It was a three day concert at Reggae On The River in Northern California. My friend had two tickets and invited me the day before. I accepted.

Our plan was simple enough. We would drive up Highway 1 nonstop, make camp by sunset and dose on LSD for breakfast first thing the next morning. They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day, right? Two hits over easy with a side of trails sounds like a cosmically, nutritious meal. At least it has a "D" in it like vitamin D.

I tossed a sleeping bag in the trunk of his 1967 Cadillac that looked like Hunter Thompson packed it and with a full tank, radio blaring and a joint burning we were on our way.

Reggae is cool. Good vibes.

Reggae On The River back then was held at French's Camp, a property located on a bend in the Eel River owned by the Arthur family near Piercy, California. We got there and setup camp down river a ways from the main event, passed another joint and gathered some wood.

We built a driftwood fire that attracted a rasta crowd and played guitars singing Bob Marley songs. Reefer was available in all directions. People were passing joints to people passing joints. Crazy.

It's funny how the nose knows when quality weed is around. The smell of ganja waves crashed on the shores of my nostrils luring me like Pied Piper playing his flute. Only this flute was burning trees.

Dream Job

Speaking of smoking good weed. Have you heard of @ozmaster? Go check out his profile. This guy has found a way to get paid to smoke weed on Steemit. Damb! I wish I thought of that.

Year ago I attended a book signing after reading a book called,Do What You Love And The Money Will Follow, by Marsha Sintar and it got me daydreaming about my perfect job. Getting paid to smoke weed. Hats off to you @ozmaster. I hear your music and I'm following you.

Back To The Story

Next morning we had a "quick breakfast" and got to the show. The music was awesome and everything was going great and then I met a girl. (Isn't this where most stories get interesting?)

This girl made my skin burn like a warm shot of tequila. Hell, if I was tequila worm I wished she would swallow me whole. She was the classiest, Rastafarian princess I had ever seen.

Until you see the @ganjagirls on Steemit

My head was playing the Marley tune, Jammin', hope you like jammin' too. I was trying to be cool but I couldn't keep my eyes off her. Finally she caught me staring and didn't look away like most people do. She just stared right back at me with her sunshiny, Mona Lisa smile. I felt like a puppy wagging its tail, so excited and trying not to pee on the rug.

My tequila sunburn gave me the courage to walk up to her and I was about to say something when she said, "Hi,you want to do some juicy bee?'. I had no idea what she was talking about but I sure as hell wanted to do it.

He Said She Said

"Juicy bee?", I said. "No, Toosy Bee", she said. "What's Toosy Bee, I said. "Not Toosy Bee silly. 2CB!", she said.

She gave me a crash course in pharmacology explaining the wonders of this new designer drug as her voice faded into the background of my one track mind. I was going in and at that moment, if it meant taking god knows what for a slice of her ganga pie, then let me be the first to dig in.

I was already high as fuck as @highasfuck can be. What's the worst that could happen? Either I OD and have to rush to the hospital to get my stomach pumped or I fall in love with her and get my heart smashed into a million pieces. It's not so bad. I can take it. So I said to her the magic word. My most favorite word in the English language. Yes.

She dragged me to the river while the radio in my head changed stations and the song, "Take Me To The River", by the Talking Heads came on. My resistance resisted.

Two Sarongs Don't Make A Right

We stood at the waters edge, both wrapped in sarongs that barely covered us when she produced the pills. We ceremoniously ingested them like holy communion wafers and groped at each other like teenagers who have never heard of confession. I felt like Adam for a minute under the apple tree but quickly forgave myself. I always liked apples.

The drugs and our libidos were taking full effect when she
snake charmed me further down the river to be alone with me. Like a Trojan horse, I sinfully obeyed.

We found a secluded spot to slip off our sarongs and I merrily followed her down the stream. The looks on our faces left no doubts where our thoughts were flowing. Splashing in passion we bathed in our divinity, emerging baptized. Born again and again and again.

We literally made love on the rocks. Neil Diamond would have been proud.

The Morning After

Peeling my eyelids open the next day I thought I was still tripping. I'm flat on my back naked and starting at thousands of little baby frogs. Frogs all over the river bank and perched on my legs, arms and chest. I was covered in a blanket of frogs. They were real alright and in no hurry to leave. I chuckled to myself, disturbing their meeting. The irony of being covered in frogs at French's Camp was not lost upon me.

Peering straight up into the sky I notice a half dozen buzzards circling above me when I hear something to my left. Rolling my head down and to the left shows me two vultures staring right back at me only a few feet away.

Was I Just Buzzing Or Were Those Buzzards Waiting To Eat Me?

They looked like they were late for lunch and wondering how much longer I was going to take to die. I could have sworn I saw one peek impatiently at its watch, like I'm holding up their plans.

Finding oneself face to face with a group of buzzards first thing in the morning is a sobering experience. Makes one reevaluate their life choices, but at least you know where you stand with buzzards. There's no gray areas of confusion.

I moved to sit up as the frogs hopped for cover when I realized I was extremely sunburned on only the front side of my body and white as milk on my backside. How long have I been laying here I wondered. Long enough to look like lunch for a group of condors. Or maybe it was just one condor who called his friends up and invited them over for a BBQ. I hope they like it well done.

Gathering what senses I had left, I brushed the frogs off, shooed the buzzards away promising them a rain check and dialed in my inner compass to find my way back to the concert. Juicy Bee girl, my belongings and my sarong were long gone.

Sure I would hear music by now as I headed in the direction of what I thought would be the show, but as I turned the corner it became clear that no one was here. No cars in the parking lot. No stage or crew. Only the porta-pottys (aka honey buckets) stood like soldiers reporting for duty. What day was this? How long have I been laying like a corpse by the river?

I couldn't call anyone. The nearest payphone was miles away and I didn't have any money on me. Cellphones didn't exist then. When you wanted to find someone in those days and they were not sitting by their land line, you actually had to go find them. Sounds exhausting, right?

Grazing the aftermath of the concert grounds, sure I would find some scrap of clothing; a towel perhaps or some shorts or bathing suit, but no. No such luck.

Don't Pick Up Naked Strangers

Tearing a low, hanging branch from a cedar tree to act as a makeshift fig leaf and, again feeling like Adam, I tiptoed to the highway.

It was two hours away to my house by car and I had to find a way all the way home. Imagine getting dropped off half way there with no clothes and no wallet or money to buy some.

Horns honked as semi trucks and Winnebagos sped past me. Holding a branch in one hand and my thumb out with the other, I took solace knowing the blush of my embarrassment was camouflaged by my beet-red sunburn.

One guy pulled over and I thought I was saved. He rolled down his window and in a thick, red-neck drawl he said, "You want some tanning lotion? You look a little red." Begging him for a ride, he refused. Said he doesn't pick up hitchhikers.

Luckily, a friend drove past me about an hour later and pulled over to offer me a ride once she stopped having seizures from laughter. Took her a full twenty minutes before she could drive again. Every time I see her she reminds me of that day, as if I could ever forget.

So I bet you're wondering. Was she worth it? The juicy bee girl I mean? The answer is my favorite word in the whole world. YES!

Thanks for reading my post

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