The Russian River, The Manhunt, and Elephant Man!

From Last time: I figured that I was safe and that there wasn't a whole lot that could go wrong on this family adventure.

This was not just an escape from Venice...I was on a journey. This was more than just a trip to Northern California. I was determined  to find out what love is...all about. I heard about it enough.

The Beatles sang all about love.  I saw the words painted on the sides of brightly colored Volkswagen vans that read "Make Love not War."

"I can't stop now, I've traveled so far" I wanted to know what other people knew - what normal people understood about things like love.

I climbed into the back of my dad's station wagon with apprehension as if testing to see how cold the water was...testing to see how deep could it be and to see how dangerous the current...was.

I got in slowly...with the hopeful expectation that this journey was a path that would lead me to connect with my brothers in a special way that - brothers and sisters do in regular families... like I'm sure the Lennons do.  They're normal.

So off we went!

Our low-down-and-dirty caravan was an eclectic potpourri of hippies and regular people...in a percentage ratio of 92:8.  Me, my dad and my two sisters were the four normal people among the hordes of "herb-smoking" irregulars crammed into our station wagon and into "Red" Sasson's conversion van - as we took off through Santa Monica and headed up the coast route to the Russian River.

We passed the red beach-house on PCH at the foot of Tuna Canyon drive. My eye began twitching and my stomach churned thinking about the Hippie Fest and the betrayal of rope incident. It made me feel as though the Wolf Pack couldn't be trusted and that I shouldn't let my guard down. But since dad was with us, I figured they would be on their best behavior and that I would be safe!


What could possible go wrong?



You couldn't blame someone for having gas...could you?  Kurt and his Water Polo friend, Mario, had both graduated from Saint Monica's. Kurt was famous (scratch that out)... he was infamous for the lethal power of his toxic farts, but was a mere 6 on a Richter-scale compared to the seismic phenomenon of Mario. Deep within, Mario had the unbelievable capacity to blow up an entire city block―that at times measured a 10 on the Richter-scale along with unrelenting aftershocks measuring well above 8.

 (Here is the Poster for the disaster movie that came out last year - 1969)

Every fifteen minutes "Krakatoa" erupted that caused the caravan to pull over so we could exit...take cover and find fresh air.
Long-haired bodies dramatically gagging (as if on stage) stumbling out of the car―pushing―shoving―laughing!      

Point Dume - BAM! "Krakato - East of Java" Mario exploded - mayhem ensued.

Like clockwork - another aftershock - Mario clears the car!

Past Sycamore at "Sand Hill"  Bam! A Mario Explosion. Caravan pulls over giving us the time and excuse to run to the top and slide down on pieces of cardboard.
                                               
ONLY!

Only my dad was building an immunity to the stink and grew more and more impatient with the delays.

THEN!

Then he remembered the button: later to be called, "The button from Hell"

Our top-of-the-line, Ford Esquire wagon was loaded and came with door locks, power windows and all the bells and whistles... One bell and whistle was a button on the driver-side door-panel that locked all the windows.

After we got through Ventura, my hilarious father rolled up all the windows and locked them shut every time Mario exploded with flatulence in something on the scale of Mount Vesuvius that smelled like your head had been forced down the hole of an outhouse on a pig farm.

This might have been funny for most people - but this did not take into consideration my "Superpowers."

My dad thought he was being funny. He laughed as fights broke out and I heaved my guts up in an empty Folgers can that was supposed to be used as a "thunder bucket." A thunder bucket was the traveling port-a-potty all the boys were supposed to use instead of pulling over to make potty-stops - it sounded like thunder whenever anyone had to take a pee. It was gross, but that's the way it was.

Anyway, you could probably guess how much happier the boys were that I was being tortured to the point where I vomited every time Mario "pooped" his pants!

I wanna know what love is

I want you to show me

I wanna feel what love is

I know you can show me...

After the flatulence terrorism we finally - FINALLY - arrived at Roger Sasson's new property - up at the Russian River. From all the vomiting, I felt drained of life as if having gone through grand-mal seizures!   

Everyone had a great time!  

Me, however, I needed the break.  I needed to run away and hide to get my strength back!  

"In my life there's been heartache and pain

I don't know if I can face it again

Can't stop now, I've traveled so far

To change this lonely life"

Sweaty! Stinky! Sticky long-haired bodies squeezed out of the car like toothpaste from a tube under pressure...out we poured like a swarm of blonde locust!   

I rolled onto the dirt like a sailor returning from long voyage and kissed the ground. "Terra-firma!" 

I looked over my shoulder to see the Wolf Pack assembling in a secret meeting that intentionally excluded me and dad. 

There were adults here. I was safe―right? They would protect me if the boys had some sinister scheme to bury me...or to tie me to a tree...or to put me in a straight jacket and throw me over a cliff. 

This couldn't happen―not here―not when all of my physical strength had been drained from my 98-pound-body.  I was too weak to fight them off.  They must have been having a tribal council about the timing and place for them to smoke a little "herb." 

That's it! 

THEN I HEARD MY NAME! Endorphins pumped - adrenaline flowed - my heart raced... brain cells synapsed - Fight or Flight!  Like the Grinch when he held the slay of stolen toys over his head - I now had the strength of five 180-pound hippies.  

I was in danger...and I wanted dad to protect me. Hoping not to incite them (like wasp in a hive), I was careful not to draw their attention. Slowly, I walked in dad's direction.  WHEN I SAW the crowd break like a football team after a huddle and ominously move in my direction - I knew all was not right.  

THEN HEARD THEM SHOUT MY NAME! I ran!  

"Mark" screamed one of the Alpha Males. "We're going to give you a 30 second head-start, then we're coming after you."

Zealously, Erick began pumping the daisy BB gun. This was serious. They meant business. Ironically the MANHUNT included peace-loving hippies armed with BB guns and armed for war. 

     

They didn't care what my dad said... they were coming after me! Life wasn't fair, but I couldn't complain because dad had always said, "Life isn't fair."  

We were in a flat plateau in the bottom of an natural amphitheater surrounded by towering pines and all kinds of scrubby looking brush... I HAD THIRTY SECONDS! 

I ran up up a hill for my life!  The hordes soon took flight and came after me like blood thirsty ZOMBIES... 

Up I ran... "DAD!" I yelled.  Nothing! I was on my own.  

The hippie Wolf Pack - all of them - fanned out and came up hill after me. 

In my mental-sickness, I felt honored to be counted such a worthy prey. 

BUT...I was tired of the game. I was tired of pits and ropes and electrical wires and pink-bellies and the "knock-out" game. I was tired of being chased and dragged and shot at with BB guns and needle-tipped arrows... I hated that fact that bigger people found pleasure in hurting weaker members of the pack.  I hated feeling left out. I hated the betrayal that was nothing more than a funny game to them. I hated not knowing what human kindness and what love felt like... I just wanted to be included. 

There was a lot of talk about Love it two years ago at Haight-Asbury... "The Summer of Love" everyone seemed to know what it was all about - except me!  

John and Yoko knew―right? 

I ran for my life... UNTIL! 

Until, I spotted a shrub with clusters of three leaves that were turning shades of ugly red that I had recognized from Camp Slauson in Malibu. 

I been on snipe hunts a thousand times and never got poison oak. I think I was immune. I wasn't sure, but decided to take a chance anyway as the throng of blonde-haired Zombies closed in. I dove head first into a giant shrub and hid inside.  Then it dawned on me... "Hey stupid dummy" the voice in my head said... "you have three older brothers who are crazy allergic to toxicodendron diversilobum" I ripped two large twigs of the dangerously toxic plants and charged after the delirious band of brothers who took off running in the opposite direction.

What a sight. Markie D was now chasing 300 hippies down a hill!  

I didn't care if I got the horrible plague - it was a risk I was willing to take.  At the moment, all I could think about was that fact that I was winning...all 98 pounds (dripping wet) against an army of that weighed in at 4,228 pounds collectively. 

"The bigger they are. The harder they fall. One and all."  

Did I mention anything about the "Elephant Man?" Oh, I thought I did. Sorry to leave you hanging, but I'll save that for the next time in the big conclusion of who got what and how!