January 1st, 1885.

12:00 AM.

3 miles outside of Hill Valley, California.

The former auto detailer couldn't believe his eyes when he again burst through a flash and three sonic booms. He was suddenly out above a field in the complete blackness over where the future Route 395 would be. He wasn't far from Hilldale either. There was a trail roughly covering the same path now.

In the distance, somewhere he faintly heard cheering and what sounded like gunshots, which he presumed to be for the New Years celebration. Biff realized he must actually be in the past and was looking out the windows, managing to accidentally switch off the hover conversion. The car pointed down, lowering toward the ground slowing down to about 30 MPH.

This wouldn't be a problem normally, but Biff accidentally hit a tree branch in the darkness. That coupled with the landing caused the time circuits to blink the destination time on and off. The old man started to panic a little, wondering if they were going to scramble, and possibly strand him in the Middle Ages if he tried to get back. After 10 or 15 seconds of the annoying blinking, he took the base of his cane and hit it a few times until it finally stopped.

Realizing it would be too dangerous to look for a landing spot at this hour, he decided to go ahead later that day. He also made sure to stay high up in the air during temporal displacement. Airplanes wouldn't be invented until 1903, a full 18 years after this incident, so it's not like he'd worry about a collision with one. Accelerating to 88 miles an hour, he set the time circuits for the same day, at 12 PM instead of AM.

January 1st, 1885.

12:00 PM.

Biff shielded himself as the sky suddenly turned bright in a heartbeat. He certainly had never seen anything like that before. In his own time, Biff had still only woken up about an hour or two ago. He was feeling pretty awake, so he wanted to explore the hometown of his past. He had recalled stories about his great grandfather, nicknamed Mad Dog Tannen. He was a wild outlaw and Biff wondered how true all this was.

His grandma Gertrude -- who passed away in 1963 at age 82 -- had told Biff about him on the rare occasions where they got along. Even she didn't remember too much about him from when she was a young girl in the 1880s. In the original timeline, which was identical at this point, Buford had finally been imprisoned for multiple murders by 1888. He lived the rest of his life in and out of jail or on the run, until his death near Sacramento in a 1912 shootout.

Old Biff snapped back to reality for a moment. Before he could do any sightseeing, he had to think up another plan. First was where to leave the DeLorean. If it was left in plain sight, it could be stolen from someone very similar to him. He laughed at that realization a little. However, no one would know what a car was in this year, and that could cause a lot of problems.

He hovered towards town. He kept wishing to himself he had made this trip at least 20 or even 10 years earlier. The hard thing was that he had to move carefully and hide the car, but he couldn't walk very well anymore. It would take him a lot longer to get around and that would only tire him and make his mission harder. He even contemplated going back to 1985 and getting his younger self to do this, but that would be too complicated. Might as well go for it if he'd gone this far. He was a lifelong fan of cowboys and Western movies, and was curious to find out how the locals would react to him.

Hovering directly above the town square, there was a platform below and it looked like there would be something built there.

The clocktower. That's where they're going to be building here! I'm gonna see it before it's here. Biff rejoiced to himself.

It was 12:10 PM and there were a few people out walking the streets on the mildly overcast but still sunny day. Seeing that there was no surefire place he could hide the time machine, he flew back toward the edge of town.

He considered stashing it near the train stop at the entrance of town. There were trees in the distance and it wouldn't be much of a walk, but, on the off chance someone might see it, he decided to explore a little more and would use it as a last resort. Following the railroad tracks a mile or more up and circling around town, he noticed an abandoned silver mine. It seemed more deserted than a ghost town. It was covered too. That's it. No one will find the time machine in there!

Very slowly and carefully landing it, he inched inside the building, which was old even for that time. The shack to the right of it was open and he drove into it. It's like a one car garage!

Getting some nearby brush to cover part of the car up, he started slowly walking towards town. There was enough room to walk along the railroad tracks, or if he cut across the hilly landscape it would be shorter. The terrain was not the smoothest land imaginable. He had to take very small steps, resting on his cane after every few yards.

At 12:45, after that painstaking walk, he finally made it onto the main street of town. Before long, he came across a friendly seeming guy.

"Well, howdy fella! Y' new in town?"

Biff nodded in agreement. This guy seemed harmless so far. "Yeah I guess I am."

"My name is Billy Bob Smith. What might yours be?"

People were definitely friendlier. He was unprepared to give an alias. It's not like anyone would know who he was or would live long enough to possibly connect Biff Tannen's 1937 birth to some old man in town for one day. Still he fibbed. "Well, I'm Biff Thomas. I live near Grass Valley and I just wanted to come over here for a change of plans." He prayed there weren't any Thomas' in this time that he didn't know of. Thomas was his actual middle name. He liked being able to use it as a multi-functioning name.

The man bought it. "Sure's nice meeting you, Mr. Thomas. I'm interested in guns. In fact I sell Colt Peacemakers sometimes. You got a gun, mister, or d'ya wanna buy one off me? Only 12 dollars."

He realized he didn't have money on him, at least none that was invented yet. Pointing to himself, he said, "Hello! Hello, anybody home?" Turning to Billy Bob, he said, "I've got nothing on me, partner."

Billy Bob just shot back, "Well, what the hey? If you promise to pay me within a week, it's yours. Free of charge."

Surprised, Biff said, "Thanks a lot. I'll be paying you, for sure. I'm not a loser." He thought in this day and age, it wouldn't hurt to have another weapon on him. Besides, he was sure he'd be gone soon. The gun theft wouldn't be traced in the future.

As the friendly man left, he needed to think about what to do next. Should I forget the whole thing now and go home? Just call it a fun day? Do I want to just go to 1955 now where I at least know what it's like and get the almanac out of the way? That was the reason I stole the time machine after all.

Deciding just to stay a little longer, he crept down the main street. First thing he saw was a blacksmith shop where other horses were getting shoed. Straight ahead was the center of town. It looked like a dusty, frontier town, just like the ones portrayed in Westerns he had seen. He stopped in his tracks when he noticed some placed called The Palace Saloon, just up ahead an on the left.

I know this place! It's gotta be it. This is where I bullied that little Irish Bug when he was still a wimp. Or this is where it will be. He beamed, now satisfied and nostalgic for knowing exactly where he was in proportion to where he'd spent his whole life.

With the mild, comfortable sun shining down on him, Biff entered the bar, not knowing what to find. Gliding the flimsy wooden double doors open with his modified cane, he looked around in surprise. It was much bigger than he had always known it to be, and the counter wasn't in front. A few heads turned to look at him, but it was nothing out of the ordinary.

Every other business in that spot had the same general layout. Lou Caruthers owned his café/restaurant from before Biff was even born, turning it into a malt shop for most of the 50s and early 60s. The restaurant continued until Lou died in 1982. His son, Lou Jr., opened up a successful fitness and aerobics center there, which lasted until 1994, Even than, when the counter was removed, the building structure was similar. It became a busy Starbucks with an Internet Café until 2009, before becoming the Café 80s it was now in 2015.

Biff didn't quite know what he wanted to do in this place, but he got in and somewhat unnoticed, sat at an empty table directly straight ahead of the door, near a spittoon. His mind suddenly stopped when he noticed a guy wearing a big, cowboy type hat who sure looked like Marty, but about 10 years older and with a moustache. He immediately retracted back toward a large table and staring intently. Did that punk find out what I did, or what I will do in 1955 and he came here to stop me? Must've taken the dumb kid 10 years and a disguise to figure it out! And, why isn't that old man here with him?

Suddenly he saw a gray-haired middle-aged guy with a slight country accent say to him, "So Seamus, you enjoyin' that fine ol' Whiskey?"

"Aye, certainly, Chester," replied the Irish accented, warm sounding man. "It always helps take me mind off some of the hard things in life, y'know. Maggie, she's been a bit uneasy and restin' herself at the farm now after William's birth on Christmas Day."

Sounding a little calmer, the barkeeper said, "I haven't seen Maggie in a couple months now. Send her my regards, and if y'ever need me to watch William or anything, don't'cha hesitate to ask me."

"Thank ye. I might possibly take y'up on that. For now I'll just have to put my mind to farming, like I always did back home. She and I moved out here in 1881 from Virginia City, after the unfortunate thing happened with me younger brother, Martin."

At that moment, the silence was broken when the doors burst open and a voice known all around town spoke up.

"Hey, McFly!"

In came a dirty looking cowboy and three of his cronies. He stood out like a sore thumb. His body odor was unbelievable, even by Wild West standards. This guy probably didn't take whatever their equivalent of a shower was in months. He had rotten, yellowing teeth, along with breath worse than you could ever get, even in the morning, without Listerine. He looked a bit older than his 28 years with weeks upon weeks of an unshaven, dark, thick beard. Old Biff watched in amazement at all he was seeing and hearing.

Seamus turned around and softly said, "Aye."

"I done ran into you in the street before. What might yer business be in here?" He turned to his friends, laughing.

Trying to be as nice as possible, Marty's great, great-grandfather said, "Just having a social drink or two at the moment."

"I was in this town befo' you was, dude! I get to say who goes where." Pointing to his holster, he said, "See this thang here? It's loaded up and ready to do some killin' if need be. I ain't aimin' to use it today, but that don't change nothing. McFly, I still say if I was you, I wouldn't come in here again. If you do, I might just have to shoot up a six-string circus!"

One of his buddies turned to him. "Buford, I think you mean a three-ring circus."

Seamus obviously thought these guys were jerks to say the least, but he wouldn't get into a fight unless he had to. He was a muscular, fast guy who could take care of himself, but saw no point in giving in to fools like this. He simply got up from the barstool.

"Aye, Mr. Tannen, I'm hopin' there's no hard feelings comin' from this. I won't be comin' back if that's what ya want."

"Good man, McFly, you better not," threatened the criminal, as the mild mannered McFly headed out the door calmly.