Not only was I fed, protected and cared for by the Three Hippies when I lived homeless in the park, I was educated in the finer forms of music as well. It was the second of December, 1979. For days Dawn, Pete and Clint had been planning the trip to Santa Cruz. They all agreed that his music was superior, unparalleled in that way that only hippies can understand. Clint had a real VW micro bus we would take for the trip. My high-school tassel in an earlier moment, had been hung inside. And of course this bus was the very one Clint had driven all the way to Woodstock. Woodstock...
So the road to Santa Cruz is well wound with curves and tapestried on all sides by pine and twisted cypress trees. And it was no surprise that the van broke down and we had to push it over the top of a hill to get the jump start happening. The state patrol driving by without notice as we pushed was a little unanticipated. But, given that between the four of us we had over six feet of hair I guess it was no surprise.
The trip wound on as we neared the outskirts of Santa Cruz, jewel beside the endless Sea. I said at that moment, for the forty-seventh sixteen year old time, 'Why do we have to go see this Bob Marley guy?' "Shut up, Kid, you'll see..." they said.
Now, that was a good ironic moment. But the best moment, the most beautiful moment of the trip was after spending two hours in the motivating smokes of the greatest Marley mantra mania I've ever, ever heard, we all staggered over to a rooftop parking garage and sat in a guitar circle and sang Ghost riders in the sky. Like transcendental meditation I was at the centre of my grooving universe.
Oh man. Good times....
So the road to Santa Cruz is well wound with curves and tapestried on all sides by pine and twisted cypress trees. And it was no surprise that the van broke down and we had to push it over the top of a hill to get the jump start happening. The state patrol driving by without notice as we pushed was a little unanticipated. But, given that between the four of us we had over six feet of hair I guess it was no surprise.
The trip wound on as we neared the outskirts of Santa Cruz, jewel beside the endless Sea. I said at that moment, for the forty-seventh sixteen year old time, 'Why do we have to go see this Bob Marley guy?' "Shut up, Kid, you'll see..." they said.
Now, that was a good ironic moment. But the best moment, the most beautiful moment of the trip was after spending two hours in the motivating smokes of the greatest Marley mantra mania I've ever, ever heard, we all staggered over to a rooftop parking garage and sat in a guitar circle and sang Ghost riders in the sky. Like transcendental meditation I was at the centre of my grooving universe.
Oh man. Good times....
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