The Bus Came By (continued from previous post)

That was my first time on Haight Street. There were even more familiar faces in front of the Full Moon Saloon than there were at the Psychedelic Shop. I had a very at home feeling and the thought of going across town did not appeal to me, but I felt it was important to stick with Fred to insure our invitation to Mill Valley. I asked how we were going to get to Broadway for the Kingfish show and Fred said "the dead on bus". I had seen that bus, named by its license plate, at many of the shows I had been to on the East Coast.

As we walked up to the end of Haight Street to Stanyan Street, the Dead On bus rolled up and I got on. There were few seats near the front and the rest was carpeted. Lots of people got on. I sat against the drivers side wall on the floor near the back wheel well. The city freeway system was still intact being that it was prior to the 1989 earthquake. From the floor of the bus, seeing out was only at an upper angle. The combination of being vulnerable to the unknown, and being spun around the curves of the freeway without being able to see much, was a dizzying experience.

When we got off the bus, a different cityscape appeared. The ChiChi club was small inside. I was not interested in seeing the show. I just wanted to make sure I stayed with my friends and that no one would try to mess with our belonging that had been trustingly left in a pile against the wall. I chose to keep an eye on things so that my friends could dance and so on. I had been burned earlier that year in Rhode Island at a Dead show and my trust had since waned as my awareness heightened. As I sat on our side of what was now a larger pile of peoples stuff, a man sat next to me with a Grateful Dead cap on and eyes dilated fully.

He introduced himself as Rebel.

After the show we went outside to find three things:

One, less than friendly police officers encouraging all to keep moving along as they brandished there billy clubs.

Two, no more buses crossing the Golden Gate to our next destination.

Three,Rebel.

Rebel lived around the corner in a room on the third floor of a hotel like building. There was one bathroom per floor. He was to have no guests. The landlord and his wife lived at the bottom of the stairs.

Rebel invited all six of us to stay in his room and we all just fit with enough room to open the door if one needed to get out to use the bathroom. We all had our sleeping bags and small packs with us and all went well...until morning.

That is when we found out about the no guest thing. Rebel clued us in and told us the exit strategy was that he would walk four of us down, then Jeff and I would follow on our own two minutes later to meet up outside. If the landlord was alerted by noise on the stairs from them leaving, Jeff and I were to tell him what he heard was us going up to check and see if our friend was in. The landlord didn't buy it and locked his grip on the stair railings to prohibit us from leaving as he ordered his wife to call the police. He forced us back up to the third floor and demanded us to show him which room we stayed in. Halfway down the hall where it widened, we turned and dodged him running as he chased us down the stairs yelling. At the bottom of the stairs was the large italian wife wielding a rolling pin. Chicken was the game, she retreated from our pace behind her door and we made it to the street full tilt following Rebel's directions and eventually caught up to our friends. Minutes later I was enjoying squeezed to order carrot juice for the first time in my life. We followed Rebel to his friends house so that we could all chip in and buy some herbs there.

During the morning after the New Years Eve Show, I made a resolution on Ocean Beach after being up all night. That was to drive back here in my van for the next years shows.

And I did.

(To be continued)