On the Road — where we stop, no one knows
BY EMMA BINNIE
The white Volkswagen bus coughs and sputters as it attempts to win the battle against the dusty, dirt road. Colorado mountain passes can be a barbaric enemy to an old hippie bus, which is surprising, seeing as how many free spirits are nestled in these hills.
“Come on, Bodie,” Stoney pleads, as he beats on the clutch. He pats and massages the bus lovingly, but Bodie is well known for his stubborn side. He gives one last guffaw before abandoning ship.
“Well, Bodie says that he needs a little break. I can dig that. I love you, brother man. You’ve been a good pal, so…we’ll let you nap.”
We all tumble out of the bus. Stoney gets out a cigar and we all sit, puff puff and pass, while we wait for the gracious side of Bodie to reawaken.
I met Stoney and Bodie, his VW bus, in Paonia, Colorado, where fate had lead me and a friend while we were hitchhiking around the country. You just can’t help but be drawn into Stoney’s reality. The energy field surrounding him is addicting and contagious. We had originally only asked Stoney for a ride back to the Denver area to catch the Phish shows, but one thing had lead to another, as it has a habit of doing. We were still heading to the shows, but along the way had been joined by a few others and taken a few detours. That’s the beauty of traveling on foot, you never know what you’re going to trip and stumble over
The fellow pilgrims on our adventure were two vagabonds from San Francisco, Luka and Anthony. Luka was a film student from Poland. He had a mess of neglected curly, blonde hair that had taken on a mind of its own, forming a nest of dreadlocks and chaos on top of his head. He was an absurdly unpredictable guy, but one constant in his life was a foam visor splattered with rainbow cats. It never left his head, he slept with it on. He only had one pair of shorts, they were neon green plaid. They hung down to his knees, exposing two matching tattoos that circled his calves. “Get Your Guns” is what he had chosen to permanently brand himself with.
“Yah, man. I am a warrior of light,” he would always tell us, in his thick polish accent. “You got to get your guns and fight in this world if you ever hope to find truths.”
When his accent prompted people to ask where he was from, his reply was always “Heaven.” He was an angel on a mission to make a movie about Jesus, Hitler and Aphrodite. Which would one day be completed, but his future plans only included one thing: Burning Man. His plan to sneak into Burning Man this year involved a giant penis.
“They can’t search the art, man. The penis is art. So crazy! I stay in dah penis all day, taking deemster rips, and then have crazy party in the desert.”
He was in love with jugs of burgundy wine, shitty weed and DMT. “Deemster rips?” was his favorite things to say, all the time, any time. He named our family in the van, “Team Deemster.” He was crazy and so serenely beautiful.
His comrade, Anthony was not so beautiful. He had moved form New York City to San Francisco to become an actor and had little luck. He was trying to make it slowly, festival by festival, across the country back to New York for his brother’s wedding. He was a short nugget of a man, and maybe that’s why he was so pissed off all the time. He had a bland outward appearance: a shaved head, white t-shirt and jeans, but his mind was a little more expressive. It was emotional, combative and not my friend. We didn’t quite see eye to eye, and that’s not only because I was two inches taller. He was blunt, I was blunt. He drove me crazy, and I did the same to him. I don’t know why, that’s just how things were. You can’t get along with everyone, but we were family for the time being, so we did our best.
Anthony had once been heavily addicted to meth, and liked to remind us of this fact everyday. He was a walking after school special on the dangerous effects of drugs, yet I can’t remember how many times I watched him ingest mass amounts of psychedelics. He was a controversy. A lot of the people I meet on the road and at shows are. At the same time, I have also met the most beautiful souls this way. Luka and Anthony were the epitome of this.
We had all come together at a festival, and now we were leaving together, it happens, quite frequently in fact. The music and vibes bring people together and bonds form as the music binds silence and sound.
We sat around on the side of the road smoking. “I have an idea.” Stoney slowly draws out, as he stares off into the mountains. “In he next town, I have this homegirl. She has some weight that she wants us to try and move…”
We all stop and look at him. It wasn’t in the itenerary, I just wanted to try and get in the shows, but I was also running low on funds. So was Joseph. And Luca. And Anthony. How could we pass this up.
The cigar went out.
“I think it’s time.” Stoney said and began to climb into the drivers seat. We followed him. He was our bus driver after all, captain of the steering wheel, it was his bus, his dream and we were just the passengers enjoying a funky ride.
As we all climb onto our respected seats, Stoney turns to look at us.
“Alright my brother mans, send Bodie your love, give it all to him, and he’ll give it all back.”
“I’m not a man, Stoney,” I inform him for the millionth time.
“Alright my brothers…and sister, lets do this!” He shouts, punching the air with his fist and turning around, positioning himself.
Everyone closes their eyes. Stoney picks up a small gong he keeps by his seat and gently taps it. We sit silent for a moment, feeling the sound waves reverberate through the air and our souls. The ripple effect of the sound soothes, and helps us generate all the love we can possible muster. Stoney slowly turns the keys, grips the wheel, and pumps the gas. Bodie sighs, he’s not quite up to the challenging terrain ahead, but he gives in and lurches forward.
We’re off again. Continuing on our journey form point A to point B. One show to the next, although this time it’s been inaudibly decided that we’re working. There are always two possible paths to wander down when going to shows: work or play. Im not saying that you don’t have fun while working, but there’s different atmosphere created, a different air filling your lungs. When I say working, I mean hustling. You can hustle whatever you want: burritos, t-shirts, weed, harder drugs, beer, etc, but the common denomenator is that it’s all illegal. The cops and Phish don’t quite take to the idea.
Slight smirks flirt across our faces, as we passed through the Rockies and catch a glimpse of the Denver skyline. We are rebels with a cause, a cause to make money, so we can prolong this crazy trip we were on.
I always wonder what people think about us when we drive by, I’m amazed we have never been pulled over. A white VW bus, covered in drawings and song lyrics. Filled to the brim with dreadlocks, rank armpits, drugs, and dirty clothes, driven by a barefooted, bare chested, long haired kid. Come on, if I was a cop this would be the equivilant of beating up a baby. But the universe cant deny our good vibes, and we bounce along care free. Bodie doesn’t have a blinker, and Stoney cant see out the back, a factor that has brought us close to death, and murder, but it’s all gravy baby.
We have created our own reality, a traveling bubble of positivity. As long as we believe we’re fine, we are, it’s called existentialism, and it’s awesome. When we pull up to gas stations, dreams meet reality, but the dreamers always win. I know that most of these people judge us, and fling skeptical looks in our direction, but deep down they cant help but foster a bit of envy. We’re free. We are gliding along the winds of time, we’re happy, having fun and living life. A traveling commune of non conformists in a society of mass conformity.
I do wonder what the outside world knows of the other planet where we’re flying to. All they see is a stream of dirty hippies filling their town, being lured somewhere by the Pied Piper of music and drugs. A bunch of hooligans jamming out to music, smokin’ reefer and trippin’ on LSD. They have no idea the other implications and complications that lurk beneath the surface, I don’t think i even fully know, and I’m there.
Short URL: http://www.themountaineer.org/?p=1051
Posted by Emma Binnie
on Nov 24, 2009 Filed under Voices.
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