I was 15 working for a nice family restaining their round house and some old pieces of furniture. I wasn't the best employee. Having discovered pot and secular music I was inclined to sit reading Jack Kerouac listening to tapes. Wearing my grandpa's red wings with a pair of green No Fear shorts, homemade tie dye, and an ever present flannel shirt I guess was the epitome of hippy grunge. Got the house stained, made some furniture look better, and saved up for my first car, a 1968 VW Beetle. I had an epic soundtrack.
Simon and Garfunkle - "Sounds of Silence", Violent Femmes- "Add It Up", Bob Marley- "Burnin'", Grateful Dead "77 Cornell Show", and Zep "IV".Steven's Memorial Library wasn't stocked with a wide variety of outsider literature. After a couple of trips to Buffalo I was able to read On the Road, Dharma Bums, and Big Sur. Seeds were planted, damage was done.
I knew then I could not stay in my small upstate town. The music and books created a magical California myth in my chubby acne covered stoned head. I would listen to Goin to California over and over again. From that summer I started this weird odyssey that finally brought me to San Francisco then Big Sur. Big Sur was exactly what it was supposed to be. No regrets coyote.