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Show RFVER Time seemed to be breathing down my neck, though I was healthy as a mule. I don't know where I got these bogus premonitions-though it must have had something to do with the general cult of "Live hard, love fast, die young, and leave a good looking corpse" that was popular at the time. It was also tied into my identification with my Uncle Bill, who vanished so mysteriously. I suppose it was also partly a political reaction. My study of history had convinced me that the Vietnam War would eventually escalate into Armageddon, which made long-range planning seem silly. I lived for the moment, because tomorrow we could be fallout. One Saturday afternoon while I was building the shack on Lonestar, some friends brought me the largest pup of a litter of noble descent from some of the most notorious mutts in Santa Cruz. He was yellow, charming, and dumb. I named him Thor for his great size, greater appetite, and fine golden color. He ate prodigious amounts of food and grew to great size. We became fast friends. It was a timeless season. Perching at Lonestar was like sitting on top of the world. I left only when I had to. Lonestar was famous among the freaks of Santa Cruz, and several times a week longhairs would come out to get high and watch the sun go down. There wasn't a grocery in Bonny Doon (it was seven miles to the nearest loaf of bread), but there was a bar down at the crossroads, next to the turkey ranch, and I began to acquire a real taste for beer. Smoking reefer at Lonestar Peak was far out, but a cold beer on a hot Lonestar afternoon was even closer to paradise. My love affair with Rosie unraveled. I had begun to philander, and there's nothing that will destroy love like philandering. Rosie was getting into woman's lib and it led us into a number of weird arguments. I could not see that the white -126- |