Rear View Jamming (part one dash a)
The First run was in late 1991. Maybe November or December, if it was in 1992 it was between January and February.
the last one was in like two thousand and something.
No more.
Never again.
the runs consisted mainly of marijuana.
Sometimes we would also be bringing stereo equipment or televisions and typewriters. Twice we took Record players, once we took a pinball machine. The most pot I ever took in a short run was one carload. Filled trunk and the back end of the car up tho the top of the back seats. The car flew.
The most we took in one long run was probably 7 - 11 cars worth. we'd smush it down to two or three returning cars. Big ones. Cadillacs usually, that or station wagons. No motorbikes. No sidecars, no trikes. No marks no way. Plain. The 7- 11 cars one was from Southern Humboldt to Reno Nevada. We left lake county at 6pm. Dark. Cold. Had to double up on the clothes and take an extra backpack full of extra stuff in case i needed it. Rain. Softly falling rain kept the lights from peoples houses with their rainbow palettes and seasons greetings signs up in lights reflecting on the pavement while we left town. I wondered if anything was going to happen. Was I even going to return home to my Mom, cats and comic books, and if I was going to go to for soda with the girl that lived down the street a bit. I needed freedom, I thought. I guess. I guess I thought UI neede to feel "accepted", to feel, I don't know, Alive... but according to whom? (this is easy for me to talk about it now, but then i was up to my neck.)
I tried many times to tell people that I didn't like crime that much and that drugs scared the crap out of me, but the majority of options in such a place, for a person that's easily tempted like myself, are quite quite dangerous. Not only that, but when booze, drugs, and crime are the things to do, and partying is not only a thing that you do after work or school, but something you do twenty four seven, one can lose footing in reality and slip out side the lines of rules, law, morals, and self respect. Ones own habits can turn against them and bite the junkie that feeds them.
the layout of a typical run:
Dinner or lunch was usually at the truck stop on the north end of Ukiah. Rain or shine. 3pm or am, if we had to meet up, we had to meet up. Back in the days of payphones and having to wait around for call backs sipping truck stop coffee and ice water, so much so that one had to ask someone else to watch the payphone to go leave a piss, not tell them what it was about, but to just let them know that I'd be right back. Systematic. Nowadays that shit wouldn't work at all. Were the times simpler???
Loading the cars was easy. smashed down trash bags and trash bags outside of them, and more bags outside of those. turkey bags. more garbage bags. luggage. Ataris, old stereos and 8 track players, furniture. filled it till we couldn't fill it anymore.
We would set up a prep shop in the sheds and garages of the drop zones. Prep Sessions consisted of beers and cigarettes, whiskey and lots of coffee. Some of my comrades would get wired on low grade meth and coke, while waiting for the pot to cruise in to go out, we would get amped on music, watch television and play video games, as well as power strip the guts out of some consumer electronics to be able to accommodate the storage of high grade buds. Surprisingly, Most of the radios, stereos and other junk we ripped up ACTUALLY worked. We simply put the guts in a big box and kept it in the car that the stuff was in, so that people could listen to their sometimes free tapes, LP's, and 8 tracks, play with occasional video game cartridges, controls, and other accessories that we'd pack into the mess for them to enjoy.
When the smoke arrived the bags were brought into the workroom after business was done in another room, we worked on strategy, and fine tuned and upgraded the CB radios that we would be talking on soon. From car to car we talked in such scrambled ways that it was ridiculous. There was No way for anyone to figure out what the hell was going on if they were listening. We had pages of code scrawled out in composition books and stenographers notebooks with codes to switch channel, code-word set, change drop command, and Urgency codes like "I need something from the land of clear blue water." Meant lets stop at the next shop and pick up a sixer and have a pow-wow.
Too much Fun, sometimes.
The longest haul cosisted of a 24 stop 24 drop sequence run that we should have only been on the road for 12 hours to do. It took 16. One car didn't get sold. We smoked and drank the leftover profits. Why?
What the hell was wrong? Was that it? (Why did I get hooked on that "rush", that "feeling", risk, chance, danger?) Why did I cross that borderline. The stress of a 15 year old kid who looks like a total dweeb driving carloads and carloads of marijuana is nothing like I had ever experienced before . I have no clue why I felt the need to act that way or do the things I was doing. I wasn't doing right for me, I was on remote control... A Robot Zombie Fuck. Peer pressure??? HiveMind??? I should have been at home drinking tea and playing games on my Commodore 128. Bad enough I smoked cigs, then I had to get into liquor and drugs and fucking trafficking. Lying... All the lying. It overflowed. It's done.
The people that I was hanging out with treated me as best they could, I guess. They didn't know how to deal with a kid who was into punk rock, something that they hated, that was born in Hollywood, and just doing his weird artistic thing, and was a bit flamboyant, and didn't go to high school. They didn't kow what to do, NOR did I for that matter.
I love books. Still love books. I Ain't gonna stop lovin' books.
The required amounts of money would be given to team heads, people who would give commands and directions to drivers. Drivers were Equipped with money for some gas and cigs. Being 15, I had to have people with me over 21 to get the cigs and beers and stuff for afterwords and during breaks. It also made it easy for me to be able to do the hard push driving, the fast stuff, and get it over with, and let soemone else take the wheel on the way back. They alsways made sure that I could go to any music shop and get the tapes that I wanted, or CD's and vinyl for when i was at home. They knew that music meant a lot to me, and that a soundtrack was not only a good perk for the drive but for me, a necessity.
-to be continued-
the last one was in like two thousand and something.
No more.
Never again.
the runs consisted mainly of marijuana.
Sometimes we would also be bringing stereo equipment or televisions and typewriters. Twice we took Record players, once we took a pinball machine. The most pot I ever took in a short run was one carload. Filled trunk and the back end of the car up tho the top of the back seats. The car flew.
The most we took in one long run was probably 7 - 11 cars worth. we'd smush it down to two or three returning cars. Big ones. Cadillacs usually, that or station wagons. No motorbikes. No sidecars, no trikes. No marks no way. Plain. The 7- 11 cars one was from Southern Humboldt to Reno Nevada. We left lake county at 6pm. Dark. Cold. Had to double up on the clothes and take an extra backpack full of extra stuff in case i needed it. Rain. Softly falling rain kept the lights from peoples houses with their rainbow palettes and seasons greetings signs up in lights reflecting on the pavement while we left town. I wondered if anything was going to happen. Was I even going to return home to my Mom, cats and comic books, and if I was going to go to for soda with the girl that lived down the street a bit. I needed freedom, I thought. I guess. I guess I thought UI neede to feel "accepted", to feel, I don't know, Alive... but according to whom? (this is easy for me to talk about it now, but then i was up to my neck.)
I tried many times to tell people that I didn't like crime that much and that drugs scared the crap out of me, but the majority of options in such a place, for a person that's easily tempted like myself, are quite quite dangerous. Not only that, but when booze, drugs, and crime are the things to do, and partying is not only a thing that you do after work or school, but something you do twenty four seven, one can lose footing in reality and slip out side the lines of rules, law, morals, and self respect. Ones own habits can turn against them and bite the junkie that feeds them.
the layout of a typical run:
Dinner or lunch was usually at the truck stop on the north end of Ukiah. Rain or shine. 3pm or am, if we had to meet up, we had to meet up. Back in the days of payphones and having to wait around for call backs sipping truck stop coffee and ice water, so much so that one had to ask someone else to watch the payphone to go leave a piss, not tell them what it was about, but to just let them know that I'd be right back. Systematic. Nowadays that shit wouldn't work at all. Were the times simpler???
Loading the cars was easy. smashed down trash bags and trash bags outside of them, and more bags outside of those. turkey bags. more garbage bags. luggage. Ataris, old stereos and 8 track players, furniture. filled it till we couldn't fill it anymore.
We would set up a prep shop in the sheds and garages of the drop zones. Prep Sessions consisted of beers and cigarettes, whiskey and lots of coffee. Some of my comrades would get wired on low grade meth and coke, while waiting for the pot to cruise in to go out, we would get amped on music, watch television and play video games, as well as power strip the guts out of some consumer electronics to be able to accommodate the storage of high grade buds. Surprisingly, Most of the radios, stereos and other junk we ripped up ACTUALLY worked. We simply put the guts in a big box and kept it in the car that the stuff was in, so that people could listen to their sometimes free tapes, LP's, and 8 tracks, play with occasional video game cartridges, controls, and other accessories that we'd pack into the mess for them to enjoy.
When the smoke arrived the bags were brought into the workroom after business was done in another room, we worked on strategy, and fine tuned and upgraded the CB radios that we would be talking on soon. From car to car we talked in such scrambled ways that it was ridiculous. There was No way for anyone to figure out what the hell was going on if they were listening. We had pages of code scrawled out in composition books and stenographers notebooks with codes to switch channel, code-word set, change drop command, and Urgency codes like "I need something from the land of clear blue water." Meant lets stop at the next shop and pick up a sixer and have a pow-wow.
Too much Fun, sometimes.
The longest haul cosisted of a 24 stop 24 drop sequence run that we should have only been on the road for 12 hours to do. It took 16. One car didn't get sold. We smoked and drank the leftover profits. Why?
What the hell was wrong? Was that it? (Why did I get hooked on that "rush", that "feeling", risk, chance, danger?) Why did I cross that borderline. The stress of a 15 year old kid who looks like a total dweeb driving carloads and carloads of marijuana is nothing like I had ever experienced before . I have no clue why I felt the need to act that way or do the things I was doing. I wasn't doing right for me, I was on remote control... A Robot Zombie Fuck. Peer pressure??? HiveMind??? I should have been at home drinking tea and playing games on my Commodore 128. Bad enough I smoked cigs, then I had to get into liquor and drugs and fucking trafficking. Lying... All the lying. It overflowed. It's done.
The people that I was hanging out with treated me as best they could, I guess. They didn't know how to deal with a kid who was into punk rock, something that they hated, that was born in Hollywood, and just doing his weird artistic thing, and was a bit flamboyant, and didn't go to high school. They didn't kow what to do, NOR did I for that matter.
I love books. Still love books. I Ain't gonna stop lovin' books.
The required amounts of money would be given to team heads, people who would give commands and directions to drivers. Drivers were Equipped with money for some gas and cigs. Being 15, I had to have people with me over 21 to get the cigs and beers and stuff for afterwords and during breaks. It also made it easy for me to be able to do the hard push driving, the fast stuff, and get it over with, and let soemone else take the wheel on the way back. They alsways made sure that I could go to any music shop and get the tapes that I wanted, or CD's and vinyl for when i was at home. They knew that music meant a lot to me, and that a soundtrack was not only a good perk for the drive but for me, a necessity.
-to be continued-
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