by Mitch Myers
The Angels laughed and gunned their engines as Sonny threw Adam on the back of his motorcycle. “You better hang on, kid,” Barger said. Howling maniacally, Sonny and the Hell’s Angels roared off in the direction of the Bay Bridge.
Their first stop was a seedy bar in Oakland and the place was loaded with intoxicated bikers. Adam was dizzy from the first motorcycle ride of his life—as well as the residual effects of his journey through the space-time continuum. He’d kept leaning the wrong way during the motorcycle ride, and Barger had threatened to push Adam off his Harley. He was both frightened and exhilarated by the experience.
Terry the Tramp, one of the Angels who’d been with Barger near the Fillmore, said to Adam, “Hey, kid, you got any cash? We need some beer.”
“All I have is this paper money my grandfather gave me,” Adam replied. “I’m not supposed to spend it all in one place.”
“Well, this is an emergency,” said the Tramp as he grabbed the twenty and strode toward the bar. Adam was now broke, kidnapped, and far from the Fillmore. He looked at the front door of the bar, but before he could take a step he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t even think about it,” a deep voice said. Adam turned around and stared up at the biggest man he’d ever seen.
Hell’s Angel Armand Bletcher was six foot eight inches and weighed around three hundred fifty pounds. He was wearing a sleeveless jean jacket, sunglasses, and a scowl. His massive arms were tattooed and he smelled as strong as he looked.
Armand drained a glass of beer and said, “Sonny says for you to stay right here while he does his business.” Adam looked around and saw two dozen Hell’s Angels, some members of the Nomads, and a smattering of rough-looking women. They were all drinking, yelling, and laughing like crazy.
Suddenly, a fight broke out. Mouldy Marvin must have said something offensive to Doug the Thug because they’d knocked over a table and were rolling around on the floor. They were punching the living hell out of each other, much to the enjoyment of their fellow Angels. The fight spilled out onto the street but five minutes later the two men were back in the bar smiling, bleeding, and drinking together in the corner of the room.
“These people are insane,” Adam thought. “What was I thinking, coming to such a backward and dangerous time period?” The odors of the bar, combined with the exhaust fumes he’d inhaled on the motorcycle ride, made Adam’s stomach churn.
With Armand Bletcher watching him, Adam sat near the window and tried to calm his stomach. A moment later, Terry the Tramp was next to him with a drink in his hand. “Here, kid,” he said with a leer. “You gotta be thirsty. Have a beer on me.”
Adam sat frozen as Terry extended a bottle in his direction. The biker asked, “Are you refusing to drink with me?” Adam shook his head fearfully. “Good,” the Tramp laughed. “Then drink up.” Meekly, Adam took a sip.
“I said drink it, not play with it,” the Tramp insisted. So, Adam guzzled the beer with the Angel nodding approvingly. “That’s it, kid. You’ll be fine in no time.”
Terry the Tramp strolled back to the bar. Adam was certain that Terry was talking about him and when the Tramp caught his eye, the biker raised his glass high into the air. There was more laughing and Adam wondered what was so damn funny.
Still nauseated, Adam peered out the window. He saw Sonny Barger and three other Angels step out of a car parked across the street. Some kind of deal must have just gone bad because the driver jumped out of the car and ran after Barger, yelling about money. Within seconds, the Angels began kicking the man to the ground. This wasn’t a good-natured bar fight like the one between Doug the Thug and Mouldy Marvin. This was a vicious beating pure and simple.
Adam was horrified. The Angels walked back into the bar, leaving the man stretched out near his car. Once inside, Barger made his way across the room and walked up to Terry the Tramp. They seemed to be looking in Adam’s direction.
Sure enough, the Angels approached him. “So, kid, how you feeling?” Sonny asked. “Not too good,” Adam answered. Sonny winked at Terry the Tramp and said, “Listen, we’re done here. Are you ready to go to a party? There will be loads of hippie chicks, you might even get lucky.”
“But what about the Grateful Dead?” Adam asked.
Barger put his arm around Adam and pulled him close. Adam felt Sonny’s sour breath on his face as the biker whispered hoarsely, “There’s still plenty of time to go back to the Fillmore; let’s head to this party first and talk about it there.”
Before he knew what was happening Adam was back on Sonny’s Harley, hanging on for dear life. Terry the Tramp and Mouldy Marvin were on opposite sides of Barger, trailing slightly behind as they all sped off into the night. Adam heard Sonny say that they were going to Marin County.
As they rode in the moonlight, Adam stared up at the sky in wild wonder. His queasiness had passed and he’d never seen a sky as breathtaking as this one. Each star twinkled and gleamed, and the constellations seemed to dance before his eyes. The fringe from his leather jacket was flapping in the wind and the sounds of the motorcycles roared in his ears.
Unaware that Terry the Tramp had dosed his beer with a large amount of LSD, Adam began to let go of his fears and frustrations. He loosened his grip around Barger’s waist and started leaning into the turns as Sonny instructed. He inhaled deeply through his nose and finally understood what fresh air was supposed to smell like.
Sonny was humming “Good Morning Little Schoolgirl” and Adam found himself singing along. He felt an abrupt sense of discovery and had a series of revelations regarding nature’s delicate balance and the spectacular beauty of life itself. Adam could hardly believe that he was really on a motorcycle in northern California in the year of 1969. He threw back his head and laughed. By the time the bikers rolled into Marin, Adam was howling at the moon.
The party was in full swing when they arrived. Music blared as the Angels cut their engines. There were people sitting in the moonlight, while others wandered in and out of the sprawling ranch house. Almost immediately, a skinny long-haired guy accompanied by three young girls greeted the bikers. “Sonny, man, glad you finally made it. I’ve been waiting all night. Is everything cool?”
Kissing one of the girls, Sonny nodded and said, “Sure, Roger, everything’s cool. Let’s go work out your thing right now.” The skinny hippie looked pleased as he and the girl followed Barger into the house.
“What are all these people doing out here?” Adam wondered. He was confused, and turned to see Terry the Tramp stripped down to his underwear and dancing with the other two girls. The night air was cool and Adam shivered while Terry and his nubile partners boogied in the moonlight.
Adam looked over at Mouldy Marvin and Mouldy Marvin looked back at Adam. “We better get some beer,” Marvin said. As they walked inside, Terry and the girls ran laughing into the woods behind the house.
By this time Adam was hallucinating in Technicolor and eventually concluded that he was tripping on some old-fashioned bathtub acid. “This sure isn’t anything like the hallucinogens that the government provides back home,” he thought.
Music was reverberating throughout the house and there were hippies everywhere. Rooms were filled with chattering longhairs, and thick clouds of pot smoke rolled in the air. Adam gawked shamelessly and was thrilled when people smiled and said hello. He followed Marvin into the kitchen and stood there high as a loon while the biker drank three beers in rapid succession.
A couple of teenaged girls came into the kitchen and one of them started talking to Mouldy Marvin about his motorcycle. Marvin and the girl began kissing. Embarrassed, Adam looked away and saw that the other girl was smiling at him. Shyly, she asked, “Are you with the Hell’s Angels?”
“I guess I’m with the Angels tonight,” he replied. The girl had long dark hair and big brown eyes. She was barefoot and wore a long peasant dress. Adam was feeling self-conscious and his mind was reeling, but the girl had such a gentle manner that he found himsel
f feeling happy and relaxed.
“I thought you were with the Angels because of your leather jacket,” she said. “Do you really know Sonny Barger?” Adam was lost in the girl’s big brown eyes. “Yes,” he said. “I rode up here on the back of his motorcycle.”
“You can call me Cinnamon Girl,” she said. “My name is Cindy but everyone calls me Cinnamon Girl.” Adam was so entranced that he almost didn’t notice Mouldy Marvin and his new girlfriend had slipped off into another room.
But Adam saw the opportunity for escape. “I wonder where Sonny is now,” he said casually. “Oh, he’s in the back “with Roger Dodger,” answered Cinnamon Girl. “I don’t think he’ll be coming out for a while though. My friend Donna is with him and she and Sonny will be making it groovy tonight.”
Even in his acid-drenched condition, Adam knew that this was his chance to make it back to the Fillmore. So he said, “Hey, I’ve really got to go, but it was nice meeting you.”
Adam was caught off guard when Cinnamon Girl leaned over and kissed him. He held her tightly and the warmth of her body radiated through him. Then Cinnamon Girl exhaled into his ear and Adam forgot all about the time-travel contract that he’d signed in the future.
With music and smoke swirling around him and fireworks going off in his head, Adam followed Cinnamon Girl into an empty bedroom. She switched on a black light and pulled off her dress. Adam was technically still a virgin in 2069, but he knew what he wanted to do with his Cinnamon Girl. The sex that they had was exquisite. He’d only known Cindy for half an hour, but Adam was falling in love.
Afterward, they lay in each other’s arms until Cinnamon Girl sat up and said, “Hey, what’s your name anyway?” “Adam,” he answered. “Well, Adam, my friends and I are heading over to see the Dead. Are you going to the Fillmore tonight?” Adam couldn’t believe his ears. He was about to ask her for a ride to the concert when he looked up and saw Sonny Barger standing silently in the doorway.
Adam turned back to Cinnamon Girl and said, “Yeah, I’ll be there. Shall we meet up later?”
“That would be cool,” she answered. “Is it okay if I wear your leather jacket to the show? I promise I’ll give it back.”
“Sure,” he said. “Take the jacket. I’ll find you at the Fillmore.” Cinnamon Girl put her dress back on and leaned down to kiss Adam. Then she grabbed his jacket and ran off to join her friends.
Adam sat unmoving until Sonny said, “Well, get dressed, motherfucker. And hurry up! You’ve got some explaining to do or else you’re not going to make it in time for your date.”
Adam knew that he had a decision to make. He also knew that by going to bed with Cinnamon Girl and tripping on acid, he’d broken two major time-travel rules. There was going to be hell to pay back home.
He was in double jeopardy and counting. “What will happen if I tell Sonny what he wants to know?” Adam wondered. “The entire universe could be affected and it would be my fault. And what if Sonny doesn’t take me back to the Fillmore after I tell him? What if this whole thing with Cinnamon Girl is some kind of setup?”
Adam recalled the vicious beating the Angels had administered outside of the bar in Oakland. He began to hyperventilate as he imagined being murdered right there in Marin County. Shaking, he walked into the kitchen where Sonny Barger, Mouldy Marvin, and Terry the Tramp were waiting.
“Okay, Sonny,” he said. “You win. I’ll tell you what you want to know.” And with the dose of acid still saturating his brain, Adam told Sonny all about the future. He explained his obsession with the Grateful Dead, Grandpa Coil’s spectacular birthday gift, and the approaching deadline for his return to the year 2069.
His confession initially amazed the bikers, but Marvin and Terry became bored with Adam’s tale. He kept going on about the terrible state of the future and how technology and pollution were killing man’s spirit and how they all had to get back to nature to avoid the trappings of corporate greed. Adam was reliving the events of his own future in an inverted, psychedelicized state. You could even say that rather than an acid flashback, he was having a flash-forward.
Marvin and Terry soon had their fill of Adam’s blather and they departed on their motorcycles, promising to meet up with Sonny at the Dead show should he make it back to the Fillmore.
The entire time Adam spoke, Sonny Barger sat and listened. He would ask a question now and then, but for the most part he let Adam ramble on. At one point Sonny handed Adam a beer, which he drank greedily.
After what seemed like an eternity (it was about twenty-five minutes), Adam looked straight at the leader of the Hell’s Angels and said, “Well, that’s the story. I really don’t care whether you believe me or not but I would really appreciate it if you’d take me to the Fillmore before it’s too late. I’ve just got to get back home.”
“Well,” mused Sonny. “I guess I could take you back. Maybe you can tell me a few more things about the future on the way.” “Anything!” Adam promised. “Just please take me back to the Fillmore. Maybe I’ll get to say good-bye to Cinnamon Girl.” “Hell,” Sonny said. “You keep telling me details and I’ll get you back in time for the second set.”
On the ride to San Francisco, Sonny quizzed Adam about the future. Sonny told Adam that he didn’t care about the deaths of Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, and Janis Joplin; the Kent State incident; Woodstock; the future of the Grateful Dead; or the tragedy at Altamont. He was more interested in the Vietnam War, big business, drug laws, the CIA, Bob Dylan, national politics, and the Watergate scandal.
Sonny also inquired about the stock market, but by that time the second dose of acid he’d slipped into Adam’s beer started to kick in. They were crossing the Golden Gate Bridge when Adam became extremely disoriented. After that, he couldn’t remember any U.S. history except for the Microsoft years and when Bill Gates ran for president. Still, Sonny seemed satisfied and brought Adam back to the Fillmore.
After parking his Harley, Sonny walked to the Fillmore entrance with Adam following behind. Then Adam got sidetracked. He began gazing at a bright red-orange concert poster announcing the Dead’s current four-night stint and was transfixed by the mesmerizing combination of photography and psychedelic art. “There they are,” Adam murmured. “The greatest-performing rock band of all time. But who are Pentangle and the Sir Douglas Quintet? There’s so much that I still don’t know.”
Sonny poked Adam in the ribs, “Kid, the party is inside the Fillmore, not out here. Do you want to see the show or not?” Adam nodded, and then he started gagging and shaking uncontrollably. “Oh Jesus,” Sonny muttered. He grabbed Adam by the arm and dragged him back toward the entrance.
When they got to the front door, the guy collecting tickets stopped them. “Don’t you know who I am?” Sonny asked. The guy looked blankly at Sonny and said, “No, who are you?”
At that point Sonny snapped. “Motherfucker! I’m Sonny fucking Barger and you’d better let me in before I burn this place to the ground! Why the hell don’t you just get Scully or Bill Graham or Garcia? You think I’m one of these hippie wannabes who just hitchhiked here from Idaho to walk around barefoot on the Haight? I should kick your ass!”
Right then, an older black man came out from behind the soda counter and said, “It’s okay, you can let them in.” Sonny brushed past the ticket guy and shook the black man’s hand. “Thanks, John, I was going to take that guy out. Listen, my friend here came a long, long way to see the Dead, but he’s a little out of it right now. Can you keep an eye on him?”
The man smiled and said, “Sure, I’ll try, Sonny, but I’m a little busy tonight. I just hope your friend isn’t too far gone.” “He’ll be okay,” Barger promised. Then Sonny turned to Adam and said. “Kid, this is John Walker. He’ll show you around.”
With that, Sonny Barger walked off, leaving Adam dazed and confused, and in the care of kind John Walker.
John Walker had worked at the Fillmore for quite some time, and he had seen a lot of kids in Adam’s condition. He gently
led Adam over to a wooden barrel filled with apples and said, “Son, you look like you could use something in your stomach. Try one of these and tell me how that makes you feel.”
As soon as Adam bit into the apple, he felt the world open up like a flower blooming in the sun. He looked around and saw hundreds of exotic people dressed in colorful clothes, all moving and grooving in complete communion with a colossal good vibe.
A moment later, Adam heard Bill Graham’s voice come over the PA system, “And now the last of the gay desperadoes, the Grateful Dead!” Music seemed to come at Adam from every direction as the band began playing “Cryptical Envelopment.” The resounding psychedelia surged and intensified around him, and the striking sense of unity that Adam perceived grew even more exaggerated.
“You okay, son?” John Walker’s voice interrupted Adam’s cosmic reverie.
“Yes,” said Adam. “I’m perfect. Would you mind it if I called you Uncle John?”
“No,” John Walker replied. “I guess that would be all right. Are you feeling okay? I should be getting back behind that counter soon.”
“I’m fine, Uncle John,” Adam laughed. “I’ve come to hear the band.”
As Adam bid goodnight to John Walker, he had the distinct sense that time was being stretched and slowed and somehow bent to his will. He heard the Grateful Dead segueing from “The Other One” back into “Cryptical,” and he hurried out onto the main floor of the Fillmore.
The band launched into “Dark Star,” which psycho-activated Adam’s barely suppressed memories of his unique, nonlinear reality. It was like a déjà vu with the poignancy of a perfect stolen moment that never was. He stared wide-eyed at the band as they launched into a spirited version of “Saint Stephen.” Then, he decided to look for Cinnamon Girl.
Adam wandered around, and eventually glanced at the titanium timepiece fastened to his wrist. His heart sank. According to the timepiece, he had just fifteen minutes to get outside in order to make his trip back home. He was just getting into the groove and the concert wasn’t going to end for another hour and a half.