As I traipsed the streets of Sausalito I watched the riches of both the land and the architecture unfold in front of my eyes. Waterfront properties guarded the bay like immaculate fortresses of military prowess. Their sheer size signified dollar signs, authority and prestige, but the truly rich and powerful resided on “The Hill” across the bay. Those homes towered over the mansions making them look like dollhouses.
People snubbed me as I walked past giving me a look of disapproval, but whatever, I just wanted to continue north towards Washington. After all, I spent the last three years on a journey there, which originally started out on my bicycle. I planned to cycle from Delaware to Seattle, Washington, only making it as far as Colorado. It felt like the right time to wander there, hopping trains, catching planes, hitching rides and bussing it all became an individual piece of the puzzle.
Sausalito charged for bicycle parking, which made me chuckle, as I walked closer to the ramp for the 101. The sun plagued my spirit after hours of tramping as I looked for a place in the shade to sit down and rest. The hill across the bay caught my eye once again and I wondered what it felt like to swim in more money than life itself? Then I thought about the stress that came with the money and felt content with my own life, my own stories, and my own adventures. Biggie Smalls said it best, “Mo’ money mo’ problems.” I wasn’t broke, but sometimes I dreamt about taking the other path, the path of the college graduate, business-owner, etc. But, no amount of money could buy all of this and these experiences.
I fell out of my daze and “Dream” came over to me, an old hippie rockin’ out in the sun with a bowl in hand, puffin’ on some weed. He spoke philosophically about life with mumbo jumbo spewing from his mouth getting deep into thought as I lost track of his points in our existential crisis. My soul was his soul and our souls joined with the souls of every other soul to make one soul exist on the planet we call Earth, or something of that nature. I lost him after I soared high as a kite after scoring some California weed. Two hits and I sat there baked off my ass like laying in a cloud of marshmallows. He lived on the waterfront in Sausalito and asked if I knew his friend Larry Moyer, an advocate for Marinscope community. Honestly, I never heard of him or Sausalito until that day of tramping through it. He paused and his head sunk slightly in disappointment.
“Awe man, too bad, he was a great guy! I wished you knew him I’d invite you to “A Tribute to Larry Moyer”…,” said Dream a bit too optimistically.
“Ohhhh…his funeral,” I said confusedly?
“Nah…not like that man. We are celebrating his life at the Community Media Center of Marin later. We’re gonna have a big party. He inspired a lot of people around Sausalito. Made a big impact on our lives man. Just one of those free-spirits. Did everything….an artist, filmmaker, photographer, just everything. A pure soul man,” said Dream as he reminisced the past with his beloved friend.
Moyer fought for the community of Sausalito in the 1970’s becoming an organizer along the waterfront to protest the development at Waldo Harbor Point impacting the lives of his neighbors and friends whom also lived in along the bay.
Moyer ended up on the Waterfront as a “transplant” back in 1967, “The Summer of Love.” After World War II, specifically Pearl Harbor, he ended up in California, becoming a resident of Sausalito for over 40 years. He lived on a houseboat residing on the waterfront with one of his great friends, Shel Silverstein, a traveling buddy and companion he met in Moscow during the war.
In the old days, the waterfront comprised of free-spirits, paying no rent, trying to make it by as an artist, author, etc., just floatin’ around on the bay hangin’ with your buds. Moyer’s support saved the waterfront from developers and although they lost the battle so to speak they did not lose the war. As they fought for the right to stay and won.
“Sounds like a rad dude…wish I had met him…,” I said.
Dream nodded. “Well, I gotta get ready man. Here’s some stuff for the road. If you’re lookin’ to hitch north, just hang out by that intersection up there…you’ll get picked up. You headed to Garberville,” he asked.
I reached out my hand and grabbed a small chunk of dank nug, tucking it in my pocket. “Yeah…how’d yo know,” I said in a shocked voice.
“I told you bro, our souls….our souls…you’re in for an adventure in NorCal…safe travels,” said Dream as he walked away in a clouded state-of-mind.
I tried walking myself, putting my one foot in front of the other singing Christmas music in my head, man was I fuckin’ stoned. Talk about all the crazy shit he said too. It just blew my mind. What an interesting guy? How on Earth would I hitchhike now, with bloodshot eyes and the inability to stand up straight?
I flew a sign on the 101 that read, “North.” Time felt like it stopped. Each minute felt like a black hole, reaching a dimensional of time that did not progress forward, at all. But, really I just stood there stoned, my face frozen with a goofy expression, restricting me from hitching a ride. Yet somewhere out of thin air a king soul picked me up.
He rambled on the phone the whole time, in his business suit, with a Bluetooth headset and before I knew it he dropped me off literally 6-miles down the road, off an exit with zero traffic, in a city called San Rafael. Normally, I asked where the driver headed to, but he kept shushing me, as he talked on his private business phone call. But, whatever, I slept on the on-ramp that night on the hill.