memorial weekend 1979, somewhere in wisconsin
i couldnt get the weekend off so i quit my job to go camping with my friends. such are the priorities of a 17 year old living on her own. (altho i quit a crap paying job for a tip income job, which turned out to be perrrfect for me)
i believe i rode with sue jackson and possibly kathy fosdale, we gathered in the parking lot of the spruce inn when it closed, cars packed and ready to roll. and we did, in a caravan of cars and vans. we screamed at each other out the windows and i recall, sucking on a bottle of wine the whole way there. mateus or boones farm, i dont remember which.
i didnt have a tent. i gypsied the weekend. i had a cooler full of food, plenty of liqour and my charm. i dont think i slept any of the three days. i ate lots of acid, drank an ungodly amount of booze and smoked my weight in cannabis. i was in a motorcycle crash (burned calf was the only injury i sustained), a wet tshirt contest and helped a psychopath in a head dress campaign for the presidency. it was awesome madness.
is it any wonder my feet are burning for the road?
