75 Are you dizzy when you're stoned part 2

I laid on the floor for a long time. I didn't want to get up. I was still riding on that vision. I know I must have eventually gotten up to walk down the hallway to pee, even though I've been known to really hold it. And yeah, I didn't pee into the sink. "You peed in the sink?" "Yeah. There was a line at the bathroom." And I didn't pee out the window either.

I may have gotten up late in the afternoon to look out the window at the movie marquee. The California. That was the coolest thing ever. I loved that. I've always dreamt of what it must have been like to work at an old theater, before the chains took over. The film running and slipping. The hot smell of the projector. Kids having a great time. Teenagers losing their minds and adults trying to escape theirs.

Must have been the brick building to the left.

LBJ gave up on me ever joining the living that day. "I'm going to go see a movie next door." "Ok." When he got back he kept going on about how great the movie was. I saw the big letters everyday. "The Godfather." "What was it about?" blah blah. "Oh." Staring out at the marquee of any movie from 1972 was pretty cool, but I guess looking out that window at the people and traffic was a sight that I feel fortunate to have seen.

In a way I didn't want to hear anything about the mafia considering how fucked up it all was. I just wanted to forget about it. I guess LBJ needed to know. I never saw it till VCR's were a thing and some of the wounds in my soul were closed up. It eventually grew on me.

The theater is closed now and the building we were staying in is some friggin KoKoLo Danburi and Chipotle. That's what ya got.

74 Are you dizzy when you're stoned

That morning after Jesus left we had work to do. We had to figure our next move. We went in search of People's Park to see what was going on. Oh, I'll be typing up my stories about that a little later. I am pretty sure the place we were staying in was at the corner of Shattuck and Kittredge and we started walking. We noticed a music venue at Shattuck and University called The Keystone.

Jerry Garcia was playing there the next night. I got a little worked up over that. There were two Dead albums that I really loved. American Beauty and Workingman's Dead. Casey Jones. We had to go. Yes. We were new to town but we couldn't go without a little something for our head either. Well, California 1972. Shouldn't have too much problem with that.

It could have been the August 18, 1972 show, but I can't be 100% sure. Somewhere about then. I guess he played there a lot. So we put a day in wandering around and now it was the next day. LBJ had been out early and had found some LSD for the show that night. Alright, figure the start of the show and then figure how long before you might start getting some "peak" effects. You start feeling stuff before but I always gave it a good three hours for it to really start getting in there. I don't know if it's changed.

Up until this point I had done very well with the drug. I experienced glowing leaves, feelings of elation. A definite oneness with nature. Things that appeared lifeless began to move. Rocks became faces and appeared to talk. Bright colors. A deep empathy for other humans. I liked to draw absurd pictures of toaster people. Listening to the stereo move from one speaker to the other on a path right through your body. Funny stuff. And sex too, but I don't feel like mentioning that now.

But I was always aware of my existence. So I probably took some around 4 pm thinking we'd get there around 7. But I was always pushing it, further out on the planes. Looking to step on some stars. I think I took twice as much as LBJ. All I remember was laying on the floor where Jesus laid down his head.

I lost my identity. There was no time. There were no faces, no sounds. I heard nothing. I only saw red. A vastness of red. Lord help me when I admit this but I was at the creation of time. In the redness I realized I was the God being. I was not myself. This was not a fast process. As I became aware of my existence I realized I had two sides. I continued to exist. Just red. Then I became aware of arms. Tools. I took my right arm from my chest and spread it outwards and there was man. He laid on the right side. I took my left arm from my chest and spread it outwards and there was woman. She laid on the left side. Then I could feel the power of life. This really was a pretty heavy trip.

I was on that floor all night. We never went to that Jerry Garcia show.

73 milk and honey days

We ended up at Golden Gate Park. It was a beautiful day and loving the view of the bay and the bridge. Used one of those sea binoculars to take a look at Alcatraz. It was vacant in 1972. There was an occupation starting in 1969 when "Indians of All Tribes" took control of the island till 1971. Read about it. It's interesting.

There were some hippies hanging out, but not a lot. It was obvious that Berkeley was meant for us.

Missed a darn good concert too. But organized gatherings weren't always in my story. I'd have to figure out about what day and month we were in, but it was past June 30.

Headed back on the bus. It was easy to take. We stopped at Telegraph Ave. That was the main drag. Most of the scene happened there.Sure there were a lot of cool coffee shops and restaurants in Berkeley, but an awful lot of the hippies hung at the International House of Pancakes. Yes, a chain restaurant. They had a lot of seating and the coffee pots were endless. You could buy pretty cheap food too. I always got a bowl of oatmeal and coffee. They encouraged groups and people to crowd together in booths and at tables. So you always got to meet people. Talk. Find out information on maybe some work or some free stuff. Sorry I can't find any photos from that time period, let alone now.

We had a miraculous guest at our table that late afternoon. Now I'm not kidding. We didn't laugh it off or say pshaw. Jesus asked if he could sit with us. He was wearing long, plain and kind of raggy robes. The hair and the beard. Now some of you might say today that Jesus wasn't white. Maybe, maybe not. I think that any deity can appear in any form. He sat with us and asked if we could buy him a bowl of oatmeal. Of course. No question. Of course we would. We didn't have much, so none of it meant anything anyway.

He appeared this certain way but when he sat we all introduced ourselves. He said "Jesus." I was so open to different experiences, different people, different spirituality. I asked "Theee Jesus?" He said yes. I stand on the highest mountain closest to the heavens when I tell you he showed us stigmata. All the way through and through. Hands, feet, wound on his side and scars on his head. I looked closely. Good size nails went all the way through his hands. They weren't fresh but the scars were thick.

Think what you want about him but he had a beautiful way of talking about love and peace. Maybe he was a spaced out hippie. Maybe an old soul wanted to see what was going on. Doesn't matter. Every voice for love is a glorious gift.

We ate and talked for a long time. It was dark and we were going to leave. We couldn't drink anymore coffee. We asked Jesus where he lived. This was before the homeless situation we have today. Back then if hippies were living outside it was usually under a tree, or in Berkeley at People's Park, or they crashed somewhere they were invited. He said 'a cardboard box.' I said "a cardboard box?" We went outside and he showed us a large appliance folded up cardboard box leaning against the restaurant. Oh.... something we hadn't seen before. In New York people lived in abandoned buildings or stairways. "Would you like to stay in our room with us?" Yes. He appreciated that.

Brought him in and we all sat on the floor and talked a little while more. About kindness and love. We decided to sleep. He said he'd sleep on the floor. ❤️‍🔥 We tried to give him blankets and pillows but he didn't want anything. He thanked us for our kindness and we all went to sleep.

We slept pretty heavy but woke up when we heard the door close. I looked on the floor and noticed he left some of the cloth from his robes that he draped over himself. LBJ got up and opened the window and called out "Hey! You left some stuff!" Jesus looked back and yelled "Keep it."

Sometimes I think the cardboard box was a message telling us where we were headed. I also think, you can believe I'm a complete flake but you weren't there, that I got a small blessing for all of that. No matter what or who he was, he was in a state of grace. I am still trying to learn the lesson. LBJ and I also wondered if we should have kept the cloth. Maybe it would have been like the Shroud of Turin. But we couldn't load ourselves down on our travels.

72 Anyplace left to go

We weren't sure yet our destination. Just kept walking further into the city. The hills were impressive. I'll never forget that we ended up walking down Broadway. I've been through some of the seediest parts of New York at the time, but the red light area of San Francisco was more "colorful." In New York they had a few people handing out leaflets or whatever, but they left you alone. You wanted to go in, you went in. You wanted to walk down the street, you walked down the street. San Francisco had aggressive hawkers. Leave us alone. We're just walking here. Do what the hell you want but leave me alone when I'm walking down the street. I told them too.

We wanted to find Haight-Ashbury. Of course. C'mon. It was a couple more miles of walking from Pacific Heights. I couldn't believe how much I loved the sight of old Victorian houses all clumped together up and down the hills. The people that built those must have had an appreciation of craftsmanship and imaginations to fit the beauty of looking out at the western ocean.

I knew it wasn't going to be what it was a few years earlier, but even still I was pretty disappointed. There wasn't much going on there that day. Not too much to see. A few storefront clinics. A few panhandlers. Maybe it was just that moment. We ended up talking to a fellow on the street and he said lots of people started heading out other ways. Up north or Berkeley. Yeah Berkeley. Just right across another bridge. They named the Free Speech movement after it.

We needed to settle in a little and nothing was happening there. I'm not even sure how we got to Berkeley. It might have been by bus. Jesus. We just wanted to find a place to plop down and that can be difficult in cities. We ended up on Shattuck Avenue and saw a place called the Shattuck Arms. Weekly rooms. We had some money. Not a lot. So we rented a room there for a week. We really didn't have too much money left after that. The room was in the front of the building and if you opened the window and looked to the left, there was a giant movie theater marquee. I've read it's all gone now.

The room was painted that sea green color. The hallways too. We had a sink in the room but we had to share the bathroom down the hall with everyone else on the floor. An old metal frame bed. A lot happened that week we were in that room, but we just needed to eat. We ate a lot of peanut butter but had to have something different every so often. We had a can opener. Went to a little market and picked up a couple cans of things. No real way to cook anything but we already knew the trick of running hot water over the can. We had a couple of forks and spoons besides our peanut butter knife. The bed squeaked and the blankets were itchy, but who cared. It wasn't too dirty.

We decided to go back to San Francisco the next day to look around again. After that we needed to think about money for food and where the hell else we might be able to live.

71 Your time is not your own

We couldn't sleep all day. Had to get out of the campground eventually and Tommy and Crystal were on their way to do some family thing. I definitely remember the guys were up the earliest. It was the first time LBJ had anything to do with making a campfire. City people in the wild. No big production. Coffee. Maybe we had granola.

Crystal showed me a book she was reading. Lord of the Rings. The crowd I was coming from liked heavy stuff, music and reading. Some people were basically criminal element. I was into the supernatural and that started at a very young age. I talked to the fairies when I was a kid. But at the time, copies of Lord of the Rings weren't making the rounds. I had my own mind, but I was just never exposed to it before this. I guess the symbolism in it is pretty heavy. She said "You have to read this!" You may throw down whatever's in your hand in disbelief, but I still haven't read it Crystal. Sorry. A lot of stuff happened and I just didn't.

With all our talking we figured San Francisco would be a good place to end up. That was our hosts destination anyway. On the road. Dreams of hanging with other free thinking people. Taking in all the experience. Maybe it will be a whole new thing?

Tommy just driving away. We pretty much kept our heads that day. One thing I was surprised to see on the way in were the hills with brown grass. I understand that kind of climate now, but that was something I hadn't seen before. When places had grass it was green till fall. It was new to me that rain and moisture was so seasonal. Strange looking stuff.

"Hey, we're going to Fisherman's Wharf. It's great!" Ok. It's not like we had any expectations or plans. You could smell the sea air. Gulls were flying. I hear it's a heck of a lot different now. No big deal to park that van right near the wharf. They bought some shrimp with cocktail sauce and loaves of sourdough bread. We obviously grew up by the ocean, but the harvests were different. We went to Pete's Clam Bar. I loved the scallops there, but no thanks to the clams on the half shell for me. Clams were a big deal to my family. They got barrels of them for get togethers, so fresh they spit. Family friends fished the North Atlantic for halibut. Good stuff. But as far as shrimp went all we ever had were those special little glasses of Sau-Sea Shrimp Cocktail. Dumped on some iceberg lettuce.

The food was so delicious. Fresh salt air. I said "I can't wait to take a trolley!" All those Rice-A-Roni ads had an impact on me. Oh no. In 1972 they were going through some big repair stage. Not this year. Oh well. I wasn't there to be a tourist anyway.

Tommy said "We have to go now." Crystal was almost broken up about it. Who knows, maybe their time alone wasn't always so fun. She gave us a number and as a matter of fact, Norm in Chicago gave us his number too. Had it for a number of years but life was going by fast and I moved so many times, everything got lost along the way. 

We all waved and they took off. Standing there on the docks. I wasn't afraid. Where are we going? Let's just start walking.

70 All your friends are there

We jumped in the van. I remember it pretty well because it was in such good condition. The hippie crowd that we knew weren't all that big on shiny, clean vehicles. I guess it was pretty new at the time. It was tan and only had seats in the front. The rest of the van was for sleeping and camping stuff. So we plopped down in the back.

Pretty close to this

I was able to look directly at the gal and she was in the passenger seat, so I must have been right behind the dude. They were friendly as heck. They asked us our story. We told them about dreaming of getting to California. The trees, the mountains and the fresh air. Trying to live away the filth and oppressive darkness of the city. The motivating incident was never shared. We didn't want to think about it, let alone bring down everyone else.

They were from somewhere in LA. When we heard that it blew us over. L-A. 

We were a happy go lucky little group. Even though we had completely different experiences the laughter didn't stop. I don't know how Tommy Chong could drive. Passed a joint around a couple of times. I don't remember if I talked about the difference between pot then and now. It was more mellow for sure, but yes paranoia sometimes set in. I'm no expert but monster strains didn't happen yet. You just added hash or whatever if you wanted more.

Bouncing along Highway 395. Another situation sitting on the floor, and not seats, we missed some of the scenery. Caught a portion of it, but we were pretty busy talking and laughing. We did have discussions about the beauty of the scenery and good places to go in California. It was on the eastern side of the Sierras and we made our way past some pretty spectacular areas.

Whitney near Lone Pine

Death Valley to the right, Yosemite on the left. I think we went to heaven that day. 

"Do you like Taco Bell?" "Taco Bell? What's that? What's a taco?" "Huh? You've never had a taco?" No. This is 1972. I'm from Long Island. Listen to my accent. We had newspapers and the six o'clock news. I'm supposing the sophisticated members of New York society that were well traveled knew what they were talking about. We had pizza, heroes and knishes. Maybe there were a few places we didn't know about that had tacos. The world was regional.

I honestly don't remember where this Taco Bell was. Maybe it was South Lake Tahoe. Wherever it was, Crystal was delighted to introduce us to our first Mexican food. She was so happy. We were so happy. Tommy was tired from smoking and driving. I was in a wonderland. LBJ was along for the ride.

Not the one we went to

Everything was so good. It was what I needed. Clean my soul out. What a day. Headed to go camp. Was it dusk by the time we pulled into the entrance to the campground? Old fella in the booth. He could see us in the back. "Are you married?" he said to us. Before I could blurt out my holy Catholic honesty, LBJ answered yes. He looked at Tommy and Crystal and asked them too. "Yes" they said. "Alright. We don't let unmarried couples in here." That was still going on big time in a lot of places. 

Started driving on down the road, Crystal turned and asked "Are you guys really married?" No. "Oh. Either are we. It was good you said that." I don't know why the guy believed us. If you saw the four of us on the street in those days you wouldn't think we were following any kind of the rules. I suppose the man in the booth didn't really give a crap. Just had to ask. Some of those old timers lived kind of hard lifestyles themselves.

Photo credit Gregory Haynes

The spot we were at was pretty isolated. I don't think anyone was close. The air. The clean air. The pines. The sound of nothing. Except deep observations on the stars. Maybe sometime I'll do a special edition trying to recreate some of those conversations.

There was no tent. They usually slept in the van. We were just gonna throw our sleeping bags on the ground but Crystal would have nothing to do with it. We were all going to fit in the back of the van. Rolled out those bags. I had the stinky mummy bag first. It was us two girls in the middle, fellas on the outside. Still laughing. Wow. That sleeping bag smells. Ok. LBJ, you're taking it tonight. Keep it away from our hosts as much as possible. There was no squishing. No snoring. Just silent, happy peace when we finally stopped laughing. We were God's creatures that night. The way it was always meant to be. So lucky.

Photo credit Amy Bennett

69 It was a change in direction

Kingman, barstow, san bernandino.
Won't you get hip to this timely tip
When you make that california trip
Get your kicks on route sixty-six.

A few I think, but that was back in Winslow. Now we were looking for a ride again in Kingman. I don't remember the driver or the ride but somehow we made it to Needles. This time when they would have asked "Where are you headed?" we'd answer "California" and they would have said "Yeah. Heading right there."

Then Route 66

Made it. I remember it being kind of a place you could have your privacy. Didn't see too much of the town but it didn't look fancy at all. Do what you want. Older buildings. Out in the middle of nowhere. I thought it might be kind of a cool place to live. But that was from looking at a distance. We kept moving.

About 1980

New photo

It wasn't all that easy yet. We got a ride out of Needles pretty quick but we were left in a desolate place again. Looking at the map now my guess would be Fenner, but I can't be sure. I just remember looking around and saying "This is the Mojave?"

Fortunate though. It may have been an hour or less but not long enough to ponder mortality. Just enough to appreciate wide open spaces. Got the ride we needed, timing was perfect. It all fell into place after this. Dropped off near Barstow. I said "Hey! That's where Big Valley took place!" "No. That's Stockton." Cool.

I suppose we were past Barstow, near Highway 395. It's a VW van pulling over. "Where are you going?" "Oh. We're not really sure." "We're going up to Lake Tahoe. You wanna come with us?" Yes.

She kind of reminded me of Crystal Gayle with plenty of hippie overtones and he reminded me of Tommy Chong when his hair was long. They were to be our guides and guardians our first couple of days in California.

68 Disappearing dreams

I'm not going to try to remember more than I really do. The mind can fill blanks in if you let it, and that stuff is bologna. I know I'm never going to recall more because I definitely remember "Wow. What happened?" at the time. I remember getting in that last pickup truck, the guy saying something about Indian reservations and then walking in an old white house, 30's style, with a wooden screen door opening and slamming. 

Like this house

I think I must have been really out of it from the time with heat, sun and blisters. My thought is this guy was pretty cool and let us "crash" for a bit. It wasn't long. Maybe one or two days. I think I really changed even more over those few days. I looked at everything differently. I'm pretty sure I saw how good it could be. I knew it already, but there were people living relaxed. Old houses, dirty wooden floors and relaxing. Not the eternal road to nowhere. But choose what you want. That's the way.

The next thing I remember is standing in Winslow. I kind of hate saying that because of that song. That's just another commercial venture now. Wasn't there long in town but I do remember looking around and loving the people. Maybe it just stood out to me, but there were a lot of long hairs. Overalls, no shirt. You could tell they did some manual labor. You know the look. Driving in pickups. I didn't notice any chicks, just guys. It was sunny and bright, but I wasn't dying. I was pretty darn happy. 

Still kind of out of it so the next ride is a blur too. Maybe it was another semi because I don't remember looking out the window at all unfortunately. It was Route 66 back then. I guess it's Highway 40 now. Why did they mess that all up? 

The next thing I remember was being in Kingman, Arizona. Another cool turquoise looking town. So different than back east. The buildings were brighter. Different colors. Blues. White. I've said this before, my pupils got bigger.

We didn't have to wait too long for a ride but this was a first. A straight looking middle aged couple pulled over. Your perception of age is a little whacked when you're younger, they were probably mid-40's. Went running up there, the wife was in the passenger seat of course. She had a pained look on her face, wasn't real happy. The dude had this jerk look. I'm going to compare him to the asshole husband in Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore. I kind of hesitated to get in, but they pulled over.

They didn't go too far, I was feeling uncomfortable anyway. I could sense some tension between the two. More than sensing, it was obvious. The husband said they were stopping at a diner. He'd pay. Ok, free food.

We're eating a nice big breakfast. The works. But the pain this poor woman was suffering. She stayed mute. Just sad looks. Practically crying. Not anything angry, just downcast. This fella kept looking at me. No consideration for his wife. Asking me strange questions. It wasn't the "looking," it was the obvious way he enjoyed making his wife feel meaningless. LBJ didn't really notice. He was hungry and eating. I had a little bit of a soul and didn't like to see intentional cruelty.

Here I go again. This guy was a complete asshole. I don't care what goes on in people's bedrooms or whatever, but I'm not into public humiliation. My blood boiled. I stood up and yelled at him. "You're an asshole. Why are you so mean to your wife?" Whatever is going on now, back then many women were just expected to take what they got. I know people in the restaurant looked. The wife finally put her head up. LBJ was thinking, oh no... I just want to finish my food. I grabbed my bags and walked out. I really, really hope that sparked a little something in her. I sure hope it didn't cause any trouble. But sometimes you just can't help speaking.

67 Gonna go to the place that's the best

Walking. We kept walking. Nothing going on. It felt like we just had to get somewhere. A truck or car went by here and there, but nothing. Just the sun. Rocks. And a long stretch of highway ahead of us. Walk. Sit down. Walk. Sit down. Peanut butter and jelly. Not too much conversation except for one of those “I'm going back” arguments. No. I'm not going back. LBJ even crossed the highway and started walking in the other direction. I kept going. LBJ smoked a cigarette and crossed back. We kept going. I know I laid down a few times too. 

 

We must have been at just the right age not to perish standing and sitting in the desert sun. Yeah, nobody cared about sunscreen back then. Luckily we had something to drink, I guess, in the morning. Maybe the jelly kept us alive. Good stock in both of us too.

The sun started going down. We weren't getting anywhere so we found what we thought was a pretty private spot off the road a bit. But I was still a city girl and he was a city boy. I said “But snakes?” “And scorpions?” Ok. We found a spot in a little clearing, away from plants (sagebrush.) Yoicks. I got the smelly sleeping bag. You know, the one that got wet in Ohio and stayed rolled up the whole time we were in Chicago. Earthy, moldy.

Didn't matter. So tired. Not even tired. Destroyed from the sun and heat. It all got pretty trippy. Just staring at the openness. Not much between us and the reality that we live on a ball floating in the universe. It was dark but light. Dark. No humans. No buildings. No cars. Just the stars. I felt like I was floating in space like never before. But scorpions. Hoping they didn't get me.

Morning was not easy. The sun came up and it was immediately hot. I picked up my sleeping bag and there were all kinds of strange bugs that I had never seen before. I did one of those freaked out scream things. Not under the other sleeping bag. I think this sleeping bag was still a little damp or something. Maybe the smell was attractive to them. I didn't realize we were so close to the road too. It was really dark the night before. No place in the desert to be modest as the trucks flew by.

Whew. Here we go again. I think we might have both been a little spacey from the punishment we took the day before. But Holy Mother of God. A pickup truck pulled over. I'll never forget it. One of those old classic Green trucks.

There were three people in it. An older couple and a younger guy. Indians. The younger fellow talked to us. He got out of the truck, worried about us. Asked if we were thirsty. Yeah. All they had was a thermos of coffee. Thanks. Great. Thank you. It was all so surreal. A Horse With No Name was playing on the am radio. That song was really played heavily on the airwaves that year, but it was like a strange dream to hear it after being stuck in the desert.

Oh. Where are we going to sit? Oh. We're getting in the back of the truck. Believe it or not this was the first time this Long Island girl rode in the back of a pickup truck.

There's a reason I have to describe what I was wearing. I didn't have too many clothes with me, so it was almost the same thing every day. My jeans with patches all the way up the front and on the butt. My light blue halter top. I had quite a bit of skin showing.

A little more material than this.

More skin showing than this.

Well, they take off. Oh, I wasn't doing that hair blowing in the wind with it all being one big knot again. I laid down in the bed of the truck. It seemed like we were in the back of the truck for at least a couple of hours. Further south on Highway 191 into Arizona. Oh there was nothing out there. We just laid there. Jesus. Could we roast anymore in the sun. LBJ looked at me. “Holy shit. Look at your stomach.” I had friggin' blisters on my stomach. Jesus Christ help me. I'm burning up. It wasn't too much longer the truck slowed down. The older couple just looked at us. The young guy got out again. “Hey. We're turning here.” What? Here? There was fucking nothing again. Holy crap.

We got out of the truck. We watched it take off down a dirt road that looked like it went to nowhere. As tough as I was, I was almost crying. But I didn't have the water to spare. Thirsty, burnt, blistered, spacey, tired. Holy hell. Not again.

Another pickup pulled over probably after another hour. We didn't even walk. We just sat there. I think I covered my skin with clothes out of my bag. The guy that picked us up said "Yeah. There's nothing here except for Indian reservations." That's all I remember for a while. We ended up in Winslow, Arizona.