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by Rocko Bonaparte
A spectacular stretch of route 1 goes between Monterey and San Simeon, and Hearst Castle can be found along the way. It was the residence of the great William Randolph Hearst, and was the hangout of many a movie star. At times the road is carved right out of the rocky coastline. The waves crash against the shore in a kind of siren's song. It can almost be considered spiritual. That was what a small band of middle-ages hippies were aiming for when they took their "Om Shack" down route 1's twists and turns.
Rewind to the other side of the country, over to the Hudson Valley. The place got it's reputation in prior centuries for Kaaterskill falls, and the Catskill Mountains. It was a place perfect for hiking, swimming, and getting away from civilization. Too perfect, perhaps. By 2000, the area was in need of an economic kick in the ass, and had become only good for hiking and swimming only because civilization had gone right on by. There's a small little town in this valley called Woodstock, where neither Woodstock 1969 nor Woodstock 1994 was held. However, it seemed to capture the spirit of that hippy mentality. All the original inhabitants of that bus at least knew where Woodstock was, and they all lived near there, and knew each other from old peace riots. They were scattered about the region: Coxsackie, Onteora, Kingston, Germantown, Hunter, Fishkill, Hurly... and, of course, friendly, historic Saugerties: so old, God was born there, and left soon after.
Somewhere past the Family of Woodstock house resided the Om Shack. It was a bus. No, it was not a VW Microbus -- the Om Shack was a full-length school bus converted from carrying school kids to carrying love and peace. It was painted a lime-green, and covered up with splotches of about everything that can and can't be found in the rainbow. A pair of Viking horns dominate the roof, right above the driver's seat. Some of the seats had been removed and replaced with hammocks. There was also a microwave that was 100% biodegradeable. This was doubted until it was shown the device was actually breaking down and rotting. There was a bathroom in the back, and an open spot to store all kinds of fun camping gear.
Some old pals decided to relive their younger, freer days, and they planned a trip on this bus. Actually, not too many of them remembered their hippy heritage before they started the trip. Most had gained some typical Hudson Valley jobs: gasoline station attendant, antique seller, basket weaver, sales clerk, or entry-level laborer. There were two exceptions. Erich Rosenberg had gone on to become a doctor. Or rather, he claimed to have been in medical school at some point, though nobody was sure. He was pretty good though, and wasn't questioned. The other was Mat Angell, who became a clever technician. Mat was the primary driver, having found the Om Shack in the first place. He risked catching his long beard in the steering wheel if we wasn't careful.
The original plan was to go cross-country to Seattle. Nobody knows why they chose Seattle. It just seemed kind of nice. They were a well-behaved, conforming bunch until somewhere near Minnesota, where the curvature of the Earth gets depressing. You see, there are other hobbies in the Hudson Valley. The list has increased to hiking, swimming, kayaking, hunting, and smoking pot; and it's kind of hard to do the first four on a converted school bus. Now, let's not say they became a wild bunch somewhere near Minnesota. Rather, Sandy, a nice babyboomer, had resumed 1960's-level drug consumption too early. She screamed "The bus is driving us!" They all looked at her for a moment, and she repeated it in a shrill scream.
"The bus tells me where we go! It is driving us! It rides on our backs! Can't you see?!" Everybody volunteered Erich to take care of the situation. "There there, you're just having a bad trip. Here, smoke some pot." He helped it to her lips, and she quieted down soon after. It was decided at that point that the brown acid was not specifically too good.
Upon reaching Seattle, they found the poor town to be kind of boring. That and it was in the middle of May, but it was practically snowing. Bummer. They decided to screw that joint and head off to San Francisco. However, they didn't leave without some souvineirs. Seattle has a high population of vagrant teenagers, of which the hippies felt great sympathy over. In reality, these homeless kids probably had a higher standard of living than the lifestyle of our reborn hippies. They ended up dropping the poor kids just outside of Seattle. They couldn't bear the lyrics to "If you're goin' to San Francisco, be sure to wear a flower in your hair." It wouldn't have been too bad, except that was the only part they remembered how to sing of Scott McInzie's 1960's anthem.
San Francisco was also kind of boring too. Boy, how the times have changed. They did find an ambient rave tucked away in an old UPS processing center. However, there were some major bad vibes from all the packages that were destroyed in the place. Too many a heart was busted around Christmas time due to the poor package handling there. The spirit of a televison that was stabbed by a forklift invaded Mat Angell's mind at around 3AM. The DJ had passed out in the middle of mixing ocean waves with something else, along with some Juno Reactor being played half-speed and backwards. It was the ocean waves that got Mat thinking about driving along the ocean. Or rather, it was the dancing, talking phantom TV that told Mat to think about it a little.
Route 1 isn't too interesting at this point, and Mat was growing impatient. They stopped at Santa Cruz and invaded the Beach Boardwalk. "Hey, check that out!" Cathy, a basket weaver from Hurley commented, "It's a wooden rollercoaster!" She was pointing at the Giant Dipper, a ride built in 1924. "My, that would be an antique back home." Roy, a antique seller from Saugerties mused. They barely had the money, but managed to take over the rollercoaster for one round. The first drop was the worst -- they rattled the whole way down the wooden planks.
"I'm not as young as I used to be!" Cathy yelled.
"Just focus on the chi ... on the next rise!" Greg, a "park ranger" living in Hunter responded. Everybody tried to follow his advice, but still managed to leave the ride with headaches. That is, except for Roy, who had the endurance for being flung around by his wife back home. Everything else cost too much money, so they gave up and left. On the way out, they recruited A-Dawg and B-Dawg. They were two "Mexicasians" that were playing Dance Dance Revolution in the arcade. The hippies were impressed. The Dawg's were homeless. It was a good deal.
The drive through Monterey was quick. Everything was just plain too expensive. Finally, the shoulder receded and the ocean opened up beside them. It was late on a Sunday afternoon. They swore they had never seen something so beautiful in their lives as the sun falling beneath the waves. A-Dawg, however, had been hallucinating on the brown acid for quite some time and thought the sun was literally falling from the sky. He started crying when he thought about the things he hadn't done before the world came to an end. The doctor shut him up by giving him some pot.
Route 1 at this point can be summarized in the following sequence: Downhill, left inland, right back out to sea, uphill, left again, straight uphill, and repeat. Occasionally there was a vista point, a mudslide, or a bridge, but they never interrupted this sequence. Most of the folks mistook the twisty nature of the drive as another rollercoaster. Mat took a left a little quick and everybody lifted their arms up and screamed, "Woooooohooo!" He took this as a comment on his poor driving, and pulled into a vista point so they could switch drivers.
On route 1, the vista points are the only places where there is flat land on the side of the road suitable for parking to enjoy the view. To the left and right, the ocean pounded away at the rocky coastline. Straight ahead was Japan, most likely. There was a temporary mudslide warning road side on the opposite side of the road. Those who didn't stagger out of the bus crawled. It was odd how they all had to really take a piss.
A line formed between the bus and the ocean. The men stood, and the women squatted, all letting out some processed water leftover from Santa Cruz. The vista point was paved with thirsty dust. Two seagulls noticed the party and landed on wooden posts separating everybody from the cliff. Cathy and B-Dawg, who was now known as Aizen-Myoo, the Shinto god of love, noticed how tame they were. After spending a minute and a half peeing, they approached the two birds. "Wassup little birrrrdie?" B-Dawg asked one of the seagulls. They walked up to it, and Cathy, who is afraid of heights, finally saw the edge of the cliff. Before she could thoroughly panic, she vomitted right in front of the bird. The seagulls tilted their heads crooked and looked at the pile of mush on the ground. The bird not surrounded by Cathy and Aizen-Myoo (B-Dawg) dropped down to take a closer look. It decided there were one or two solid particles in the mess and feasted gleefully on them. The other bird, not to be outdone, joing its partner in eating up vomit. "Woah... what are you... doing?" one of the other men asked. He figured it out eventually, and started to shoo the birds off with a loud "Hey!"
"These are God's creatures! We can't tame them with out vomit! Fly away! Stay wild, my children!" The seagulls, however, just kind of looked at the man like he was a deranged hippy.
"Oh, I'm sorry." He said eventually, sitting down next to the birds. He pulled a vial of brown acid out of his pocket and asked the birds in a hushed tone, "Hey, want some of this?" Once again, the two seagulls looked at the stuff with their heads tilted to one side, but eventually took it from his hands. The birds tried to blow that joint soon after.
"Hey man, that's our stash!" Aizen-Myoo objected.
"Oh hey, you're right! Come back here, little birrrdies!" Cathy screamed, forgetting her fear of heights for a moment. The birds didn't get far -- the acid didn't jibe with their innards too well. They met the poor creatures on the opposite side of the bus.
"Hey! Why you chase birrrrrdie?" B-Dawg asked, finally finishing up the gallon he just peed all over the ground.
"Birrrrrdies have the brown acid!" Aizen-Myoo told them. This was overheard by most of the crowd, who joined in the chase. Those who could only crawl went underneath the bus to the other side, thoroughly surrounding the birds, who paniced and tried to fly away. The hippies, not wanting to see the last of their stash go away, ran after the birds. Each and every one of them missed the chance, and slammed right into the side of the bus.
First was the sound of one or two rocks rumbling down the cliff, followed by a deep moaning from the bus as it shifted to one side. It kept going, and landed right on its side. Thankfully, nobody was standing there. However, all the pee on the ground turned it into mud, and the ground started to give away. All the hippies could do was stand there and laugh as the ground underneath the bus began to shift. Within a minute, the Om Shack was overturned and heading for the ocean.
As the bus went clanging down the rocks, it sounded like a housewife having a hissy-fit in the kitchen. Roy was the only one of the bunch with a dedicated housewife (the rest worked a series of part-time jobs in retail), and took the analogy too seriously. "Honey! Don't be mad!" Roy said compassionately. He followed after the bus and joined it in the ocean.
They stood there for 10 minutes before the situation finally dawned on them. "Bummer." Cathy surmised. "Dude, you lost your bus!" Erich told Mat, who dismissed him. "Nahhhh, it was some old wreck I got from West Saugerties. I don't even like the guy I borrowed it from."
And they all laughed. Eventually, they would make their way to San Simeon and settle down, effectively doubling the town's population. Sometime later, a police officer tried to investigate the accident. However, he didn't get anywhere when he thought Mat's hometown was "Socrates." Gees, some people just don't understand the Hudson Valley.
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