I have made the big decision
I'm gonna try to nullify my life
'cause when the blood begins to flow
When it shoots up the dropper's neck
When I'm closing in on death
And you can't help me not, you guys
And all you sweet girls with all your sweet silly talk
You can all go take a walk
And I guess I just don't know
And I guess I just don't know
I wish that I was born a thousand years ago
I wish that I'd sail the darkened seas
On a great big clipper ship
Going from this land here to that
In a sailor's suit and cap
Away from the big city
Where a man can not be free
Of all of the evils of this town
And of himself and those around
Oh, and I guess I just don't know
Oh, and I guess I just don't know
Heroin, be the death of me
Heroin, it's my wife and it's my life
Because a mainer to my vein
Leads to a center in my head
And then I'm better off and dead
Because when the smack begins to flow
I really don't care anymore
About all the Jim-Jim's in this town
And all the politicians makin' crazy sounds
And everybody puttin' everybody else down
And all the dead bodies piled up in mounds
'cause when the smack begins to flow
Then I really don't care anymore
Ah, when the heroin is in my blood
And that blood is in my head
Then thank God that I'm as good as dead
Then thank your God that I'm not aware
And thank God that I just don't care
And I guess I just don't know
And I guess I just don't know
We completed our performance with a pantomime of Geoff 'fixing' himself with the microphone stand at the crescendo. The audience stood in absolute silence, afraid to utter a sound or make the slightest move. Geoff snickered, threw the microphone stand down, turned and wandered off stage.
If minus points could have been awarded I’m sure we would have received them. The school principal was so flabbergasted he tried to have the security guard arrest us. We laughed, packed up the gear and left town feeling very pleased with ourselves.
I spent Christmas at home. My mom didn’t like Trisha much. I think she thought Trisha was too harsh. Trisha had a lot of confidence and a whiskey-hush edge to her voice. She was aggressive and her sense of humour could cut close to the bone sometimes. This seemed to conflict somehow with my mother’s sense of being fair to everyone. Ironically, it was unfair of my mom to think ill of Trisha; she was always good to me.
That aside, I was thankful that I was still around. I wondered if I would make it to twenty. I figured, 'if life was a soccer match – I'd be on “stoppage” time by now'.
Chapter Six 1969
On January 18, 1969 John, Trisha and I went to see Fleetwood Mac play at the Garden Auditorium on the exhibition grounds. This was the original blues line-up of Mick Fleetwood on drums, John McVie on bass and guitarists Jeremy Spencer, Danny Kirwan and the great Peter Green. They played songs like Station Man and Jewel Eyed Judy (which would later appear on their fabulous Kiln House album). I loved the simple, powerful style of Mick Fleetwood on drums. This was one of the best concerts I have ever attended.
We travelled the snowy highways of British Columbia a lot that winter. Much of the province is a rain forest so, in winter, when it gets very cold in the mountains, the roads are buried under twenty feet of snow and ice. They are extremely treacherous with a very real potential of killing you at every turn. Because of the mountains you are mostly struggling to achieve enough traction to climb a steep grade or sliding precariously down an icy hill towards certain death. There are many highway curves with signs that read, “SLOW TO 10 MPH”. Some of these curves are so dangerous they have names like, “WIPSAW”. Most of the roads were carved out of the side of deep ravines so, while sliding sideways down a slope towards “WIPSAW”, there could be the edge of a two hundred foot cliff right beside you.
However, with Jim at the wheel of our trusted, Sub-A-Lub, we careened over these roads at a hundred kilometers per hour without fear or alarm. There would be at least six of us and we would often drop acid before the trip. We were like one of those early Walt Disney cartoons where Goofy’s car would be racing along a mountain highway and, at each turn, the car would sail out over the cliff in mid-air but the wheels would cling to the road and, at the last minute, pull it back to safety. I don’t know who or what pulled us back to safety but no matter how frightening the road conditions and no matter how fast we were going, I do not remember a single moment when we felt like we were in any real danger.
On one such acid-fueled road-trip, John brought along some picture cards that he got from a box of tea. This particular tea company was known for creating series' of cards and stuffing them in their tea boxes as a ploy to get you hooked on their tea. John’s cards had photos of exotic antique cars. Geoff took an instant liking to a 1927 Bugatti sports car.
He held the card up babbling, “And the Bugatti set out to take over the world. It drove on and on and on and on and on and on ... spreading the word of peace and love except that it only spoke Italian and nobody understood it and (crying now) alas, its message of salvation was lost ...”
At our last piss stop Steve had stolen a plastic flower from a gas station office. This vicious Rhododendron was now attacking everyone in Sub-A-Lub. It especially went after Geoff’s Bugatti. Sadly, the flower ate the Bugatti before its crusade of love could save the world ... now that’s 'flower power!'
For years after this, all Geoff had to say was, “the flower ate the Bugatti”, and we all understood exactly what he meant. Either he was lamenting the death of his beloved Bugatti at the petals of the cruel flower or it was a light-hearted reminder of how far we had descended into madness. An imagination is a wonderful thing but, mixed with volatile chemicals, it can only lead to one thing; insanity.
In February, on another of our drug induced trips to Nelson to play at Garth’s Grotto, we booked into two small bungalows at the Blue Top Motel. Everyone dropped more acid and we spent the day hanging out in one of the rooms watching television.
A basketball game came on the screen. My demented hallucinogenic state made me think that the ball was playing the players; that, in fact, the ball knew where it was going and used the players like robots to get it to the basket. This really started to freak me out. Somebody changed the channel to The Glen Campbell Goodtime Hour. He appeared so 'straight' to me.
For the first time on an acid trip I started to lose it. I slipped outside and wandered over to the empty bungalow to try to talk myself down but that made it worse. I kept thinking something was sneaking up on me and it terrified me. I went back, tried to calm myself and watched the rest of the program with everyone else. It was quite an extraordinary show with guest stars Steve Allan, Jayne Meadows and the heroic John Wayne along with regular Pat Paulson and a duet with Glen and John Hartford