magic mushrooms
When I was living in Berkeley a few months later, surrounded with a new set of friends, I was given a nickname I never liked, but people called me ‘random Rob’, probably because of all the strange things I would quote out of books no one had ever heard of.
Well ‘random’ is the signature motif of the world we live in. It directs our history. It even writes it. It toys with all our intentions and anyone foolish enough to use the word ‘certitude’ or ‘destiny’ or ‘my plans’, it crushes.
The problem is, there’s no way to embrace it or even prepare for it. We always seem to be struggling against it, like a little dog on a short leash. But with its unpredictable tugs it leads us where it wills, our master, on long or short trips into unfamiliar places and we’re lucky if it finally takes us home, to a comfortable, warm bed we can call our own.
Maybe one should just stroll through life thoughtless of any destination, whistling a silly tune and taking in the sights. This is why the phrase of Horace “Carpe Diem” has such resonance. Take one day at a time and enjoy what you can.
Let’s concentrate on the world we’re in, with all its sights and possibilities and think about the next one when we get there. To do the opposite is the definition of ‘foolish’.
Back to my story, except, allow me to say, digressing again, that I love digressions, footnotes, detours, asides, and afterthoughts in all their colorful distractions. My life has been a zig-zag course all along, making little sense. The most valuable parts of this record are the commentaries. They reveal my philosophy and can apply to and aid the reader.
After leaving Barbara behind in Bellingham, a bit surprised but still undaunted, our hitchhike down the coast to Berkeley was swift and easy, with two memorable incidents.
We had a number of short rides that afternoon. Deirdre with her tall stature, her long, dark hair, white skin and cherubic looks scored the pick-ups, holding up a sign that said ‘San Francisco’. Around dusk at a truck stop an old couple stopped in a very beat up station wagon and offered us a long ride, all night, on the condition we help pay for gas. We agreed.
They were a ragged couple, both skinny, dishevelled, probably in their sixties, the man very wrinkled and unshaven behind the wheel, the woman beside him doing almost all the talking. We piled into the backseat, our knapsacks beside us. There was a stench of alcohol in the car and both had an open beer can in their laps.
We set off. It was soon dark and the talkative woman, after asking us a few questions casually mentioned that we looked like a very nice couple and that they were never scared of picking up hitchhikers because they always carried a loaded gun in the glove compartment.
Our conversation continued, a little uneasy on our side, and the terms of our financial agreement came up. The woman twisted around in her seat and faced us while talking. At this point Deirdre reached into her tight jeans front pocket and pulled out the whole fat wad of her money for the trip, close to a thousand dollars, and began peeling through the bills, some of them falling off her lap, to find a ten. The old woman’s eyes lit up with a gasp, her husband glanced back, and then she exclaimed, in the most excited voice: “Oh honey, you shouldn’t have done that”!
The old couple glance at each other and a long, pregnant pause ensues as Deirdre fidgets to hand her a ten and then quickly tuck the rest away in one big, crumpled ball in her pocket. I sit by quiet and uneasy. I can almost see the various scenarios playing out in the old folks’ heads, aware of their abject poverty, dreading the worst.
Finally, the old woman says: ‘Dear, you should never show your money to strangers. Something bad might happen’. After this the tensions eased miraculously. They kept drinking while Deirdre and the woman became very chatty, the woman now taking a motherly interest in her, full of kind advice. They drove us all through the night and let us off safe and intact on a gray morning on some desolate, tree lined exit in Oregon.
Oh the delightful, insouciant, innocence of youth. How many times have I been protected by its shield, with my youthful, smiling face while in the closest proximity to danger or evil designs, totally ignorant of it, yet preserved from it by my smile and innocence, just like Deirdre’s, even more pure and angelic, and unconscious of the evil in the world more than I was, and doubly prone to it, being a girl. But like seeing a cute puppy even a hardened desperado has their heart softened and refrains to lay hands on it. I think this was our luck that night. We even fell asleep soon after, enjoying the most peaceful rest in the backseat of that car, our heads together, our empty heads, illiterate of the world.
We had one other strange ride on our journey down the coast. We were picked up in southern Oregon by a long-haired man in a Mustang, probably in his late thirties. I wouldn’t call him a hippy because there was a rough and aggressive edge about him. He might have been a biker. But he was kind enough to help us out and took us, driving very fast, to Redding in northern California. It was another cold and overcast day, more so as we were at higher elevations. Deirdre sat in the front, I in the back.
The problem was that the car was missing the driver’s side window and as we sped along the blast of cold air pouring in created a wind chill effect that rendered the car heater useless. I suppose full arctic gear might have remedied the situation, but we had, at best, only Fall apparel. After cowering in the back awhile I got up the courage to shout at him, (the loud wind precluding normal talk) how could he possibly drive on like this and not freeze to death, as he was dressed hardly warmer than ourselves, not even a hat. He replies: ‘Eat some of these’, as he opens up the compartment between the seats, revealing a plastic bag full of psilocybin mushrooms. Even as he spoke, he grabbed a few to chew on. We looked at each other, shrugged and did the same. The strange thing was that after about ten minutes a very warm glow seemed to emanate from inside me to my face and limbs. Every half hour or so, as he ate a few more we also partook and I remember the ‘trip’ turned from being miserable to quite pleasant, even without much talk, as I was very entertained with my own thoughts.
We arrived in Redding, thanking him for the ride. The sun was shining, the air was warm and it felt as if an epic journey had been survived. Later that day we were picked up by real hippies and invited to stay the night at their cabin in the woods. The next afternoon we reached Berkeley.
One thing to note: Psilocybin, in a pinch, will keep you warm.
Last post ...
next post ...
