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Old School Arizona
- Thread starter mofeta
- Start date
Meanwhile, I just got back from a nice trip to Europe. Flew into Amsterdam and stayed with my wife's family in Holland for a couple of days. They still have the coffee shops open, but they are trying to make it illegal to sell to people who are not Dutch. They took my money, however.
Spent a night in a nice little Swiss hotel. Woke up at three in the morning, too warm. Made a bowl of some Moroccan hashish and sat out on the balcony in the cool night air smoked it. I arrived at the hotel by making just a short detour off one of the main highways in Switzerland, but now, at 3:00 AM, there was not a car or truck on the highway as I could tell by the completely silent night and no moving headlights on the highway in the distance. Then I realized that the sign in German that I had read as I passed through a 10 mile long tunnel saying something was closed from 9:00 PM to 5:00 AM was saying the entire highway was closed during that time period. So I was able to sit on the little balcony in my BVDs, feeling the cool lake breeze with only a few lights flicking on the other side of the lake.
Hey Sforza,
Looks like Lake Maggiore.
I love the mountain vistas combined with lakes...something oddly perfect. If I lived there I would look for that situation.
It's difficult, though, choosing such a place unless you have friends there already that have a spare guesthouse or you have unlimited dollars. I stayed with my wife in Zurich for 9 days on our last visit about 6 years ago. We had been on Lake Bolsena in a small castle town, Valentano, where her mom's side family goes back 500+ years. Only 2000 or so people, probably related! Lots of fertile volcanic soil and everyone has their own plot that provides such bounty.
In Zurich we stayed in my friends atelier in a hidden loft in a large, walk-in, closet. Very private, right on Lake Zurich, at the Rote Fabrik. This old, converted silk factory houses approximately 50 artist studios, a theatre, a disco, restaurant, and is covered in world-class graffitti. The government subsidizes it as a primary place for all the arts.
You climb out on the flat roofs and there is grass growing as insulation. You can actually run and jump off the second story right into the lake. One guy does it daily, winter included. I skipped my chance, but next time for sure.
You're fortunate to be seeing the sites, my friend. Jamaica still beckons me as my wife has never been there and loves reggae and beaches. It's on the short list for sure.
Looks like Lake Maggiore.
I love the mountain vistas combined with lakes...something oddly perfect. If I lived there I would look for that situation.
It's difficult, though, choosing such a place unless you have friends there already that have a spare guesthouse or you have unlimited dollars. I stayed with my wife in Zurich for 9 days on our last visit about 6 years ago. We had been on Lake Bolsena in a small castle town, Valentano, where her mom's side family goes back 500+ years. Only 2000 or so people, probably related! Lots of fertile volcanic soil and everyone has their own plot that provides such bounty.
In Zurich we stayed in my friends atelier in a hidden loft in a large, walk-in, closet. Very private, right on Lake Zurich, at the Rote Fabrik. This old, converted silk factory houses approximately 50 artist studios, a theatre, a disco, restaurant, and is covered in world-class graffitti. The government subsidizes it as a primary place for all the arts.
You climb out on the flat roofs and there is grass growing as insulation. You can actually run and jump off the second story right into the lake. One guy does it daily, winter included. I skipped my chance, but next time for sure.
You're fortunate to be seeing the sites, my friend. Jamaica still beckons me as my wife has never been there and loves reggae and beaches. It's on the short list for sure.
How Much Is Enough?
How Much Is Enough?
“You never know how much is enough until you know what is more than enough”
- William Blake
Nothing like being lost in your own fantasy, eh? Why be a walk-on in someone else’s. It makes so much sense to be the author of one’s own tale so you have no one else to congratulate, or blame, but yourself.
As I age I realize how those little chemical messengers, hormones, determine a huge portion of our choices whether we realize it or not. Adrenaline fuels youth and along with testosterone and estrogen can spin young lives into whirlwinds of confusion. It’s called drama. Success and failure in so many arenas are more a result of how we bring this fact to consciousness than it is our skill, luck, or hard work. We are just blinded by the hormonal tidal wave that constantly washes over us. No one stays dry though some folks are better at manning their life raft. Lots of peeps just drown.
I love the life I’ve lived in spite of often getting in the way of myself. Today I spend an extra blink of an eye considering what I do before I do it. Testing the water with both feet is out though spontaneity is still in. I just add more conscious thought to the mix instead of merely thinking, “I want it” or “I can do this”, not to mention the try, try again attitude of “If at first you don't succeed, try, try again”.
Ever keep pushing to attain a goal and only experience greater and greater resistance from the Universe? Did you just buckle down and keep trying harder in order to get there? Did you ever stop to think, along the way of course, that those signs and difficulties were like “No” votes and were intensifying because your were going about it all wrong? Don’t push the river, it flows by itself.
“Yes” votes from the Universe are usually much more peaceful and can be accommodated effortlessly (to a degree) into the game plan. They’re the little confirmations you get as you walk a certain path and are seen by old-time teachers, shamans, monks, yogis, Taoists, medicine people, and religious psychics as absolutely normal and extremely useful. All it takes is a systematic feedback loop within your mind that doesn’t use denial as the overriding method of operation. In other words, all you need is an inner awareness with truth counseling you, giving up control in order to be powerfully in tune with the Universe and ultimately very good at creating your desired outcome. Using fun as a barometer doesn’t hurt either. Who said life should be so serious or dull?
The weed world of the 70’s was truly remarkable to witness. It seems that everywhere I went someone was offering me a joint of their newest catch to try. In 1973 I was hitch-hiking along the Fort Bragg-Willits Road (20) in north Cali and got dropped off where it meets the ocean at Highway 1 . I had been in Willits to visit an amazing guy named Monty Levenson who I had read about in the Whole Earth Catalog. He crafted handmade Shakuhachi flutes out of bamboo, so nice that 10 years later he was acknowledged by Japanese masters for his skill and artistry. Today he is a recognized master. I purchased a long, stout, beautiful flute which I actually traded back to him 25 years later for an even nicer one that was smaller and took less wind to play. He was overjoyed to get one of his first Shakuhachis returned through a trade since he hadn’t kept many of his early flutes. We both made out like bandits in the trade.
I walked across the highway hoping to catch a view of the waves. A black guy with a guitar case in hand was standing there at this intersection, and smiled as I cruised by. He asked me if I smoked, I nodded, and with little fanfare reached down and quickly pulled a tiny roach from a hidden spot in his boot, handing it to me as a gift. I took it and he turned and walked on, presumably to play at some cool club in Mendocino or on the north coast.
It was only moments until an old, white van pulled over to ask me if I wanted a ride. I said sure and climbed in through the passenger side door since the second row seat in the back had a few folks already who were laughing away. As I climbed in I looked in back to say hello and was greeted by two young hippies with yin-yang face paint. The guy had half of his face painted black and the other side white, and the girl wore the reverse coloring. Yep, I was in northern California and digging it.
As we plugged along moving east from the coast, we entered a deep redwood section of forest with a small creek flowing next to it. I asked if anyone wanted to smoke and pulled out the strange black fellow’s ½ joint roach. I fired it up and we each got maybe two tokes each before it was too small to hand hold. What seemed like only a minute was probably more like ten before anyone said a word. I had been staring mindlessly out the open window at the lush forest and listening to a whole new world of sounds. When I looked back at the two hippie kids they were totally wasted and couldn’t even finish a sentence. The driver, an older hipster who obviously knew his weed, quietly said, “That is some of the finest herb I’ve ever smoked”. I nodded and told him how I came by it. We both laughed and thought of how cool it must be to hitch around and to lay tidbits of top weed on strangers, the primo, the kine, the special. Johnny Potseed had done it again.
Near Santa Rosa I stumbled from that van and continued hitching back down to the bay area. I had a plan and was sticking to it. I had maybe $1500 in my pocket that was going to pay for a small room, buy my food, and support me in as many months of Aikido training as it would buy. San Francisco was my new home, just about at the peak of the Haight-Ashbury period. I found my bed in a loft that I built in the back stairway of a second floor flat near Zoe Valley, signed up for Aikido at the SF Aiki-Kai, and quite by accident discovered the beauty of Opium and sitar music…..but that’s another story.
Around 1974 0r so the good old days of sharing a joint with total strangers seemed to end abruptly, at least in certain cities. I can’t really tell you when it precisely happened, but all kinds of similar stories began surfacing from a half-dozen directions across the US. Whether it was greed, opportunists getting paid, or just busted peeps being put under pressure by the cops and going to work, it seemed to be the new deal.
A friend of a friend in Phoenix had given a joint to one of the many pretty ladies who sold flowers on the busy street corners in town. He had pulled up curbside and obviously decided to impress her. He bought some flowers, paid for them, and gave her a tip in the form of a joint. Not long thereafter he was pulled over by the local police, searched, and busted for whatever he had on board. He and his attorney discovered later in court that the tip-off call had come from the pretty girl at curbside in Tempe. That event signaled the end for Phoenix as more news like that surfaced.
And it’s too bad, really, because hell, I remember going to a trade show in Chicago with a friend who was in the import-export business (wink, wink) and when we gave his Mercedes keys to the valet, my friend merely said, “There’s something for you above the wheel, just behind the visor”. He had left two joints for the guy and only asked that he park the car close to the exit where we checked in. He didn’t want any Ferris Bueller action going on while we were inside for half the day and figured, right there and then in 1972, it would be fine to do so. He was correct and when we came back there was his car in one of the first ten spaces in a garage that was 5 stories and held 1000’s of vehicles for trade shows of that magnitude. Today, I don’t think any of us would be taking that chance, right?
As I recall, this is how it used to be and I can remember dozens of herb turn-ons by total strangers, not in a suspicious bar mind you, but met hitch-hiking or out in the woods or in the parking lot of a park. Health food stores were pretty darn good, too, as a place to connect up with the latest and greatest. And while we’re at it, let’s not forget a good friend’s party.
Hey maybe it wasn’t just our youth and that odd time and space and the kids today are still at it. At the Full Moon drumming each month at Cathedral Rock in Sedona I’m one of the first to share whatever gifts of Sacred Herb that have come my way, be it from cultivating, trading, or gifts from others. In that atmosphere, once the sun goes down and the drums begin, I feel there’s some sort of peaceful protection, a timeless vibe that cancels any worry of interference. The kids, too, break out their peace pipes while their irie dancers spin on the wind high from the sharing of smoke. It’s how it should be. And it’s coming back, inch by inch, day by day, flower by flower.
Blessed be the givers.
How Much Is Enough?
“You never know how much is enough until you know what is more than enough”
- William Blake
“Always stay in your own movie.” – Ken Kesey
As I age I realize how those little chemical messengers, hormones, determine a huge portion of our choices whether we realize it or not. Adrenaline fuels youth and along with testosterone and estrogen can spin young lives into whirlwinds of confusion. It’s called drama. Success and failure in so many arenas are more a result of how we bring this fact to consciousness than it is our skill, luck, or hard work. We are just blinded by the hormonal tidal wave that constantly washes over us. No one stays dry though some folks are better at manning their life raft. Lots of peeps just drown.
I love the life I’ve lived in spite of often getting in the way of myself. Today I spend an extra blink of an eye considering what I do before I do it. Testing the water with both feet is out though spontaneity is still in. I just add more conscious thought to the mix instead of merely thinking, “I want it” or “I can do this”, not to mention the try, try again attitude of “If at first you don't succeed, try, try again”.
Ever keep pushing to attain a goal and only experience greater and greater resistance from the Universe? Did you just buckle down and keep trying harder in order to get there? Did you ever stop to think, along the way of course, that those signs and difficulties were like “No” votes and were intensifying because your were going about it all wrong? Don’t push the river, it flows by itself.
“Yes” votes from the Universe are usually much more peaceful and can be accommodated effortlessly (to a degree) into the game plan. They’re the little confirmations you get as you walk a certain path and are seen by old-time teachers, shamans, monks, yogis, Taoists, medicine people, and religious psychics as absolutely normal and extremely useful. All it takes is a systematic feedback loop within your mind that doesn’t use denial as the overriding method of operation. In other words, all you need is an inner awareness with truth counseling you, giving up control in order to be powerfully in tune with the Universe and ultimately very good at creating your desired outcome. Using fun as a barometer doesn’t hurt either. Who said life should be so serious or dull?
The weed world of the 70’s was truly remarkable to witness. It seems that everywhere I went someone was offering me a joint of their newest catch to try. In 1973 I was hitch-hiking along the Fort Bragg-Willits Road (20) in north Cali and got dropped off where it meets the ocean at Highway 1 . I had been in Willits to visit an amazing guy named Monty Levenson who I had read about in the Whole Earth Catalog. He crafted handmade Shakuhachi flutes out of bamboo, so nice that 10 years later he was acknowledged by Japanese masters for his skill and artistry. Today he is a recognized master. I purchased a long, stout, beautiful flute which I actually traded back to him 25 years later for an even nicer one that was smaller and took less wind to play. He was overjoyed to get one of his first Shakuhachis returned through a trade since he hadn’t kept many of his early flutes. We both made out like bandits in the trade.
I walked across the highway hoping to catch a view of the waves. A black guy with a guitar case in hand was standing there at this intersection, and smiled as I cruised by. He asked me if I smoked, I nodded, and with little fanfare reached down and quickly pulled a tiny roach from a hidden spot in his boot, handing it to me as a gift. I took it and he turned and walked on, presumably to play at some cool club in Mendocino or on the north coast.
It was only moments until an old, white van pulled over to ask me if I wanted a ride. I said sure and climbed in through the passenger side door since the second row seat in the back had a few folks already who were laughing away. As I climbed in I looked in back to say hello and was greeted by two young hippies with yin-yang face paint. The guy had half of his face painted black and the other side white, and the girl wore the reverse coloring. Yep, I was in northern California and digging it.
As we plugged along moving east from the coast, we entered a deep redwood section of forest with a small creek flowing next to it. I asked if anyone wanted to smoke and pulled out the strange black fellow’s ½ joint roach. I fired it up and we each got maybe two tokes each before it was too small to hand hold. What seemed like only a minute was probably more like ten before anyone said a word. I had been staring mindlessly out the open window at the lush forest and listening to a whole new world of sounds. When I looked back at the two hippie kids they were totally wasted and couldn’t even finish a sentence. The driver, an older hipster who obviously knew his weed, quietly said, “That is some of the finest herb I’ve ever smoked”. I nodded and told him how I came by it. We both laughed and thought of how cool it must be to hitch around and to lay tidbits of top weed on strangers, the primo, the kine, the special. Johnny Potseed had done it again.
Near Santa Rosa I stumbled from that van and continued hitching back down to the bay area. I had a plan and was sticking to it. I had maybe $1500 in my pocket that was going to pay for a small room, buy my food, and support me in as many months of Aikido training as it would buy. San Francisco was my new home, just about at the peak of the Haight-Ashbury period. I found my bed in a loft that I built in the back stairway of a second floor flat near Zoe Valley, signed up for Aikido at the SF Aiki-Kai, and quite by accident discovered the beauty of Opium and sitar music…..but that’s another story.
Around 1974 0r so the good old days of sharing a joint with total strangers seemed to end abruptly, at least in certain cities. I can’t really tell you when it precisely happened, but all kinds of similar stories began surfacing from a half-dozen directions across the US. Whether it was greed, opportunists getting paid, or just busted peeps being put under pressure by the cops and going to work, it seemed to be the new deal.
A friend of a friend in Phoenix had given a joint to one of the many pretty ladies who sold flowers on the busy street corners in town. He had pulled up curbside and obviously decided to impress her. He bought some flowers, paid for them, and gave her a tip in the form of a joint. Not long thereafter he was pulled over by the local police, searched, and busted for whatever he had on board. He and his attorney discovered later in court that the tip-off call had come from the pretty girl at curbside in Tempe. That event signaled the end for Phoenix as more news like that surfaced.
And it’s too bad, really, because hell, I remember going to a trade show in Chicago with a friend who was in the import-export business (wink, wink) and when we gave his Mercedes keys to the valet, my friend merely said, “There’s something for you above the wheel, just behind the visor”. He had left two joints for the guy and only asked that he park the car close to the exit where we checked in. He didn’t want any Ferris Bueller action going on while we were inside for half the day and figured, right there and then in 1972, it would be fine to do so. He was correct and when we came back there was his car in one of the first ten spaces in a garage that was 5 stories and held 1000’s of vehicles for trade shows of that magnitude. Today, I don’t think any of us would be taking that chance, right?
As I recall, this is how it used to be and I can remember dozens of herb turn-ons by total strangers, not in a suspicious bar mind you, but met hitch-hiking or out in the woods or in the parking lot of a park. Health food stores were pretty darn good, too, as a place to connect up with the latest and greatest. And while we’re at it, let’s not forget a good friend’s party.
Hey maybe it wasn’t just our youth and that odd time and space and the kids today are still at it. At the Full Moon drumming each month at Cathedral Rock in Sedona I’m one of the first to share whatever gifts of Sacred Herb that have come my way, be it from cultivating, trading, or gifts from others. In that atmosphere, once the sun goes down and the drums begin, I feel there’s some sort of peaceful protection, a timeless vibe that cancels any worry of interference. The kids, too, break out their peace pipes while their irie dancers spin on the wind high from the sharing of smoke. It’s how it should be. And it’s coming back, inch by inch, day by day, flower by flower.
Blessed be the givers.
It was Lake Lucerne. The town was Beckenried. But I have been to Lake Maggiore. It was probably ten years or so ago. My Dutch wife had former wife wife of her brother that she kept in touch with. The Dutch woman was starting a bed and breakfast in a little town up the hill from the lake. She did not have any other guests at the time, so we had her little compound to ourselves. We had to drive up some twisty narrow streets to get there but houses were decorated with a profusion of flowers from roses to bougainvilleas.
I have told a lot of people about how beautiful Lake Maggiore is, but I have never met anyone who knew anything about it until you mentioned it just now.
I have told a lot of people about how beautiful Lake Maggiore is, but I have never met anyone who knew anything about it until you mentioned it just now.
Great hitchhiking story, MJ. I also remember doing some hitch hiking back then and the way people were cool and friendly and sharing pot was the norm.
Over Christmas break of my sophomore year of college in 1969, a frat buddy and I decided to hitchhike out to California to see the sights. Even though I was a sophomore going on my second semester, I was still only 18, since I had skipped 8th grade.
Somehow we hooked up with a young female french college professor from an all girls school, Chatham University in Pittsburgh, who was willing to give us a ride to Denver, on the condition that we do the driving and split the cost of gas. Gas was not that expensive back in 1969. Another condition was that we had to meet back up with her on a certain date after the holidays to help her drive back to Pittsburgh.
She was a bit of a pain in the ass and not very pretty, so there were no sexual shenanigans, even though she was not that much older than we were. We got to Denver without incident.
Not really knowing where we were going, except west, we got a couple of short rides and ended up standing on a highway in the middle of nowhere at night. Things were not looking too good for us, until a old panel truck stopped and picked us up. They were headed to New Mexico. Two white hippies were in the front seat and a very pretty black girl and a Great Dane were in the back with us.
After a couple hours of driving, they broke out a pin joint of some fine weed. It was better than anything I had ever had in Pittsburgh. After a couple more hours of driving, the driver got too sleepy to continue, so he pulled over and turned off the engine and we all fell asleep. We woke up at first light, cold as hell.
They fired up the truck, got some gas, and dropped us off at Gallop, New Mexico. In Gallop, we got a ride in the back of a pickup truck west. Riding along in the back of that pickup truck, for the first time I understood the meaning of big sky country. Having always lived in the East, I was amazed at how far one can see in all directions out West.
We ended up in San Bernardino at about 11:00 PM. We found some benches under cover at a fast food joint to sleep on and spent the night. The next morning we hooked up with a relative of mine and spent a day and night in comfort and got a chance to wash our clothes and take showers.
We hitched hiked down to San Diego and enjoyed checking out the beach and Coronado Island. We hitched down to the border crossing, where some American cops pulled my buddy and I in for questioning before we could cross into Mexico. They put me in a little room while they searched my buddy. They found nothing and left him go. They searched me but did not find my stash. They busted me anyway for some BS.
I got to spend Christmas in the San Diego jail. As jails go, it was not bad. I even enjoyed the food. We got to watch TV at night. The only bad part was the drunks singing on Christmas eve as they brought them kept me awake for a while.
Eventually there was an arraignment and my relative appeared in Court with me and I was able to leave the courtroom with him. The Judge seemed most upset that I was hitchhiking around the country instead of spending it with my family. My parents had just divorced, and it was none of his business, but America was a lot more conservative in 1969 than it is now.
My relative took me down to Tijuana for a tour of the shops and we had a nice meal at a place he knew, so I got to experience a bit of Mexico after all.
After another night in San Bernardino with my relatives, I headed out to hitchhike up to San Francisco. After a couple of short rides, I was picked up by a guy who lived in San Francisco. He took me all the way to the city and offered to put me up for a couple of days. I was young and not wise in the ways of the world, but it did not take me too long to realize that he was gay and was coming on to me.
That was not going to happen, so I eased on out of the house during the day while he was at work. Nice guy, with some good weed, but I am not gay. I had another relative in San Jose, so I hitched hiked over to San Jose and hung out at a mall there, playing chess with a Chinese guy, until my relative got home from work.
After one night in San Jose, I decided to start hitchhiking back to meet my ride in Denver. I was soon picked up by a guy in VW van. There were some other hitch hikers in the van, including a very beautiful girl. We hit it off, but unfortunately, I was not able to figure out a way to get into her pants in the time we were together. Speaking of hormones. It is obvious to me now that it was the hormones that were driving me to procreate with every suitable mate I encountered. At the time, I thought it was my brain, but in retrospect, it was my hormones. Those hormones and instincts sure do encourage a young man to spend a lot of time and energy to pass along his genes in the only way possible.
My next ride was with a couple of black guys in a nice new big Cadillac. They were cool and we smoked some of their fine weed and cruised along in the Cadillac, enjoying the R&B on the radio. The black guys dropped me off on the outskirts of LA somewhere. It was a spot that they told me would be good for catching a ride back towards Denver.
By the time they left me out, it was dark and getting late, so I did not have any luck getting a ride for quite some time. I got bored with waiting so I decided to take some LSD blotter acid that I had stashed away in my bag.
It was a very strange night there at that traffic island outside of LA in what was now 1970. I started tripping and it was a nice mellow trip with no problems, but then I was joined by a black guy. He was a stocky, broad shouldered fellow who was nice enough but was a little off in some ways. I remember that he kept hearing noises in the bushes and talking some crazy nonsense. At one point he dashed into the bushes and came back pulling out a young teenager by the arm. So even though the black guy was a bit crazy, he was not just imagining the noises in the bush, since there were two or three teenagers who were out late at night looking for fun or trouble. We all stood around talking for a while, then first the teenagers and later the crazy black guy wandered off.
I was standing there tripping by ass off, when a greasy red neck missing a tooth or two, drove up in an old beater. With a leer, he offered to give me a ride and some money for sex, which, even though I was tripping my ass off on LSD, I was not crazy enough to do so he went cruising off into the night.
Finally, I got a ride from a guy who was headed east. He had a souped up Camaro Z28. While we blasted along the highway, he told me all the details of what he had done to get more performance out of his car. He said that he was heading to Michigan and he was willing to take me all the way to Pittsburgh, but I felt a responsibility to help the professor get her car back to Pittsburgh so I told him I would only ride until I i needed to head to Denver.
I was still tripping, but not as hard, when the sun rose in the East over the Mojave Desert. The sun was glinting off the rocks of the desert, making it look to me like it was a field of diamonds. The Chevy engine roared as the little car streaked down the highway due east into the Sun. It was way cool.
At some point, he let me out to head north to Denver. I got a ride from two Indians. They said that they were headed to their reservation. Indian country, they called it. They broke out some really good weed and the three of us smoked a pinner. The weed was good enough that it got me tripping again, which was very cool, until they needed to pull off of the road to go their reservation.
Now it was night again, there was no traffic, and it was cold as hell. It was not long before I could feel my knees knocking together, even though I was so high that I did not really feel cold. Even though I was high, I knew that I was in danger of freezing to death if I did not get a ride soon. I only had on a surplus olive drab Army field jacket, which was not very warm.
Luckily, an older white guy in a little pickup truck with a camper shell on the back came along in about an hour. He went past me but stopped and backed up. He said that he was worried that I might freeze to death if he did not pick me up since there was very little traffic on that road at night.
We drove north along the Rio Grand river. It was snowing heavily and the big soft flakes drifting slowly earthward were beautiful in the truck's headlights. The road was twisting and curving following the bend of the river so the driver had to be careful to keep us from going off the road and down into the Rio Grande below.
He left me off at a truck stop and bid me good luck. I tried hitching a ride for a while but got too cold so I went inside and got a cup of coffee. I nursed that coffee for quite a while. There was another guy in the coffee shop who was also hitch hiking and headed north. We chatted a bit and waited for daylight.
A young guy driving a Dodge Charger came into the coffee shop to get some coffee. He was headed north and offered to give us a ride if we would help keep him awake. The other guy said sure, but it had been a long time since I had any sleep, so I did not say anything.
The other guy got in the front seat and I slumped in the back. I lasted about ten minutes before I fell asleep.
All hell was breaking loose as I woke up. Eventually the noise and tumult stopped and I stuck my head up to assess the situation.
Our driver fell asleep while he was driving at a high rate of speed. We had spun through the snow covered grass median between the north bound and south bound lanes of the highway. We ended up in the south bound lanes headed south, back towards the way we had just came. The snow was too deep to risk driving back over the median, so we drove south a considerable distance until we came to a cross road where we could get back over to the north bound lanes.
The adrenalin was pumping in me now and I was wide awake, so I offered to drive the car but the owner declined my offer. Still, I sat awake in the backseat and kept an eye on the road. I yelled and woke up the driver a couple of times when he nodded off and started to go off the road. That convinced him to let me drive.
Once the driver fell asleep in the backseat, I gave that Charger its head and we flew through the inky winter night like black lightening. The roadway itself was dry and there were no other cars on the highway so we were making record time.
I pulled into Denver a little after sunrise. I got as close to where I thought the professor was staying as I could, then turned into a gas station and woke up the Charger owner. He thanked me for getting him as far as I did and went on his way.
I called the prof and told her where I was. She fussed at me a little because I was a bit late for our appointment, but she did hustle her ass down to the gas station in short order and we were soon headed back to Pittsburgh. The drive back to Pittsburgh was long but uneventful. I made it back in time to start the winter semester.
Hitchin a ride
How many memorys come filtering back to the front of my mind.
I hitch hiked into Prescott in '74,backpack, long hair.....and never left. Raised 3 kids, still here. Funny how one incident turns into a lifetime. Now my youngest has fine tuned his wonderlust into 8 seasons in alaska. I thought I was far west.
I once left prescott to hitch back east. I bought enough food to get me there and stuffed it into my backpack. I had 3 bucks and some change left. What? No problem.
Once left grand canyon to go home for christmas. Got a ride, said they had to pick up some weed in tucson, then I could get a lift all the way to kentucky. We picked up the weed,a big garbage bag full of it. Did it go in the trunk? No. We rolled right out of that giant bag all the way back. Four stoned hippys oblivious to the ways of the world. Must have had a protective force field to get home unscathed. Yeah that's it, we had a force field!
I'm still like a leaf blowing in the wind.
I smile to myself as I hear my youngest tell me....you're a survivor..as I turned 60.
How many memorys come filtering back to the front of my mind.
I hitch hiked into Prescott in '74,backpack, long hair.....and never left. Raised 3 kids, still here. Funny how one incident turns into a lifetime. Now my youngest has fine tuned his wonderlust into 8 seasons in alaska. I thought I was far west.
I once left prescott to hitch back east. I bought enough food to get me there and stuffed it into my backpack. I had 3 bucks and some change left. What? No problem.
Once left grand canyon to go home for christmas. Got a ride, said they had to pick up some weed in tucson, then I could get a lift all the way to kentucky. We picked up the weed,a big garbage bag full of it. Did it go in the trunk? No. We rolled right out of that giant bag all the way back. Four stoned hippys oblivious to the ways of the world. Must have had a protective force field to get home unscathed. Yeah that's it, we had a force field!
I'm still like a leaf blowing in the wind.
I smile to myself as I hear my youngest tell me....you're a survivor..as I turned 60.
Apache Kush
Member
Hello,
I searched Arizona in the search button and then I came across your thread here...
Im currently on page 9 of 199 i think.
As a avid fisherman in the rim country I recognized a lot of your namesakes for canyons in the rim country. Even pulled out my TOPO maps and found the wet bottom creek, houston creek area (even though there are a few by houston' name i figure you meant the one right next to wet bottom) That area looks remote as shit, no roads only trails, nothing in the area but the verde rivers..a prime spot indeed my friend.
I have come across a half a dozen lion kills (deer and elk) in my favorite fly fishing spot on the rim so I had a good chuckle when one followed you to your camp at MAGJAG canyon. I heard guys talk of this happening too. Also, I always followed the storys/sightings in AZ on the Game and Fish website, they will run an article most the time as its rare. See if I can link the most recent sighting stuff too for you. Please, do tell another story of the the guerilla stuff in the canyons...maybe include times of year and harvest window info too. Thanks, I really luaghed at the early stuff in this thread with the pilot guy and the Ajo stuff with Apocalypse Now refernce (my fav movie), the air dropping grow supplies. Its like a mix between the movies Blow, and a hippie Forrest Gump...idk man good stuff
I searched Arizona in the search button and then I came across your thread here...
Im currently on page 9 of 199 i think.
As a avid fisherman in the rim country I recognized a lot of your namesakes for canyons in the rim country. Even pulled out my TOPO maps and found the wet bottom creek, houston creek area (even though there are a few by houston' name i figure you meant the one right next to wet bottom) That area looks remote as shit, no roads only trails, nothing in the area but the verde rivers..a prime spot indeed my friend.
I have come across a half a dozen lion kills (deer and elk) in my favorite fly fishing spot on the rim so I had a good chuckle when one followed you to your camp at MAGJAG canyon. I heard guys talk of this happening too. Also, I always followed the storys/sightings in AZ on the Game and Fish website, they will run an article most the time as its rare. See if I can link the most recent sighting stuff too for you. Please, do tell another story of the the guerilla stuff in the canyons...maybe include times of year and harvest window info too. Thanks, I really luaghed at the early stuff in this thread with the pilot guy and the Ajo stuff with Apocalypse Now refernce (my fav movie), the air dropping grow supplies. Its like a mix between the movies Blow, and a hippie Forrest Gump...idk man good stuff
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