. When I stared into the mirror in the morning, a thirty-seven-year-old face stared back at me. I didn't exactly mind aging, but d.a.m.n, it sure felt like a harsh surprise some days. It seemed like only yesterday that I'd been laughing about girls with Bobby, getting drunk in the middle of the day, stealing cars and cutting them up for cash. Life had been so exciting, with no consequences to speak of.

Silently, I rose from the bed and limped my way out of the bedroom. Heading out into the hallway, I began a slow survey of the rest of the house. I checked in on my kids. They were asleep. As I gazed down at my son, I wondered rather guiltily how he and Chandler would have gotten along if my crash had been fatal. They would have survived, of course. But they would have gone through terrible grief and hardship.

Life just got a lot harder harder as you got older, that's what I was learning. It got more complicated, more difficult to understand. I cherished Sandy, I really did. She felt like the love of my life, and she was quickly becoming a mom to my kids. The idea of finding a woman I thought more highly of was laughable. I wanted to honor her by retreading my life in a way that she approved of, and in a way that made her feel proud. as you got older, that's what I was learning. It got more complicated, more difficult to understand. I cherished Sandy, I really did. She felt like the love of my life, and she was quickly becoming a mom to my kids. The idea of finding a woman I thought more highly of was laughable. I wanted to honor her by retreading my life in a way that she approved of, and in a way that made her feel proud.

But at that moment, alone in the house at night all by myself, I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the responsibility of having somehow transformed into a grown-up, a father to three kids, the husband to one of the most famous, impossibly perfect women in the world. It was a weakness welling up inside of me, no doubt about it. But sometimes I just wished I could find a way to make it all disappear.