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Grapevine : March 2011
It was the late summer of 1969, and I was a 21-year-old hip- pie from Southern California with shoulder-length hair, hitchiking east to Aspen to chase a girl I'd met that June. I drank to excess on occasions, but I was firmly planted in the hip- pie culture with all its medicinal remedies. Hopelessly trapped for A dusty red convertible picked up this hitchhiking hippie and showed him the future hours on a remote freeway onramp, I took a chance, walked out onto the freeway shoulder and stuck out my thumb, a move that the California Highway Patrol would have imme- diately arrested me for. Swerving across three lanes and skidding to a halt was a shiny new red convertible with a clean-cut, clean-shaven smil- OUR PERSONAL STORIES A long, strange trip 34 March 2011