“Old hippies don’t die, they just lie low until the laughter stops and their time comes round again.”
The day is rainy, just as predicted. The birds seem especially noisy this morning. I can hear their raucous calls through the closed windows. I suspect the blue jays are responsible for all the noise.
I need to score some weed, some Mary Jane, some grass. I’m late to the party. I read in the paper a while back how the use of illicit drugs among baby boomers 50-59 rose 63% from 2002 to 2005. People are rediscovering it, for its medicinal purposes of course. This morning I read an article entitled “Vroomer Boomers” which said the average age of motorcyclists is on the rise. After I finish here, I’m going through the boxes in my cellar to find my ponchos, my fringed shirts, head bands and beads. They can’t be far behind.
Today’s article reminded of my Wild One days, not my Easy Rider days as I missed that movie. In Ghana, I had a motorcycle. It was small, a Honda 90, and modest as we had to wear dresses all the time. I learned the gears and the brake when I bought the moto, as they called it in Ghana, and then rode it over 100 miles from Tamale to Bolga. It was exhilarating. I loved the road and the wind on my face. The bugs were not so welcome. I learned to be exhilarated without smiling. A few inhaled bugs and a choke or two taught me that lesson. I rode along singing out loud to pass the time. I figure a few villagers told stories later about the crazy batura on the moto. It took hours to get home though I went as fast as I dared. The road was a good one, paved all the way. It was called the road to Bolga and it went straight there so I never worried about getting lost. I stopped for a warm coke at a store along the road and to stretch my legs. When I got to the school gate, I honked so the gateman would let me in. He smiled a toothless grin and pointed to my bike. I smiled back and nodded.
I only had one injury from my motorcycle, a round burn on my lower leg. As I was standing and waiting for goats to pass, they turned and ran into me. I dropped the bike out of surprise and burned my leg on the exhaust pipe.
Explore posts in the same categories: MusingsTags: baby boomers, Ghana, Honda 90, Peace Corps
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keepthecoffeecoming.blog 
April 26, 2010 at 12:24 pm
I guess Hippies were seen as a 60s based counter culture commune of drug consumption, psychedelic music and, of course, “free love” (not that there is anything wrong with that). I wonder how many were no more than weekend hippies, leaving behind their wrok-a-day week for a few beads and a kaftan and how many actually lived that lifestyle?
There were so many avenues of demand for social change at that time, but somehow the Wavy Gravy brigade got more credit than they really deserved.
April 26, 2010 at 12:59 pm
My Dear Hedley,
I always thought being a hippie was a state of mind rather than drugs, music or fringe. I figured working for change was the whole purpose of the “movement” back then. The rest of it was window dressing by a few.
April 26, 2010 at 12:42 pm
The sun have had big troubles shining through the clouds today, but we reached 68F anyway. But it didn´t feel as nice as I thought it should, I think the wind was to blame for that.
I´ve never had a motorcycle but I do know the feeling of bugs getting in to my mouth while biking 🙂 🙂
We still had some hippies in Gothenburg before I moved away. I remember one time in a Chinese restaurant in a rougher neighbourhood, it was winter and suddenly a bare foot half naked hippie came in. In his haze he must have been in a much warmer place 🙂 I´ve always wondered if he survived that night 🙂
Have a great day now!
April 26, 2010 at 11:11 pm
Christer,
We both seem to be stuck in a cloudy weather pattern, but you ere much warmer than we were today.
Nothing worse than sucking down a bug.
We were quite tame.
April 26, 2010 at 1:18 pm
I think everyone who rides a motorcycle gets burned in that very same place. I did it and it was the last time I wore shorts on a motorcycle! Ouch!! I can still feel it.
April 26, 2010 at 11:13 pm
Erin,
I didn’t know you had a motorcycle. I’m betting it was bigger than mine, but Ghana had only the 90 and 125 for sale. I couldn’t ride the 125 comfortably wearing a dress.
It was the darn goat herd. I didn’t expect them to run into my bike with such force.
April 26, 2010 at 6:10 pm
Kat the Biker! WOW! Think you know a person for years and then BAM! she going down in the cellar to get her beads. I had a heart surgeon who when I asked what I should take after surgery during my recovery and he said I wish I could prescribe mariyuana. I know people with MS who drive 200 miles to the custom free zone at the Miami airport where the government fills their medical M. Steve gets a carton a month for $99 bucks. I think we all went through the hippie cult with different attitudes. I know living like one didn’t appeal to me.
April 26, 2010 at 11:15 pm
Z&Me,
Yup, biker chick here!
We picketed, volunteered and protested but that was about as hippie as we got.
April 27, 2010 at 12:11 am
I knew you were a hippie at heart
i missed that party
but i have always been a hippiechick in my
own mind
i liked the live and let live attitude
yet they always seemed ready to help too.
kat you are such a wonderful storyteller
thank you so much for gathering us all around
everyday and reminding us that there is always
more to be learned.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
April 27, 2010 at 10:17 am
splendid,
I loved growing up when I did, and I loved being part of the 60’s generation. I think going to Ghana in the Peace Corps was an extension of all we believed.
You’re right-if anyone asked I’d say I was a hippie at heart!
I love all of you visiting with me every day.
April 27, 2010 at 5:00 am
Well Kat,
Never figured you to be a biker (lol)
But in Ghana, what’s a gal to do?
Lasso a Zebra??
Ah, the thought of a nice cigarette filled
with the grass nobody mows is delicious.
Used to grow one plant a year for my own use but I’ve no seeds left anymore.
As Ned Kelly said just before he was hung, “Ah, such is life”
April 27, 2010 at 10:19 am
Pete,
I am full of surprises!
It was baboons I saw crossing the road in front of me while I was riding in the bush.
Ah, the memories of our youth!!