We woke up early in the morning to bum around Ashville. The Lion was on a mission: Find some dope weed. The writer of this story is more of an old school white trash feller and stuck to whiskey, beer and chewin tabacca. We found a head shop and Leo found his first clue, in the shape of a tall dirty long haired and tie-dyed freak. as the fella walked outside Leo brazenly asked him in the blazing sun in the middle of and unempty sidewalk “Hey man, know where I can get any bud?” the freak knew exactly and gave Leo a phone number.
We arrived at the place we were given directions too in no time flat and I opted to stay in the car because our stuff was in it and I don’t trust most people anywhere but also because I didn’t want to be in the cross hairs of some drug dealers. I waited in the car parked about a block away. I was in the car first ten then twenty minutes and then Leo showed up with Ganja in his pocket and a head full of smoke (having tried the local flavor) and then there we were back on the road again, not before a quick hike trying to find a spot for Leo to smoke and find a spot his vendors told him about, some dirty hippie paradise among cliffs. We failed. This time we were headed west and into Indian country. Tennessee. To shave Charlie’s Bunyon off our list.
But first we had to get there.
It was late afternoon by the time we left Asheville but we weren’t worried or rather we were worried least about the physical world. I drove as it seemed to be more my type of driving, o’er hill and dale and peak and valley landscapes, from sun to shadow. I enjoy ripping down valleys of asphalt looking for a new adventure and our time on the road has always been very much that. The world seemed to slow down as we continued to move from peak to peak cutting across the Appalachian Mountains instead of down them. We took our time going this way as we did with the way before not looking for anything in particular but another story to help us feel like we are winning at fighting off death despite the fact that the cards were stacked against us.
We made numerous stops along the way to admire the splendor of these ancient mountains, and to take a piss and a bit of a shit. We slept somewhere on the road in the company of other travelers. An old lady and an old man to one side and a group of dudes on the other. We started a fire and cooked our food and decided that it would be a great time to spark a bowl and drink some whiskey.
I chose this time around to partake in Leo’s special vice and spent the rest of the night trading off between panic attacks and pure internal and external bliss, only half listening to The Lion when he spoke. I was in my own world. A strange powerful wonderful insanity brought on by the weed, alcohol, being tired, the lasting fogginess of the night before and my own psychosis. Eventually I laid my head back onto my sleeping bag and drifted into an uneasy sleep.