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Border Trip

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Here is a report, from my first trip. I ate approximately 1.5 grams of liberty caps.

My friend wanted me to write stories about some of the things I've done. Tripping in Canada (not particularly "feet" related), listening to the Dead at his house those two times, seeing String Cheese in Portland for New Years 2001....and.....oh..... we've done other things, in terms of road trips or overniters, but my mind was searching for the word it found.

Going to see Dave at the Gorge, trip...er...um, have lots of fun in Eastern Wa at the Last Splash with Jason, jamming to Neil and Bob Dylan in the summer of 99, and hiking up to High Rock were the more memorable trips we've been on together.

In the middle of 1999, Mr. Hamel announed to me that we were going to Canada for a night. It had nothing to do with prostitution! A week later, Eric walked up to me at work and said that we'd be chewing on mushrooms during the Canada visit. I told him no, and that I didn't want to do hallucinogens. He had no reply. A few days later had us driving toward Canada in nice, sunny, Saturday Seattle weather. After we took the turn off of I-5 N to enter Bellingham, Eric answered my question as to reason for the unplanned Bellingham visit. "We don't need to take drugs over the border..."

I thought he was referring to his weed, and as I started nodding in agreeance "Good point- good point, yep." He continued. "...gonna stash the weed at Scott's, and chow the shrooms when we leave Scott's."

I stopped nodding, but didn't say anything until Eric reached into his glove box and pulled out the first bag of shrooms I had ever seen. Fifteen minutes went by, we left Scott's house, and started, well, Eric did.....started dividing the mushrooms. We chased the soily grit nuggets down with Sunny Delight and stick pretzels. It was a very large bottle of Sunny D.

"Oh, don't worry dude." Eric said, "We won't start tripping for another hour or so. Canada's only thirty minutes away."

"Tripping, eh? I've never tripped", I thought. Fifteen minutes later, after Eric's "Brandon and I tripped at the ocean once, and this rock looked like Richard Nixon." story was over, I was already making the sunny delight bottle talk to Eric. Its easy to do. Just pretend the lid is a head- a really flat, orange head. Eric told me I wasn't tripping yet, and that I was just really stoned. Knowing no better, I trusted him (again). We both laughed for the next twenty or so minutes, but had to stop while waiting at the border.

No longer second in line, both of us sat staring at the border guard. Paranoid as fuck, I just looked straight ahead, and pretended to be invisible. It worked. Luckily, Eric wasn't as fried as I was at the time, and we made it into the Mexican North without having to spend the night in a free room. WHAT ARE YOUUU DOOOING IN CANADAAAAA?!!! As we neared the city just over the border (hopefully, I'll remember later, and fix this part), I started buggin' hard. I told Eric that we HAD to get off of the streets, and into a safe hotel room. I was freakin'.

We pulled into the Holiday Inn as my optic nerves started flashing really fucked up images onto a dark wall in the back of my head. Actually feeling a bit better, I stepped out of the car, and started my serious mission of hiding in a hotel room, away from everyone that knew exactly (not) what Eric and I were doing. My second step onto the parking garage floor was twisted. It seemed as if the con crete was rising to the level of my dangling foot. A new kind of elevator? Neat, this is different. I remarked on the occurrence to Eric, and received one of his, "Duh....and I'm not tripping?" looks. I had a tough time walking to the hotel lobby- the thick, highly decorated carpet kept grabbing my shoes. I put Eric in charge. While he was getting us a room, I followed his "Just sit there" order, and watched waves form on the hotel's sliding glass doors. I also heard, or thought I did, cars coming from a block away. I thought my eyes gave sound to things.

When everything in my head was just echoes and dark, reddish colors, I surmised that Eric was having a worse time, since he actually had to speak to people. As I looked toward the information desk for the third, slow time, I smiled as Eric began walking to me. I stood up and began the trek through the greedy carpet.

Inside the room, with doors locked, I felt safe, until Eric mentioned that we had to go back to the car for the bags.

"No dude. I'm cool. I'm staying here. No people."

He graciously obliged, and left the room, and left me to explore my reflection, and the wooden rivers in the wallpaper. The first thing I've ever written while tripping was this:

I can't leave this room, and the reality of it echoes.

It took me a while to transfer the thought to paper. When he walked back into the $100/night room, I handed him the small note. Again, the patented "Duh....and I'm not tripping?" look was bestowed upon me.

I wanted to go to sleep, and wake up when the trip was over, but the Trip Master advised against the notion.

"No way dude, it'll just get more fucked up."

Since I couldn't go to sleep, I started wondering why Eric wasn't as high as I was. This was the first of many times since then that I thought that others were never tripping as hard as me. Even when I'm not fucked up, I think the same thing about trip episodes. That night, Eric kept mentioning "levels", and that we just weren't on the same level. It wasn't until right now that I understand him- he was saying the same thing I had been thinking. Hallucinogens affect people differently.

When the effects wore off, we went out for dinner. Both of us were in a great mood. I, because I made it back safely, and he, for realizing he didn't have to bring me down any longer.
After dinner, we had shitty beer and shittier service at a bar, and headed to a club. The line wasn't worth remarking upon (pay no attention to the previous fourteen words). While waiting outside the club, a street-chimp offered us some good Jamaican hash. We declined, and as the man walked away, I remarked, "Yeah, Ja Makin' It in your fucking bathroom, fucker!"

We didn't make it into any clubs that night. The next morning, we hit McDonald's before heading back home. Things were different at the border. We didn't trip over it this time.

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