"It's a beautiful Spring evening, you're
driving home with the windows open after just finding out you received a promotion and a large raise. What song are you blasting in the car?"
Singing Winds, Crying Beast/Black Magic Woman
It's all about the 101.
Nothing captures the above words in my heart like this song and the road it must be meant to evoke. The incredibly promising air, always the hint of both seaside and industry, Mother Nature's chenille bedspread of linty shrubs dotting brown hills and the magical mystery of a wind that says you're never too late. I equate my first trip on Cali's handiest highway - from the heart of Los Angeles to the human clouds of Humboldt, thru paradise & parking lot - to Lewis & Clark reaching its Oregonian portion 200 years before.
In Sept of 1970, two months before the birth of my eldest son, i was made aware that the brothers of the high school girl pregnant with him were making serious noise about doing me in for knockin up sis. While mourning the death of Jimi Hendrix in my basement bedroom w copious amounts of psychedelics, i decided i would have to take them seriously. packed my Boy Scout haversack & sleeping roll and stuck my thumb out on what is now I-95 in Salem MA. I was a month shy of my 16th b'day.
Nights of confusion, fear, loss & deprivation, not to mention negotiating the I80-90 loops of the midwestern highway system, had rape attempted on me by a Wyoming motorist and, after winning the tussle with a violent act, walked the last 80-90 miles off-road til i was as sure i was in Utah as i was that the entire Wyoming State Police force stalked my progress.
Made straight for the Haight when i hit mythic California, but found i was a few yrs late for any of the Hippie Miracle but the drugs and crowding of desperate young souls. After several days, i made my way to the nearest highway for points south. Great fortune found me a ride that was going to Monterrey and he made it sound bright to go the whole way.
Within a week, this New England boy had set up in the scorekeeper's booth of a seasonally abandoned downtown stadium in a town where, miracles of miracles, the the temp was the same winter & summer, night & day. A few blocks walk to a strand with tourist & the wealthy from whom to beg stake or steak, some pockets of hippiedom in the legendary Cannery Row, with promise of work if i got desperate.
Having bummed a Niners game at Kezar up in SF to great profit when i was first up there, i decided to hitch back north for a weekend. A Fort Ord (as gone now as Kezar) serviceman got me out to the highway and the first folks to pick me up were a fam curious about my lifestyle and my patter was attractive enough for them to buy me dinner @ Sambo's (yeah, there was a restaurant chain named Sambo's then) to better enjoy my tale. I found myself working that spiel on several occasions when i was hungry, always to the nice folk of the 101 during the almost 2 yrs that Monterrey was the base of operations of my runaway life.
I imagine i first heard Abraxas from an 8-track on one of those rides, for i know i knew it when i heard it f'real. Walking one morning from my scorekeeper's booth to the main drag, i heard rock & rollmusic coming from the grand ol' Golden State Theater. It was Elvin Bishop's group in what was a popular rehearsal hall for many Bay Area bands. Someone who saw me more than once sitting at an exit to listen when he went out for smokes invited me in, i got to know staff and was allowed in to thrill in sound more often than not. Next was Santana, playing music that was more surprising and wonderful than any portion of rock i had heard to that point. Miragloso!
When i hear the cymbals roll on the road to Black Magic Woman, it rolls down the window to the most instant & lifting joy i know. nufced
@SteevieG