In the last post you read about my new girl friend Priscilla, my failed college attempt at the University of Minnesota and our plans to leave the midwest. In this post you will read about our arrival in California.
Priscilla and I hooked-up with an auto-transport company that agreed to let us drive a 1972 Ford Mustang from Minneapolis to Santa Monica, California.
Sometimes You Can’t be Choosy
After dropping off the car we hitch-hiked to El Cajon, just outside San Diego to meet up with Linda, who I knew from the University of Minnesota. Linda kindly offered to let us stay with her while we figured out our next move. Interestingly, Linda’s boyfriend Bob greeted us in their living room – fully nude. It seems Bob was a practicing nudist.
“Mission Beach is a community built on a sandbar between the Pacific Ocean and Mission Bay . It is part of the city of San Diego , …”
Dinner and Beach on LSD
From time to time – after all it was the ’70s – I experimented with marijuana and other stuff. One particular afternoon Bob, Linda, Priscilla and I drove from El Cajon to Mission Beach for a day of walking on the beach and taking in the sights. After a couple of long walks Bob and Linda dropped us off at a romantic ocean-side hotel where our plan was to eat seafood and remain for a few hours until Bob and Linda returned to pick us up. To “enhance” the experience of our dinner and final walk along the beach, Bob (this time fully clothed) placed in our hands two regulation hits of window-pane LSD.
Bad Trip Within a Good Trip
The coffee table in the lounge adjacent to our ocean side restaurant was a piercing, pulsating metallic-blue and taxi-cab yellow and gently shimmering back and forth before our eyes. “Shit, I think we better call Bob and Linda. Somethings wrong!” I said, realizing that I was undergoing hallucinations that were usually part of a LSD trip. A song from The Moody Blues Nights in White Satin, alternatively loud and soft was echoing in the background, strangely in rhythm with the oscillating coffee table.
Outside, at the beach, a storm was brewing. Running out the door in a wild frenzy of energy, we were greeted by a steel-grey canopy of roiling clouds from the impending storm. “I’m not really sure Bob,” I responding to Bob’s question of what happened. “can you just come and pick us up?” I asked again, on my second phone call within the hour. The waves were all capped with white froth but reasonable in size. The wind continued to increase. What was a just a blustery, late-afternoon day at Mission Beach, on a rookie LSD trip, had, in the space of an hour, turned sullen. Throughout the last 3 hours, Paula had remained placid. My skin crawling with slimy silverfish by way of my hallucinations, and for me, Bob and Linda couldn’t arrive soon enough.
Next Stop: Ventura, California
We stayed a few weeks with Bob and Linda there in El Cajon, who generously cooked us morning omelets and introduced me to avocados. Having made plans to hitch-hike to Ventura about a hundred miles up the coast, and Bob dropping increasingly overt suggestions for us to join him in nudity, we took to the road.
Did you ever do feel events in your life were out of control and you were helpless to stop them?
Next: Looking Great But Living Homeless on Mission Beach