Archive | Furthur RSS feed for this section

This summer has opened the door to America and its people, wonderful people. From coast to coast i traveled in the company of people from three sub cultures, lived in their worlds and been to their parties, oh what parties!

My hippy roots, long smothered by adulthood and other adventures came out in tie died glory. I went to the hippy Garden of Eden, the source, the primeval pool from which it sprang, the bus. No where could one find the real deal closer than on Ken Kesey’s Furthur, and the followers of the Grateful Dead, all which migrated to the Gathering of the Vibes. i was on the pilgrimage to Hippy Mecca riding on Ganesh, the sacred elephant God of the Hindus.

There i found the ones who had salvaged and cultivated the dreams of the 60’s. Few of us there had been around in that challenging era and those of us who had were treated as respected elders. I found community and family, joy and sharing, love of art and expression and profound love. I found a dedication to the lifestyle, the freedom and of course “the music” as the music of the Grateful Dead is called.

i found the lost young entrepreneur i had feared extinct. Hard working, industrial and clever travelers peddling their wares from festival to festival. i found children, oh so many, who loved clowns, ferries and my balloon animals and the loving people who cared for them like they held the future in their hands. I found music, so much good music not heard on MTV or commercial outlets.

In my trek across the West, i found the Old West, and the cultural icon that keeps it alive, the Cowboy. Again i found a covet of all old, and a love of the young. At the center point of all things Cowboy, we went to the Cody Wyoming Rodeo, my first one in decades. Not much had changed, the ritual and the traditions and the love of country thrives on today. The traditions are cradled in the hands of the young, the twelve year old girl calf roper, the junior bull riders and the very young, covered in arena mud chasing calves. Boots hats and bandanas proudly worn by every one of them.

Nothing says America like watching the chapped cowboy gallop around the arena with Old Glory shining in the setting sun over the Rocky Mountains. Chills ran up my spine and a tear in my eye as the Star Spangled Banner was sung by the entire crowd led by the western wobbling of a cowgirl vocalist. All the politics, current events and troubles faded away, i had no doubt where i was, i was in America.

the third defining American group i shared a path with is the biker, the lover of all things motorcycle. Again the roots stem from long ago, a time of change in America, post WWII. The returning veterans found a rigid world in the 50’s and those who did not fit really did not fit. Some banged bongos and wrote poetry some rode motorcycles. Like the rock festivals of yore, the motorcycle rallies were the breading ground of this culture. Sturgis is the motorcycle Mecca celebrating seventy four years this year. As a biker i had always heard the call but never made it until this year. It completed by American Saga.

Donning black leather and roaring down the road on a chrome wonder is the call of the wild to so many. Accountants, doctors and even yacht brokers shed their earthly drab world and ride. the biker cult has its rules, its camaraderie and its shared cultural history like the other two groups. There is a brotherhood of bikers, we all wave as we pass, stop to help downed bikers, honor those who have served our nation and love to ride in large packs. there is simply nothing like roaring down the road in a large group of bikes.

Often conflicting in the past, these groups have common DNA, the love of freedom, individualism and family. All have an inherent reverence for the past, living history. This brings an all too often forgotten respect for elders i found refreshing. The twenty something kid i told of seeing the Dead when Pig Pen (1971) was alive looked at me like i had attended the Last Supper.

In these seemingly patriarchal worlds a unique and secure even sacred place for women is found, a place steeped in history and brought to today. Women are the fastest growing motorcycle group in the country. Cowgirls flourish in a not so soft world and the hippy world has always been matriarchal. In these worlds women know their ground and stand it, always with un relenting respect.  

So the American dream continues, freedom, family and sharing a good times along with bad. The Hippies, Bikers and Cowboys of the USA live life on their terms; maybe escaping reality but i think just cheating it a bit. Each will go home, go to work, pay taxes and survive in the modern world but each will have a window others do not get to look out, a window to a better world.

Start your own blog now! Free!

This summer i have seen America, sea to shining sea. i have ridden her highways and byways, crossed the great Rocky Mountains, the plains and the endless fields of the Midwest. From the town of Otto Wyoming, population 50 to the Big Apple, from baking …

i left the USA five years ago with a dark cloud of doubt about what the future of our country would bring. My experiences with younger people and the ever negative media left me with little hope, i felt that when my generation turned over the keys to the young, things would not go well.

Five years of living in close quarters and sharing life with a selection of young people from around the world has brightened my outlook. A few notable 20 something’s really started me on the path to hope. People like Madi Pip Stewart, aka Shark Girl and others were accomplishing so much.

It is with the flicker of hope and yet some real in trepidation that i hopped on “The Bus” to cross the country with a group of young intrepid travelers. We would sing, dance and rap our way to the Atlantic Ocean and one of the largest music festivals in the nation. I knew i would be around some drugs, professions of the problems of our time and probably the typical American disrespect for age. As one of the only “clean and sober” riders i pondered how much of a pain the drug takers might be. My sobriety is long lived and solid so i had not concerns for my safety, only the possible annoyance.

From the first day, all i saw was love, joy and a profound respect both for my age and sobriety. The young “Pranksters” took to me instantly and with warmth and sincerity. Sure there was some pot, but never on the bus and never the slightest problem for me, always after we got our work done and in camp.

Then we got to the Gathering of the Vibes festival. I remember rock festivals from the 60’s and their demise in the 70’s. the “scene” turned dark, heavy drugs, selfishness and violence replaces the peace and love of the 60’s. With this as a reference i was apprehensive for sure so when i found myself in the middle of a family loving, sharing, joyous, music loving crowd my fears vanished.

I have talked about the demise of the entrepreneurial spirit in the young, the lack of interest in being self employed, trying new business adventures and risking security. i felt the spirit was dead. Low and behold i found it in the most unpredicted place, the music festival. The kids i met followed festivals all summer selling their wares, t shirts, handmade art, body painting and an array of self produced products. Right down to the food venders the resulting high energy, dedication and hard hard work was evident all around. Some found a need in a small knitch market; solar cell phone charging, ear plugs or hammocks. Some were involved in the design, overseas production and marketing of their product (reminded me of me) All were full on, sell sell sell, and loving it. the American dream is alive and well, just wearing tie-dye instead of three piece suits.

hanging out in the “kids tent” making balloon wings for fieries.

I spent my days and nights hanging out at the bus, in the camp, doing balloon tricks for kids, and at Wharf Rat meetings, hardly the hedonistic activities of the past. i bounced from one nonprofit booth to another delving into real discussions of the troubles of our times. i found young, well informed, concerned and activist kids who listened intensely and were open to real discussion.

teenagers rockin “the School of Rock”

A pivotal moment came when i heard the “School of Rock” show, all high school rock bands doing some wonderful old tunes. With over 20 kids rotating on the stage to do expertly orchestrated renditions of Stone, Eagles and Hale and Oats songs ending with a group rock of “Love Shack” that left me quivering with joy. The kids shared the spot light, no super stars, did intricate solos and harmonized with multiple vocalists all while confidently having a blast.

l leave this festival with a revived hope for the future. This generation was not here to copy the 60′ they were here to learn from the past and grow, to carve their own world, a world i am sure will be a great one. So now i rest easily; we of the 60’s can happily hand over the keys.

Start your own blog now! Free!

It has been 18 years since Jerry Garcia joined God’s rock band and i have thought of him every day since. For the last few years i have been alone at this sacred time of year away from the tribe of fans he created.

This year i was far from alone, surrounded by thousands of kindred spirits at the Gathering of the Vibes Festival. This event was created by the vacuum Jerry left, the grieving tribe yearned for a congregation, a place to be with ourselves.

with the “Ferries” the official keepers of the children

So now we are at one of the best run, most coveted of all music festivals. Dead Heads of four generations are here all to love the music and all to collective wish Jerry Happy Birthday. Unlike the seemingly pagan heathenish festivals i attended in the 70’s, this was a festival of families, music and love.

The Wharg Rat becones to all who desire sobriety

One of the phenomena’s of the Dead Heads was the forming of the Wharf Rats in the early 80’s. Those striving to stay clean and sober but also enjoy the Grateful Dead shows, not necessarily compatible goals, Took AA to the Dead. So named for a Dead song about a drunk, the Wharf Rats have had a strong presence at all the shows since. They have enjoyed the strong support of the band and all the event promoters. One who is struggling can easily spot the yellow balloons and “Another Dopeless Hope Fiend” stickers and find support.

Arriving at the “Vibes” on the Furthur bus was simply the ultimate experience, none could be better. The festival site was perfect along the New Jersey shore, i walked to the shoreline completing my “Sea To Shining Sea” saga. The band list played like a FM radio show of 1968, original Grateful Dead members, many Dead tribute bands, Ziggy Marley and the sensational revival of the master of Credence Clearwater Revival, John Fogarty.

I will attend two weddings, entertain children with the event sponsored winged “Ferries” in the spacious family area, making friends from 4 to 64 years old. All here because of the love for family, music and the love of one man. Thank you Jerry, Happy Birthday!  

Start your own blog now! Free!

tie die a wearing

music a blarin’

Pranksters a dancin’

bus a rollin”

So after the Test and a bit of mechanical work, ’tis a 1947 bus, Furthur hit the road for the next destination. We all settled in for the long roll down the highway, i found a comfy spot with some padding over the wood benches that would be my home for the next three days. As we go a bit slow, cars passed us all in bewilderment of the bus. Most waved, many took pictures, and even some dropped both hands of the wheel in their excitement.

my crew laminate

I had another of the many, “how did i get here?” moments as the reality of my blessing took hold. I am riding down the highway on the Furthur Bus as a Merry Prankster!! my coveted laminate stated i was Crew and that “Let it be known to all persons, Capt Brian is now and forever a Merry Prankster and was and is ON THE BUS.” The music started and the crew began to dance, we sang and swayed to the music, sang the songs of freedom waved at passing cars as we bounced through middle America.

The epithical moment came to me as the song Tiny Dancer played. The epic scene from Almost Famous was replayed as Bandaide, young Brian and the others sang along, “hold me close tiny dancer”. Hands trembling and tears flowing i cherished this moment and will for the rest of my life.

We passed by Chicago, through a corner of several states and after the sun had set we found our first destination, a wooden dirt road in rural Michigan leading to a field full of tents and the awaiting party. As we approached we all scurried to the roof for the first of many grand entrances. The wooded path opened to the field full of highly charged people as the Who’s “Magic Bus” blared from the exterior speakers. the overwhelming thrill of seeing the exuberant crowd all awaiting our arrival was breathtaking.

a dazzled fan

on the top of the bus

crowd greeting us

We climbed off the bus and were immediately consumed by the crowd. The warmth of their greeting and electrifying amazement brought the reality of who we were and where right up front, we were history, the history every young hipster was raised with, the history of my youth and theirs. We were the heritage they all yearned for. The long told myth was at their feet. The hippy gospel had come to Michigan.

new friend

the warmth of their hospitality was moving, i met so many young people all eager to hear of life on the bus. We danced yet another Dead tribute band playing under a makeshift tent. Fire dancers lit up the night sky, and bursts of flames exploded from a fire making contraption operated by a careful albeit bizarre team. All in a wooded secluded field somewhere in Michigan and now a place that will stay in my heart

body painting of course

We slept in our tents and bags as the party roared on all night and arose to the calling of the Bus’s bell. Packed up and on the road again more states flew by and middle America unrolled for us. Our next stop was in Ohio at an old rock quarry now a park. Again we made the grand entrance on the roof dancing and singing to the theme song, Magic Bus. This crowd was larger and even more welcoming, their excitement was contagious.

We partied to the local and very talented band, walked by the lake and enjoyed the best food in days. I even got a face painting done. After some calculations Zane determined he had short sided the next leg and we had best leave early, so at midnight we packed up and rolled out, leaving another place to remember.

Heading east through Pennsylvania and closer to the Big Apple, the topography changed dramatically. We were headed to Port Chester New York and the Capital Theater, hallowed ground for Dead Heads for decades. We rolled into the town and circumvented the low bridge then assumed our top of the bus stance as we cruised the town to arrive at the theater for a grand reception and huge party.

The miles, bumps and grab and dash diet was catching up to me so i relished the next day off and got a hotel room with young Brian. i savored my first meal in days that required a fork and ordered a huge steak. Well rested i await the finale, the Gathering of the Vibe Festival which takes place on the New Jersey shore and completes my Sea to Shiny Sea epic adventure..  

Photo credit: Colby Rex O’Neill and Matt Pidutti Puds

Start your own blog now! Free!

This was going to be a very special day, the signs where clear. First i was panhandled by a homeless guy, and a compelling force told me to give and i would receive so i did. The next text from above came as i was in the local farmers market, sitting a…

After my voyage back in time in Cody i found one room available at Chico Hot Springs and booked it. This sent me back into the Park along the northern route after following the Chief Joseph Trail. Again i was overcome with emotion as i rode the windy path up “Dead Indian Pass”. The pass is so named for a wounded brave left behind by the Nez Perce who was killed by the US Army.

This was the last pass the tribe had to climb before easy access to Canada would find their freedom. The Calvary was again fooled by the tribe’s clever tactics and far behind. By this time the press and most Americans were rooting for the Indians and General Howard was in a political pickle, he had to win.

As i pass through these historic locations and read more of the history i ponder what Howard, Custer and the lot would think if they knew they went down in history as villains. Chief Joseph and the brave Nez Perce will always be remembered as the heroes of this saga. Their stalwart march to freedom, their military genius and the tragic end are known worldwide. I bowed my head in reverence to their courage.

Back down the road and down one of the most amazing motorcycle rides, zig zags a plenty into a lush alpine valley. There in the distance i see my first wild Buffalo herd, hundreds grazing away as if it were 1800. One came up to the road edge to pose. This is wildlife Mecca for photographers.

Out of the Park and at a lower elevation the cool mountain air warmed and off came the bundle of clothes for the short ride to Chico Hot Springs. The area is called Paradise Valley and for good reason. Many Hollywood folk have taken residence here including motorcycle icon Peter Fonda, i wonder if he saw my stars and stripes helmet ala Easy Rider.

The Chico Hot Springs are set in an old style building built many years ago, my room had a bath “down the hall”. The pools are wonderful and kept at a good hot temperature. This is a family place and packed with kids. I watched in amazement as the mothers scurried about so worried about their kids and doting to their every move. I thought of the cruising kids i have met and how they would just be left along in the pools, mothers knowing they had the savvy not to drown. I actually told one such exuberantly stressed mother she should read s/v Totem’s blog, she was not impressed hahaha.

The real treat came later that night when i joined a raucous crowd in the bar to dance to “the Red Elvises”.   This is a Russian rock band who does all comical original material to a tight and talented group of musicians. Five members who all played multiple instruments to songs like, ” Closet Disco Dancer” and the woeful tale of love gone wrong, “i want my Honda back”.

I awoke to another sunny Montana morning, packed the bike, paid my respects to the Red Elvises and hit the road, bound for South Dakota! All the day hearing odd Red Elvises tunes in my head, “Polka is the hit, Polka is the shit”.

Start your own blog now! Free!

oDropping down out of Yellowstone National Park through a canyon lined with red rock cliffs i entered the great state of Wyoming. Cody Wyoming is named after the iconic Western legend, Buffalo Bill Cody who called this town home and it shows.
Cody is a…

All the stars lined up and the sky opened to reveal a epic land trip. My goal in this US visit was to rid myself of all the junk in my storage unit and sell the two motorcycles that have sat idle for five years. I also intended in doing one last long bike trip. When the boys in Oregon started rehabilitating the Furthur bus the plot thickened.

After a screening process i have been given the honor of partaking in the 50 year anniversary ride of Ken Kesey’s famous bus and namesake to my boat, Furthur. As spots were coveted i took the one offered, from Madison Wisconsin to Bridgeport Conneticut. The week ride ends at the Gather of the Vibes Music Festival. Putting the cherry on the top, we will be invited to a “commitment ceremony” of a couple on the bus, with none other than hippy icon Wavy Gravy as the officiator.  

I considered flying to the bus but went for the kill two birds approach and incorporated my desired long motorcycle ride. So off across this beautiful country i ride. I began at the Pacific Coast at Ocean Shores visiting my sister making this a true Sea to Shining Sea ride.

More things fell into place as i contacted my good friend and riding companion, Howie, who was heading across the North Cascade Highway to an Alchy Angels camp out. i rode with the AA’s a few years before i left the shores of the US so a great chance to see more old friends. We crossed the pass on a hot 85 degree day, and summated White Pass with little traffic and warm blue skies.

I bid my old biker friends farewell and headed across little used and windy Highway 20 east bound as the temp rose in the 90’s. I crossed the state line into Idaho and the first life i saw was a large bear sitting by the road. First stop is the home of my maternal grandmother, Sandpoint Idaho, on the shores of scenic Lake Pend Oreille. Hot and dusty i pulled into a nice hotel along with about 50 other bikes. Good meal and a long hot tub and good as new.

One of the benefits of solo travel is the chance to meet new people. I met an amazing woman in hot tub, she tours the world golfing. She had played in every state in the Union and many countries. Yet another person making her dream her story.

As we were packing up the bikes a group invited me to join them for part of the ride, ok i said glad for the company. There is something inherently cool about roaring down the road in a pack of motorcycles pipes a roaring. After a while i Split from the group as out paths differed thanking them for the ride. Back along i took full enjoyment in the hot sun and the famous Montana attitude about speed limits, made evident when doing 85 mph i glanced in my mirror to see a line of cars tailgating me! I stopped for breakfast at a local dinner in a small town. As i had not seen the state line, i asked the buxom, big haired waitress, “excuse me mam, what state are we in?” . “You are in Montana now” she said with a big country smile as she served a massive platter of food to me.

I managed to stay off the freeway most of the day, taking older state highways. I made it to Butte Montana that night and then up again and down the road. i hit some high mountain rain just after i had passed a small hot springs resort. Not being either brave nor stupid i spun the bike around the freshly wet pavement and back to the hot springs until the rain subsided.

The stop took some time off my plan and it got colder so i decided to hold up just outside the Yellowstone Park boundary. i was not the only one with this idea as the streets and most hotels were full. Found a room only to the harsh reality of the tourist pricing, over $200. My idea of finding cheap lodging in rural Montana has not played out well i am sad to say.

Rising to an unexpected clear blue sky, i packed up the bike and entered the famous Yellowstone National Park. After paying the twenty dollar entrance fee i fell in line with the cars and headed east across the center of th park. I wound around the park road gaping at the incredible terrain. Soon i saw many cars pulled off the road and an army of camera armed people heading off the road. I pulled up on the bike and asked a chap what there was to see. The Eastern European said there were “two adult male steers” in the woods, hum i thought, “steers”. i peeked around and saw a very large multi pointed set of elk antlers. The visitor was excited when i told him the “steer” was an elk. Later i saw a Grizzly Bear with the same sort of Paparazzi.

The spiritual highlight of the trip was to stand were the great Chief Joseph stood on his epic trek. i envisioned the 750 members of the Nez Perce tribe, embattled and weary as they passed by with the Calvary close behind. This bit of history has always captured my interest and my heart ached as the image of these brave people came forth.

I climbed a long windy mountain pass at 8,300 ft and crossed the Great Divide. It is all downhill from here!!

Start your own blog now! Free!

Tis been an action packed trip back to the good ol USA. So good to see all my friends and family and at the perfect time of year. Really the only time of year i can tolerate the Seattle weather now hahaha. First on the agenda was a family wedding, my c…