Although technically it was not love at first sight, happiness filled a space in my heart that I didn’t know existed, and I didn’t know it existed until I knew that she loved me. I knew at that moment, despite whatever reservations may have existed previously, she loved me more intensely than anybody she had claimed to love before. I wanted the moment to go on forever. I felt that we were as close to perfect harmony as two people can ever be. Spirals of light pure air and DNA were swirling around us with a host of angles fusing our souls.
Now I know that instead of being sad at having to separate tomorrow I’ll be excited at the prospect of seeing her again. Properly this time, with no more fear, because this time I know Jenifer will be waiting for me with equal anticipation.
There are 100,000 total marijuana smokers in the US, and most are Negroes, Hispanics, Filipinos and entertainers. Their Satanic music, jazz and swing, result from marijuana usage. This marijuana causes white women to seek sexual relations with Negroes, entertainers and any others.
Unfortunately the shows are officially over here. We pulled out this morning but most of the people had already moved on to the next pasture by the time we got going. Jenifer and I said our temporary goodbyes earlier (God she tastes just like a peach) and the powerful force that changed us into lovers last night hasn’t diminished with time. Several horny Sports Illustrated swimsuit models could parade by and I would have to politely refuse them all.
My crazy road mates got heavily tanked up on whippet juice aka hippy crank, from some guy walking around with a scuba tank of NO2 strapped to his back and some girl, who could barely stand, snorted some X in the back of our van before we left, but we finally made it out and onto the road incident free.
I mailed Jim & Kirk about 40 hits of acid, pressed between two football cards that came out of a McDonald’s happy meal to throw off the Nazi U.S. Postal Service dogs. I’m sure they will be very happy to get the tabs in the mail; it’s sort of a “thinking of you” postcard with a kick.
I’m no longer in love with just Oregon. Northern California is equally incredible, if not more so. I guess maybe I thought that the beauty would stop at the state line? The redwood forests here are incredible. Actually I think they are some other kind of tree besides redwoods, but they are equally gigantic and I don’t know the difference, so the redwoods here are phenomenal. Seeing them in pictures and hearing descriptions about how large they actually are did not prepare me for the reality of their immensity. I felt like an Ewok from “Return of the Jedi” but since it was filmed out here that’s sort of silly to say. I guess I should let it suffice to say that being dwarfed by these monsters gave me yet another conceptual realization of how mortal and insignificant humans really are. It’s no wonder Northern Cali has so many kooky nature cults.
Heading down to San Francisco we pulled over in an inconspicuous spot that John S. knew about from some of his newfound drum circle friends. We all smoked a bowl of hydro with some Afghani hashish sprinkled on top for a kick and then followed a quarter mile path through the sequoias to a natural hot spring smack dab in the middle of the wilderness. The air was pretty crisp, cold enough for long sleeve flannels, but as we came over the top of a hill I found myself looking down on seven or so naturally formed rock pools full of hot steaming water. In the middle of the smoking water, there were about 30-40 stark-buck-ass-naked hippies bathing and cavorting. I’m using the word “hippy” too loosely to describe the people I’ve been around lately but it’s the only non-derogatory word that comes to mind when describing long-haired smelly folks with brilliantly colored clothing.
It truly was a beautiful site and very picturesque but totally unexpected because there were no indications I would be stumbling across naked hairy people in the middle of the most spectacular forest I’ve ever seen. It was a little shocking at first. It was cold out, but after a minute or so, John Browning and I got tired of staring and being the only people dressed so we said ‘fuck it’ and took off our clothes too. I stood on a tree stump in order to keep my last pair of semi clean trousers out of the mud, removed my clothes and soon was relaxing peacefully in the extremely hot and soothing water in between a guy that looked like Charles Manson and a lady with a huge hairy bush. It was a mind-numbing experience while stoned and very surreal while coming down off the acid residuals to say the least. A free relaxing bath is always a bonus on the road and besides when will I ever have the chance to be out here in this area of the wilderness to do it again? I could feel all the strychnine and tension dissolve out of me in the scalding hot mineral water and I just put my head back and relaxed until it started to get dark and the volume of the forest turned up around us.
Maybe I can bring Jen out here at a later date; this magical place would satisfy even her adventurous spirit for a day and get the old juices flowing. As cool as the lady with the hairy bush was, I know I would enjoy the experience more with Jenifer by my side.
The place with the springs is so bad ass that people are not allowed to camp overnight. I guess the man is afraid too many people will stay there, so we’re going to sleep farther down the road and hit San Fran. tomorrow afternoon.
Shit, I never got the name of the place with the hot springs and nobody can remember it now…
“I burn for you”
We came to the ocean on the left coast for the first time today while we were driving south. I took several more pictures. I’ll need to buy more film soon. Since John Browning forgot to take a camera I’m taking photos for the both of us. H said he would pay for developing them though. Driving across the Golden Gate Bridge during rush hour traffic is fun. It’s maybe the first time in my life I don’t mind being stuck in traffic because I like just occupying space on a magnificent historical landmark. Images of a thousand movies with this bridge in them are flashing through my mind right now. I think I can see Alcatraz Island but it might be a hallucination induced by all the killer bud we’re smoking right now. All of us are plastered and peeping the view of the bay and the massive support wires that loom over us. We see countless convertibles and crazy people on motorcycles here in sunny California.
Being a veteran motor scooter rider myself, I don’t normally dismiss people on cycles as crazy, but in California they don’t wear helmets and they are allowed to drive between cars on the highway. It’s strange to see them zipping in and around cars while we are sitting still on a bridge that won’t even let VW bugs drive on it because the wind can blow them over. Somebody told me once that motorcycle riders have only a year-long life expectancy in California, now I believe it. I can already tell San Francisco will be cool, maybe we can ride on a trolley car and sing the Rice-A-Roni theme song.
San Francisco is the coolest. The hills roll along in abundance just like in the movies. Maybe seeing them in thousands of ostentatious car chases on the big screen has made my mind desensitized to how steep they actually are. If I tried to ride my skateboard down one of these monsters I definitely would break my neck, still that isn’t necessarily enough of a deterrent to try. I finally know why driver education manuals in Flat Ass, TX teach people which way the front wheels should point when parking your car on a hill. If our van started rolling here there would be some serious damage.
We parked the van and went off to explore the art district section of town, which is all pretty chill. I found some really neat head shops where there is enough tie-dye to put Jim Morrison in a coma. John Browning bought this really whacked out tie-dye poncho thing while I stood around and read all these books about The Grateful Dead and how to subvert the government using the Anarchists Cookbook.