Let’s take a ride now, you and me. We’ll take the money we made from this one-time coke deal, we’ll roll it all up into a garden hose, and we’ll stuff it down the gas tank of our chopper. A gas tank adorned with the Stars & Stripes, of course. Because this is a story about Freedom, and Truth, and the American Dream!
Ha! No, it’s not. Just ignore that camera, man! We’re just chilling here, maxin’, relaxin’… We’ll take a trip, you and me, in more ways than one; we’ll ride together through 1969, when the world was still wide open… But not free, no. We’ll run into the boundaries of that so-called freedom along the way. Yes, we will. We’ll encounter all sorts of bigots and narrow-minded cavemen with clubs and shotguns, because “talkin’ about it and bein’ it, that’s two different thangs. I mean, it’s real hard to be free when you are bought and sold in the marketplace. Of course, don’t ever tell anybody that they’re not free, ’cause then they’re gonna get real busy killin’ and maimin’ to prove to you that they are. Oh, yeah, they’re gonna talk to you, and talk to you, and talk to you about individual freedom. But they see a free individual, it’s gonna scare ’em.”
But, before all that, we’ll ride, man… We’ll start here, in L.A., and we’ll go to Mardi Gras in New Orleans. It’s the summer of ’69, and we’re going to film this trip! (Or die trying, haha!) Script? Plot? Ha! No way, man! We’ll just make it up, quite literally, as we go along. Just ignore the fact that the director, who is also the main star, and all his fellow actors, including cameramen, sound guys, and extras (who, more often than not, are just random strangers we’ll find by the side of the road), are all stoned, drunk, tripping, or some wild & insane combo of that—that’s part of the fun, man! We’re making a movie about the sixties during the sixties! It doesn’t get any better than that! So, yes, we’re all stoned & drunk! It’ll be a goddamn miracle if this thing gets made at all, but who cares! Let’s ride!
There will be a time, you know, when people will look back at this, this particular summer of this particular year, and call it all sorts of big things. Legendary. Iconic. Big, heavy words like that, you know? But in truth? In all reality, we’re just riding, man. Riding on the open road, and whatever comes our way, comes our way. We have no home. No roots. No bank account. We’re not tied down by all that square bullshit. Sure, we’ll be cold sometimes when we can’t find a place to sleep, but that just means we’ll camp out in the desert, man. We’ll have ourselves a little fire, smoke a joint or two, or three, or twelve, look up at the stars, and contemplate what is probably the Granddaddy of all conspiracy theories ever: “That was a – UFO beamin’ back at ya. Me and Eric Heisman was down in Mexico two weeks ago, we seen 40 of ’em flyin’ in formation. They – they -they’ve got bases all over the world now, you know. They’ve been comin’ here ever since 1946, when the scientists first started bouncin’ radar beams off of the moon. And they have been livin’ and workin’ among us, in vast quantities, ever since. The government knows all about ’em.”
Said George, after smoking his first-ever joint. Ha! You remember him, don’t you? That drunk lawyer we picked up in New Mexico, after we’ve been thrown in jail for riding with a parade without a permit? (What? Yeah, we got arrested for that! By those same people that like to talk about freedom so much! Now, ain’t that a hoot? Yeah, it is..!) Anyway, George got us out, and he decided to ride with us. He was a drunk, you see, an alcoholic, but not as square as the others. We thought he was kinda cool, so we brought him along. That night, in the desert, he smoked his first joint. And then he came up with that mega-swell UFO story, man! It was hilarious. And then, the very next night, a bunch of locals attacked us in the middle of the night and beat him to death.
Yeah. So much for that famed ‘freedom’ in this great, great country of ours. Billy and me, we got away with some cuts and bruises. We gathered George’s belongings, wrapped him in his sleeping bag, and took off. No, we didn’t bury him. Why would we? Let the coyotes have him. Fuck that ‘fallen comrade’ bullshit. We left him in the desert and rode on. Mardi Gras was waiting.
But first we met The Stranger on the Highway! Remember him? He gave us that acid and showed us the way to that hippie commune! Flaky dude, that was… He came “from the city“. What city? “It doesn’t make any difference what city; all cities are alike. That’s why I’m out here now. Cause I’m *from* the city, a long *way* from the city, and that’s where I wanna be right now.” Yeah, man! Absolutely, totally! I dig it! Get on here, man, and show us those hippies…
And we found them, alright! Living out in the desert, trying to make it with just God’s eternal love and the unshakable belief of being oh, so right. Or, as the preacher put it:
“We have planted our seeds. We ask – that our efforts be worthy – to produce simple food – for simple taste. We ask that our efforts be rewarded. We thank you for the food we eat from other hands – that we may share it with our fellow man – and be even more generous – what it is from our own. Thank you for our place – to make a stand.“
Yeah, man… Sadly, though:
“What happened here, these people got here late in the summer, too late to plant. But, the weather was beautiful and it was easy livin’ and everything was fine and then came that winter. Now, there were 40 or 50 of ’em here livin’ in this one-room place down here. They had nothin’ to eat, starvin’, out by the side of the road lookin’ for dead horses, anything they could get ahold of. Now, there’s 18 or 20 of ’em left. And they’re city kids. Look at ’em. But, they’re gettin’ this crop in. They’re gonna stay here until it’s harvested. That’s the whole thing.“
So, basically, they started out all idealistic and happy, but because they were stupid, they couldn’t even produce their own food and died of starvation. You tell me if there’s any sort of symbolism in that. Yeah, and while you do, we’ll just ride on. Up next: the Big Easy…
Oh, yeah! This calls for a whole new paragraph. We made it! Finally, we reached New Orleans, and just in time as well! Mardi Gras, man! Carnival! Everyone’s dressed up, everyone’s drunk & stoned & happy, and ready and willing to party! We picked up two hookers, Karen and Mary, and we dove straight in! Drinking, blowing, snorting, swallowing… We took it all, did it all, enjoyed it all… This is what it means to be free, man. Live your life the way you want. Fùck the world. Finally, we took the girls to a cemetery and took that acid The Stranger gave us. And Jesus-fucking-Christ, did we trip! Yeah, man! It was awesome… The next day, when we were sobered up just enough to stand upright, we ditched the girls and took off. No reason to hang out around here for too long. Gotta move on, man. Keep on riding.
And then they shot us. First Billy, then me. For no reason at all. We were just riding along, some guy in his truck passes us, takes out a shotgun, and blasts Billy off the road. When I wanted to get help for him, the guy turned around and shot me. Just like that. And it was right then and there that I realized: it’s all bullshit, man. All that talk about freedom. Like Billy said before, all they ever do is talk and talk, but when they encounter an actual free human being, they don’t understand. Their cavemen brains couldn’t possibly grasp the concept of real freedom, and what they don’t understand scares them, and what scares them must die. So you either play by their rules, or not at all. Real freedom is dying by the side of the road.
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