I was looking at the picture of the girl with long blonde hair holding a guitar who had come to represent for me the college students holding sit-ins against the Vietnam War. It is difficult to explain these actions, but luckily, there is news footage from the era:

 

 

Here she was in the photo occupying the Dean's office, strumming her guitar, a student at the female Harvard- Dartmouth. I was transfixed. I looked up just in time to see black smoke rolling across the backyard of the crash pad. I went outside and there was a line of bushes on fire! I ran inside and dropped the magazine on the couch yelling for Bear. He came out of his bedroom and took a look and casually put his shoes on. The next thing I knew he was hosing down the fire and I was carrying buckets of water from the kitchen. As I poured the water on the fire I asked Bear how often these fires happened. He yawned and said all the time.

 

I asked what happens when no one is home when these fires combust and he said, you hope the fire doesn't hit the house.

 

I had loved the canyon. The beauty of it. The mellow moods of the women...... but I had noticed the hundreds lining up hitchhiking. The hundreds of panhandlers in the city. I thought I had found a home- but fighting fires was too much. That night we drove to Topango Canyon and watched Canned Heat play.

 

I was missing Atlanta and it was time to go home. Bear told me he'd get me a plane ticket and I thought he was kidding, but he wasn't. I flew over the states I had hitched through. Thinking about all I had seen on the road. That it ended in fire and heat made me chuckle.

 

I got back to the city and was happy to see Atlanta again. I had been in jail for my birthday, escaped rednecks with baseball bats, got wasted and escaped the cop sweep in New Orleans, travelled with a car church to trailer parks and I had made it. Not bad for a 16 year old.

 

Like Ulysses I had returned home. It was daylight on Peachtree and Peyote saw me and yelled out FLASH! We hugged and talked about Big Sur, Topango Canyon, Route 1 and all the beauty. I didn't even mention the more thrilling aspects of my journey. He mentioned a record company was looking for a guy to work in the marketing department  in their office out in the burbs, and having written for the Bird that would help me get the job. They handled rock bands like the Stones, The Who, Moody Blues, John Mayall and country music acts. They knew how to promote country, but rock was new to them. He gave me a number to call. I was about to change my life yet again. I went to a payphone and called the number. A voice answered on the other end.

 

"Hello, Decca records".