Dropping acid and driving are a rarely a good combination. I say this from experience. In fact, after the last time I did this (sadly, it happened more than once) I didn't drive for two years. No, I wasn't cited or arrested or anything of the sort...I was simply too freaked out.
I was thinking about this particular instance today while writing a song...about trains. Now that you're probably more convinced than ever that I am, indeed, a bit whicky in the whacky woo, trust me...this will make sense in just a bit.
I grew up in a small town in Ohio...firmly in the American "Rust Belt". This was steel country. Almost everyone I knew had ties to the steel mills. Everyones dad worked in the mills, in some capacity. Our dad didn't...but as a cardiologist, he basically kept these hard-working men (and women) alive. I was informed of dad's actual job description by a family friend, who was actually better known for his leg-breaking talents for a local family business with strong ties to the old country. Our dad's job was to keep people alive. Made sense to me.
The closest mill to our house was Weirton Steel. They poured molten steel into something over there. I know this because when they did it at night, the sky turned red. It was always an amazing sight to me. I've since learned that not everyone got to witness such beauty on a nightly basis. I'm glad that I did. To me, seeing the sky turn red at night was normal. It saddens me that I don't get to see that anymore.
OK...where am I going with all of this? Trust me...it makes sense.
Like I said, I was writing a song about trains. Like a lot of Americans, especially those my age or older, I hold a certain fascination with trains. To a lot of people, they're now more of an annoyance than anything else. Trains are a relatively slow mode of transportation in the US...and who hasn't been held up at a railroad crossing by a slow-moving train? Trains, at least in our American mythology, took people away...took them to new and exciting places...took them away to new adventures and/or new beginnings. And...they look and sound pretty cool too.
Chuckachuckachuckachuckachuckachuckachucka...trains are rhythmic. Probably another reason why so many songs are written about them.
When I was little, I loved that sound. Still do. But even better is the sound of an old-fashioned train whistle. When I would stay at our grandmother's house in Pittsburgh, I used to be awakened by the sound of a train whistle. Just down over the hill from her house was a railroad track. At 5:12am, just about every morning, I would hear that train whistle. It inspired wonder in me. Where was it going? Was it hauling steel or coal or people? Where did it come from? Just what did it look like? Was it one of those really old locomotives or something newer and more industrial looking?
I asked my grandmother if she would take me to watch the train go by some morning. The tracks were less than a mile away, down the hill near the creek...but she would usually look at me like I'd grown a second nose or just flat out tell me she wasn't getting up at 4am to take me down over the hill to see a train. She eventually took me to the Amtrak station...but it just wasn't the same. Those trains had either just pulled in or were getting ready to leave. There was no mystery to them. Getting to see the train that I heard every morning just seemed more...special. In my mind, it was MY train.
I can't remember the last time I heard that train whistle. I live in my grandmother's old house now. I'm often awake at that time of morning...I just never hear that train whistle anymore.
I learned a healthy respect for trains at a young age. One day, I was in town with our mom. I was probably 5 or 6 years old at the time. Being a geek of a kid, I never wore sneakers. I always wore dress shoes...big, black, heavy ones...because I used to love getting dressed up (my how things have changed!). I remember, we had parked in the parking garage near a place my friends and I called "Dirty Book Ronny's"...which was right by the railroad tracks. As we walked out of the garage and down the street to run whatever errands we needed to run, I recall my foot slipping as I walked on the tracks and my shoe getting wedged between the rail and the railroad tie. It was stuck in there but good! I tried to pull my foot out with the shoe on...no luck. Mom tried...still no luck. Then we heard the train coming. It was one of those "Oh Shit!" moments that we all have in life. Mom yanked me out of my shoe. If I was being dramatic, I would add that she did so just in the nick of time...but in all honesty, the train was still a fair bit down the track...and wasn't exactly moving at any great speed. Mom was, however, less than thrilled that my shoe was about to be destroyed. She tried to extract the shoe from the railroad tracks...but no luck. A guy came out of the garage and tried his luck. Still, no go. If it hadn't been for the impending train, I imagined an Arthurian competition...various people would try their luck yanking the shoe from the tracks...and whoever managed to do so would save the day. No such luck. Train came by and destroyed the shoe. I was left standing there wearing only one shoe. Not being smart enough to remove that shoe, we walked (I hobbled) the rest of the way to The Hub, the local department store, and I was forced into a pair of sneakers. Neither of us were happy about this...for different reasons...but at least I learned to 'watch my step' and to not mess with trains.
So what does this have to do with driving under the influence of hallucinogens?
Well, the song I wrote today references memories about the train whistle, the red skies at night, our mom, and my shoe getting stuck. While writing it, I took an ambling stroll down memory lane. In thinking of the Weirton steel mill, I remembered a night in 1984. A friend and I had taken his mom's car and gone to a bar in Pittsburgh. While there, I made the acquaintance of a young lady who just happened to have a small quantity of the aforementioned illegal drug. She was nice enough to turn me on to some. I had no plans to drive, so I figured, Why Not?
Just my luck...my friend drank too much and got sick and couldn't drive. This left me to do the driving. In his mom's car. On acid. Honestly, I couldn't tell you just how fast (or slow) I drove us home. I could never keep track of time when on that stuff. What I do know is, we got stuck waiting for a train near the Weirton Steel mill. The train seemed to be taking forever, so I took the shortcut...a bridge that essentially went between two of the mill's buildings. As luck would have it, steel was being poured right as I got to the bridge. Anyone who has ever done hallucinogens can probably guess...my brain didn't process this well at all. It looked like a sea of fire to me. I imagined the bridge melting and us plunging to a fiery demise. It took me two years and a girlfriend needing a trip to the emergency room before I could drive without freaking out.
Since you've made it this far....here's the song. Oh...and don't drive on drugs.
I was thinking about this particular instance today while writing a song...about trains. Now that you're probably more convinced than ever that I am, indeed, a bit whicky in the whacky woo, trust me...this will make sense in just a bit.
I grew up in a small town in Ohio...firmly in the American "Rust Belt". This was steel country. Almost everyone I knew had ties to the steel mills. Everyones dad worked in the mills, in some capacity. Our dad didn't...but as a cardiologist, he basically kept these hard-working men (and women) alive. I was informed of dad's actual job description by a family friend, who was actually better known for his leg-breaking talents for a local family business with strong ties to the old country. Our dad's job was to keep people alive. Made sense to me.
The closest mill to our house was Weirton Steel. They poured molten steel into something over there. I know this because when they did it at night, the sky turned red. It was always an amazing sight to me. I've since learned that not everyone got to witness such beauty on a nightly basis. I'm glad that I did. To me, seeing the sky turn red at night was normal. It saddens me that I don't get to see that anymore.
OK...where am I going with all of this? Trust me...it makes sense.
Like I said, I was writing a song about trains. Like a lot of Americans, especially those my age or older, I hold a certain fascination with trains. To a lot of people, they're now more of an annoyance than anything else. Trains are a relatively slow mode of transportation in the US...and who hasn't been held up at a railroad crossing by a slow-moving train? Trains, at least in our American mythology, took people away...took them to new and exciting places...took them away to new adventures and/or new beginnings. And...they look and sound pretty cool too.
Chuckachuckachuckachuckachuckachuckachucka...trains are rhythmic. Probably another reason why so many songs are written about them.
When I was little, I loved that sound. Still do. But even better is the sound of an old-fashioned train whistle. When I would stay at our grandmother's house in Pittsburgh, I used to be awakened by the sound of a train whistle. Just down over the hill from her house was a railroad track. At 5:12am, just about every morning, I would hear that train whistle. It inspired wonder in me. Where was it going? Was it hauling steel or coal or people? Where did it come from? Just what did it look like? Was it one of those really old locomotives or something newer and more industrial looking?
I asked my grandmother if she would take me to watch the train go by some morning. The tracks were less than a mile away, down the hill near the creek...but she would usually look at me like I'd grown a second nose or just flat out tell me she wasn't getting up at 4am to take me down over the hill to see a train. She eventually took me to the Amtrak station...but it just wasn't the same. Those trains had either just pulled in or were getting ready to leave. There was no mystery to them. Getting to see the train that I heard every morning just seemed more...special. In my mind, it was MY train.
I can't remember the last time I heard that train whistle. I live in my grandmother's old house now. I'm often awake at that time of morning...I just never hear that train whistle anymore.
I learned a healthy respect for trains at a young age. One day, I was in town with our mom. I was probably 5 or 6 years old at the time. Being a geek of a kid, I never wore sneakers. I always wore dress shoes...big, black, heavy ones...because I used to love getting dressed up (my how things have changed!). I remember, we had parked in the parking garage near a place my friends and I called "Dirty Book Ronny's"...which was right by the railroad tracks. As we walked out of the garage and down the street to run whatever errands we needed to run, I recall my foot slipping as I walked on the tracks and my shoe getting wedged between the rail and the railroad tie. It was stuck in there but good! I tried to pull my foot out with the shoe on...no luck. Mom tried...still no luck. Then we heard the train coming. It was one of those "Oh Shit!" moments that we all have in life. Mom yanked me out of my shoe. If I was being dramatic, I would add that she did so just in the nick of time...but in all honesty, the train was still a fair bit down the track...and wasn't exactly moving at any great speed. Mom was, however, less than thrilled that my shoe was about to be destroyed. She tried to extract the shoe from the railroad tracks...but no luck. A guy came out of the garage and tried his luck. Still, no go. If it hadn't been for the impending train, I imagined an Arthurian competition...various people would try their luck yanking the shoe from the tracks...and whoever managed to do so would save the day. No such luck. Train came by and destroyed the shoe. I was left standing there wearing only one shoe. Not being smart enough to remove that shoe, we walked (I hobbled) the rest of the way to The Hub, the local department store, and I was forced into a pair of sneakers. Neither of us were happy about this...for different reasons...but at least I learned to 'watch my step' and to not mess with trains.
So what does this have to do with driving under the influence of hallucinogens?
Well, the song I wrote today references memories about the train whistle, the red skies at night, our mom, and my shoe getting stuck. While writing it, I took an ambling stroll down memory lane. In thinking of the Weirton steel mill, I remembered a night in 1984. A friend and I had taken his mom's car and gone to a bar in Pittsburgh. While there, I made the acquaintance of a young lady who just happened to have a small quantity of the aforementioned illegal drug. She was nice enough to turn me on to some. I had no plans to drive, so I figured, Why Not?
Just my luck...my friend drank too much and got sick and couldn't drive. This left me to do the driving. In his mom's car. On acid. Honestly, I couldn't tell you just how fast (or slow) I drove us home. I could never keep track of time when on that stuff. What I do know is, we got stuck waiting for a train near the Weirton Steel mill. The train seemed to be taking forever, so I took the shortcut...a bridge that essentially went between two of the mill's buildings. As luck would have it, steel was being poured right as I got to the bridge. Anyone who has ever done hallucinogens can probably guess...my brain didn't process this well at all. It looked like a sea of fire to me. I imagined the bridge melting and us plunging to a fiery demise. It took me two years and a girlfriend needing a trip to the emergency room before I could drive without freaking out.
Since you've made it this far....here's the song. Oh...and don't drive on drugs.
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