Sam Paul - Why I Committed Suicide

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.

We are all becoming really good friends but John B. and I are especially close. Hopefully the end of this journey won’t result in a loss of communication, but I suppose one never knows. Sometimes it’s best to take the brief good memories you share with a person and move on to preserve them forever in their pure form.

The place where the shows are being held was kind of disappointing at first. The place exactly resembles the Starplex Amphitheatre in Dallas where I’ve been seeing the Lollapalooza tours for the past few years. Traveling all this way to see the Grateful Dead in an actual concert venue struck me as being too commercial at first, but then I remembered in California there are a lot more local fans to accommodate. Unfortunately the parking lot is also divided into different sections so that all the “fans” can be accommodated, which doesn’t give it as homey a feel as the Oregon shows, but I can already tell this experience will be different in its own way. The shows are going to all be at night here at the Mountain View Shoreline Amphitheater and I’m already tripping in anticipation. I’ve been assured that the nighttime shows orchestrated by the Dead are cutting edge, probably closer to what I expected at the first shows. It’s going to be a different experience and I’m looking forward to it because I sense the same good vibes all around me. No more worries, no more rapists, no more travel. This is the pinnacle of where I’ve worked to be over the past few weeks. I’m running out of money so I might have to skip one of the shows here unless somebody takes pity and “miracles” me. Being “miracled” is getting a ticket from someone on the sole basis that it’s your turn and you get to go. It happens a lot more often than I would think, it’s like I’ve said, “different world, different rules.” There are people who never buy tickets but follow the Dead on tour anyway with the anticipation that, just maybe, some kind soul will bestow the gift of a show on them. This is a religion of sorts to some people. If I get stuck in the parking lot it won’t be a big deal. I can still hear the music and see the freaky people going inside.

John and I just saw a kid wearing nothing but corduroy wandering around in front of the van. He looked so fucking cool that we got into a conversation about how cool corduroy really is. I think if I could only choose one fabric to be in for the rest of my days I would wear corduroy shirt, pants and a hat like this kid. The ultimate in comfort; just me, my baggy corduroy clothes and Jenifer and I’ll be content. Like Eazy E said “I’m the dope man, yeah boy wear corduroy.” I’m going to sign off now because the acid is starting to get intense. I’ll try to write about the show tonight at a later date. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.