The Magic Mountain (442 hits)
Category: GeneralRating: 2 on 5 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Korthrun McBloodlust <korthrun.at.korthrun.net> (View user info) at 2006-02-06 07:24:44 EST
"Try E minor there." says Joe, my guitar playing mentor suggests. We are trying out a new arrangement of Gershwins "Summertime" from Porgy and Bess. With a little blues twist of course.
I give it another try, starting off with an E minor, but quickly ending with a yelp and a curse. A string had broke, and drawn a little blood. That does it for guitar for the day. It's sunday and we are in Hawaii which means that very very little is open. This includes the music store.
There goes our plan for the day. We had a 10 hour guitar playing, pot smoking, beer drinking marathon planned, and were only two hours, two joints and 12 beers into it.
"You fucking suck!" Joe exlaimed with a smirk and a chuckle, "No more music, and now you're bleeding on my guitar." I shut him up with a punch to the arm and we move on.
"So, uhhhhh now what?" I ask, knowing that Joes super mind can find some way for us to get into trouble in only a few minutes. He gets a thoughtful look on his face, walks wordlessly over to the window and states quite plainly, "It's been kinda cloudy today, still some sun but not enough to ruin anything. It's only 11am if we leave now, we might be able to make it to Magic Mountain before the sun comes out."
Magic Mountain is a place I have heard of only in two contexts. The first being a theme park that I would guess most of you are familiar with. The second being something of a local legend. A fabled place, the location of which is a well kept secret. Passed around select cirlces to prevent 'poaching' this was a place only the "cool of the cool kids" knew. This knowledge was about to be bestowed upon me. I giggled. No really, I fucking giggled.
Neither of us had a car at this point. The attentive reader may have deduced from my statement about the "cool of the cool kids" that this happened sometime in a highschool like era. No problem though, it was quite safe to hitchhike in Hawaii at this point in time. We roll up a couple of joints for the road, grab a beer each and head down the driveway, to the road. This road is what we call "The old highway" as it was once a highway and we don't want to say "Mamalahoa".
Here we are two teenagers with a bottle of Stienlager and a joint each, walking backwards with our thumbs out. The first car that passes us looks like a SoCal soccer mom immagrant. SUV? Check. Annoying poser kid sitting shotgun? Check. Frown of disapproval that most likely was the start of a "If I ever catch you hitchhiking" speech? Check. Definate soccer mom. About 20 minutes and two empty beers later our second chance at a ride approaches. We don't even try, we recognize the car, and the driver recognizes us. This cool exhippy lady has picked us up before.
I love this lady. To this day, I love this lady. I don't even know her name. I can't even count the number of rides she has given my friends and I. She always had the dank weed. A plus.
"Where are you guy headed?" She asks after we hop in. As the letter "M" starts to roll from my mouth Joe quickly overrides me. "We are headed into Holualoa, gonna go for a little hike."
Even en route to disclosing the location of the secret mountain, this sacred knowledge must be kept safe. She smiles and nods. 20 minutes passes by with mundane conversation, a few pipeloads of dank, and half a joint. After passing the "town" part of Holualoa Joe informs her that this is our stop.
This isn't much. This was definatly not the secret ninja entranceway into the holy land of Magic Mountain that I had envisioned. Our stop was the middle of a curve in the road, surrounded by forest on one side and a horse 'pasture' and a coffee farm on the other. As we get out of the car Joe swears, looks at me and says, "Crap we forgot bags." The lady laughs, reaches behind the passengers seat and procures two empty plactic shopping bags.
"Looks like you guys are headed for the mountain huh?", she asks with a knowing gleam in her eye. Deciding that he no longer needs to protect his secret he grins and lets her know that she just saved the day. We gladly leave her with the rest of the joint. Onward we go, seeking adventure.
I follow Joe through the coffee trees, and quickly lose sight of road. I quickly lose my sense of direction in the mini forest through which we tred. We light up the second joint and pass it back and forth while we trek through the coffee and talk guitar. The cloud cover is holding, we have our bags crumpled in our pockets and it is so far an uneventful, yet enjoyable day. The scent of coffee eventually makes way to the musty odor of Macadamia trees. Shortly therafter we encounter a 4 foot stone wall, primarily designed to keep cattle on the other side.
Joe looks over at me and grins his little "let the mischief begin" grin. We hop the wall and I quickly see that all of my fantasies about this place are true. Before us rolls a huge lush hill, the color of emeralds and glistening with the leftover dew. The effect created by the sun shining down throught he partial cloud cover is almost awe inspiring. The near infinite amount of little mushrooms growing in the grass IS awe inspiring.
A mushroom picking frenzy ensues. In under 10 minutes we have one shopping bag full, and are starting on the second one, when I hear some words that are all to common when hanging out with Joe.
"Oh shit, were fucked." he says with an unusual amount of urgency in his voice. This kids been into a lot of trouble, and has met it almost purely with a devil may care sort of attitude. The sense of urgency in his voice was quite unsettling.
Over the cascading greenery of the hill crests a blue jeep. My spider sense tingles. Though it is hardly more than a blue smudge at the top of the hill to my already failing eyesite, I know what it carries, who it delivers. The mokes. The overly large, mostly drunken, beating up white kids when they aren't out surfing and sometimes when they are, breed of Hawaiian. Let me be perfectly clear here. This is bad.
*POP* *POP* Joe grins, the worry gone from his face. "By the way, the guys who own the land have shotguns." I run towards him, mushrooms bouncing from my cupped hands, hoping we can devise a lie, an escape, a defense, something to keep us alive, and limbs in tact.
Joe comes up with a simplistic, yet effective plan. *POP* *BANG* *POP* "Run." Panic makes you do shit you just can't figure out. We run towards the wall, a few more mushrooms bouncing from my still cupped hands, bags flailing around. For some reason I was very concerned about the mushrooms in my hands. I would not drop them. I would not put them in the bag. I could not hop the wall without use of my hands. "Drop them!" Joe shouts at me. I shove a handful into my mouth, toss the rest and hop the wall.
Laughing hystericaly we run through the macnut orchard. *BANG* *Woof woof*. Oh joy, the pitbulls. The macadamia gives way to the coffee farm, and there is no way they are rambling thier jeep over the wall. Whew! We are safe now! The road must be near. *Woof woof* Oh ok, maybe we aren't so safe. the pitbulls, the damn pitbulls. My sense of direction has someone been restored in the panic and I know where we are, and that we are heading back to the old highway. Joe stops short of the road as we hear an engine approaching. He yanks me back a little, and we run parralel to the road for a short ways, finally finding a little alcove amongst the coffee and we crouch, hiding. Hoping to whatever god may exist that neither dogs nor mokes find us, and we wait.
"Ho brah, you one seen some fucking haole kids running around here?" one of the mokes spurts to an unknown person.
"Nah braddah, nothin but me an my dog." the unknown person responds. For some reason after this statement Joe once again grins. "Thats my uncle! We ran way faster than I thought." After a short time of pokeing through the bushes, and gathering the dogs, the mokes finally hop in thier jeep and leave. We can't see them, so we wait a few minutes to be sure they are gone.
We exit the bushes and brave the road. We win! The mokes are nowhere to be found. A fat Hawaiian man greets us with a knowing smile, "Aww Joe, getting into trouble again with your stupid mushrooms. Brah if I knew it was you, I woulda told em 'Keep lookin for dose punks'. You lucky I never knew brah."
He makes some inside jokes with Joe, and then invites us to chill on his porch for a bit and have a beer. A great way to relax after 20 minutes of thinking you are about to die. Joes uncle busts out a join, and we toke it up. A few minutes later we hear the familiar sound of the Jeeps engine. We quickly shove our bags down our pants and do the best we can at looking like we've been here the whole time and nothing is wrong. They pause outfront the porch for only a moment before passing on.
As we have buisness to attend to we take our leave and begin our walk/hitch back home. Lo and behold, the first car that comes along is our good friend Casey Jones. Yes, he was named after the song. We hop in his jeep, and he starts talking about how he wants to trip but hasn't been able to find shit. He's been cruising the highway looking for something that might be Magic Mountain. Funny that isn't it?
We let him in on our little secret. We have 1.5 bags full in our pants. A few minutes more down the road Casey drops us off and makes his turn, deviating from our path half a bag of mushrooms richer. Joe and I quickly decide that we are tired of carrying this shit, and we split the bag. We decided to walk back to my house, which is to remind you, about a 25 minute drive. We actually ran the whole way trippin our balls off, and talking about all the inane shit you talk about when you are trippin.
As we approach the driveway, we notice a familiar blue jeep parked outfront my house. "No fucking way." I say as I point it out to Joe. "No fucking way." He agrees.
No fucking way indeed. They are visiting my downstairs neighbor. To sell her mushrooms. How fucking ironic is that?
Once again an uneventful day turns adventurous. The mokes look at us. We look at them. We have to be grinning like retards at the zoo by now. Our pupils are dialated, things that don't move are moving. The dogs in the back of the jeep begins to bark and a moke goes over to sooth it. Joe and I walk upstairs and start work on a 5 string arrangement of Gershwins "Summertime" from Porgy and Bess. Which we played for 4 hours.
User Reviews
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-02-06 16:33:14 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
eh brah, I thought this would be bout pakalolo, but, same ting, eh?
+2 for pidgin.
Submitted by AshK (user info) at 2006-02-06 14:02:30 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I giggled. No really, I fucking giggled.
Submitted by Nellypaal (user info) at 2006-02-06 07:45:45 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I now have an overriding desire to cast off the shackles of my responsible, have-bills-to-pay existence to smoke reefer and munch shrooms in the woods.
Damnit.
Submitted by Davros (user info) at 2006-02-06 07:34:12 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Reminded me of "The Beach" where they find the huge fields of dope.
I liked it, but got a little confusing around the point of the chase.
-Dave
Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2006-02-06 07:32:10 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Curiously appealing