Sunday July 1st, 2012
Given how little I had eaten all day, it was amazing to see the sheer volume of vomit shooting across the fire pit there on the side of the mountain last night.
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Let me back up....
I woke slowly in Lordsburg, NM on what I think was Sunday (kinda losing track of the days and dates to be honest). After pouring gallons of coffee into my head, I loaded the bike and hit the highway for Wilcox, AZ and The Peyote Way Church of God, and my appointment with the spirit world.
It's only a couple hours down Interstate 10 to exit 340 at Wilcox, and having a few minutes to spare I went into the old downtown. It's a true old western downtown with all the businesses facing the railroad tracks and those straight up, boxy storefronts that you see in all the old westerns. After a chat with a couple locals in the Rex Allen park, I hit Rodney's for lunch.
Rodney is an older black gentleman with a pleasant smile and a soft voice. He has one of those faces and smiles that you immediately like. I ordered the gumbo and sat down next door with a soda to cool off. Rodney brought what appeared to be a bowl of rice swimming in a thin broth, with a chicken wing, piece of fried catfish, and some cut up Vienna sausages on top. Interesting take on the whole gumbo thing but when in Rome...
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| Rodney's in Wilcox, AZ |
The only other person in Rodney's restaurant was Andrew, a doctoral student who has been camping out and recording bird songs for several years here in the southwest.
Really nice, very interesting guy.
After a quick run thru Safeway for water and snacks, I took 191N up towards the church. It's longer than it looks on the map and you follow 191 a good 20 miles or so til it ends, then you hang a right at some pistachio orchards, then follow that road to the end, where you make a left onto a dirt road - then follow that dirt road 20 miles up into the mountains.
20 miles is a long time on a dirt road, but 20 miles on an overloaded Harley road bike on a dirt road was down right torturous. Washouts, sandpits, rocks, gravel over hard stones, and a rattlesnake in the center of the road made for a long afternoon.
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| Actually the ride out on Monday July 2nd. 30 miles on dirt roads to Hwy. 70, and out to Globe, AZ. |
The average land speed of a heavily packed, pirata laden, northern bound, migratory, 2008 Harley-Davidson Crossbones, over unpaved, primitive roads is 10 miles per hour; 2 hours from where I turned off of the paved road, I arrived at The Peyote Way Church of God.
Reverend Anne came out to say hello and show me around a bit. The house is old and a bit of a mess (these are hippies after all) but has a real charm, and Anne and husband Mathew have a real "come on in and hang out for a while" feel to them. After a brief tour of the house, where they've lived since 1977, I met Molly-horse and Buddy-dog and then Reverend Anne took me out to pick my "Ceremonial Spirit Walk" site for the evening.
Reverend Anne and Mathew discussed the "Walk"- what might happen, what might not happen, etc. so forth and then suggested I rest a bit before starting that evening. Normally, a person would stay one day to fast, then take the "walk" the next night, and then leave the third day. I was not inclined to stay a full 3 days so I opted to do the ceremony that night instead.
The "Ceremony" consisted mainly of me signing a couple consent forms and handing over $300.
Not sure what I expected, but that was less than spectacular.
Reverend Anne got out the Peyote Tea she had mixed up and put in a "ceremonial mason" jar especially for the occasion. Peyote Tea looks and smells like something hand dipped from the Black Lagoon by The Creature himself. It's hard to describe how awful it looks and smells; it's earthy and chunky and bitter and things are floating in it that may or may not have borne children in the recent past. It is nothing you ever want to put to your lips; just the smell is gag inducing, but with instructions from Reverend Anne to take a sip every 15-20 minutes, or as often as my stomach would let me, until the entire jar is gone, I walked confidently up the path with my special batch of Lagoon Juice, a flash light, and a few bottles of water.
The Spirit World beckons!!
After navigating thru the maze of broken cars, falling down outbuildings, and various collections of piled trash, I found my "Ceremonial Spirit Walk Site", which consisted of a lawn chair, a piece of indoor/outdoor carpet covered by a collapsible awning, and a fire-pit that I couldn't use b/c of the extra crispy dry conditions out here in the west and the various wild fires cutting across great swaths of Colorado and parts of New Mexico, and Arizona.
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Peyote tea is bad.
Let me repeat that: Peyote tea is the most vile, noxious, puke-inducing, semi-liquid, wretched, liver rupturing hideousness that one could ever imagine ingesting.
Imagine the hind parts of a 10 mule team dragging heavy timber thru rural Mississippi on a sweltering August day then multiply by things dead and then add a stiff brew of "ground beef left in a broken refrigerator while owner was away at beach for 3 weeks". That'll get you close.
As for the taste, add dirt, worms, and rancid seaweed.
I can not overestimate the horribleness that is the taste of this foul beast of a liquid.
But I'm a trooper; I managed to get half of it down over the next couple hours before the vomiting started.
But once it started, OH BOY, did it go!
It was that last attempt to get just a little more down that did it. I wasn't really feeling the ceremonial spirit walk moment and thought, "I better get this process going before the sun comes up and the ghost world turns in for the day", and in my haste my stomach began a long, unhappy protest.
Like I said at the top, I hadn't eaten very much that day since I knew that this was a strong possibility, so where all of that stuff coming from stomach originated, I'll never be quite sure.
But come up it did. I'm fairly sure that I saw a kidney and the Lone Ranger action figure that I lost as a child.
After a very, very long time hunched over the fire pit gasping for air, the vomiting subsided and the drugs began to take effect.
And then, this:
From out of the desert night it crawled, with evil on it's mind and it's eight hairy legs, it came looking for me.
If you ever find yourself in the Arizona wilderness, stoned out of your gourd on Peyote tea, and being chewed on by vicious, attack tarantulas, there's only one thing that you can do:
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From the desk of El Pinche Pirata del Fuego
July 3, 2012
Sedona, AZ
To: Ned Parker
President, Brotherhood of the Arachnids of North America
1053 Metropolitan Avenue,
New York, NY 10001
Dear Mr. Parker,
I am writing to you in regards to an experience I recently had with a member of The Brotherhood of the Arachnids of North America, Local Chapter 251 Wilcox, AZ.
While in the mountains outside of Wilcox, on a Ceremonial Spirit Walk, I had an unpleasant interaction with a certain, Timmy, a member of your Brotherhood.
I don’t know if you have had the opportunity to commune with "The Great Spirit" while sipping Peyote Tea in the middle of the Sierra Madras at midnight, but it’s quite an unique experience and something I had been looking forward to for a long time. I’m not sure where you stand on these subjects, but speaking with the spirit world and “becoming one with the universe” are both very high on my list of "things to do".
However, at exactly the point when the ceremonial peyote tea was reaching it’s maximum effect, your brethren, Timmy, decided to rush headlong from the darkness and trample my ankles, feet, legs, and head, thereby ruining my opportunity to seek words of wisdom from the great beyond.
The shrieks of terror that came from the deepest, darkest recesses of my body sent any spirit within miles running back to their caverns and caves, never to be seen or heard from again, much less offer the meaning of life that I had come seeking.
Having a tarantula the size of your average Rottweiler stomp on your body parts while in the grips of a peyote induced delirium is no kind of fun and I feel it was unacceptable behavior for Timmy to do so, and, when I pointed out to him that Los Piratas Internacional and The Brotherhood of the Arachnids of North America have a long standing pact of non-interference going back to The Cold War, he became down right belligerent. I can’t be positive, but I am fairly sure that he used one of his eight hairy legs to flick me off when he scuttled away into the night, laughing like a mad man.
I hate to be a whiner, but this experience has left me more than a little shaken, and in light of the very unpleasant evening I had, high as I was on ceremonial peyote tea, trying to hover on a lawn chair and make myself as small as possible, in the darkness of the Arizona mountain night, all the while watching for the next kamikaze style attack from one of your members, I strongly feel, in light of our long standing personal and professional history, and in the spirit of mutual cooperation that:
- I should be completely re-imbursed for the cost of the ceremony
- Timmy should forfeit his union membership until such time as his behavior should improve enough to once again join your meritorious ranks.
I appreciate your prompt review of this incident and quick response to my request.
Sincerely yours,
EPPdF,
Los Piratas Internacional, Barbary Coast
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Ned Parker, President
Brotherhood of the Arachnids of North America
1053 Metropolitan Avenue,
New York, NY 10001
Dear Mr. del Feugo,
While I certainly have sympathy for your unpleasant experience, and I will be having a local representative speak with Timmy, I'm afraid that having the national office of the Brotherhood of the Arachnids of North America re-imburse you for what amounts to a practical joke by a regional member is out of the question.
Perhaps, in light of the nature of your "spiritual bungee-jumping", the big lesson here might be:
Just Say No
Yours Truly,
Ned Parker, Pres.
Brotherhood of the Arachnids of North America
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From the desk of El Pinche Pirata del Fuego
July 3, 2012
Sedona, AZ
To: Ned Parker
President, Brotherhood of the Arachnids of North America
1053 Metropolitan Avenue,
New York, NY 10001
Dear Mr. Parker,
Your cavalier attitude towards this issue is very disturbing.
As you well know, it was Los Piratas Internacional that helped prevent what might have been "the arachnid holocaust" when we used "borrowed" vessels to provide safe passage to millions of arachnids, centipedes, and a few walking sticks, from communist ruled eastern Europe:
(Nikita Khrushchev gives the signal for the extermination and expatriation from communist held territories of millions of arachnids.)
A little sensitivity and cooperation on this issue would be appropriate.
Sincerely yours,
EPPdF,
Los Piratas Internacional, Barbary Coast
_______________________________________________________________________________
Ned Parker, President
Brotherhood of the Arachnids of North America
1053 Metropolitan Avenue,
New York, NY 10001
Dear Mr. Sissy-Pants,
I'm very sorry that you're such a weenie and you shrieked like a little girl when you saw an "icky spider". Get over it.
We're not giving you any money.
I wish Timmy would have sat on your chest and broke wind.
(This little girl can nap with a spider on her face; what's wrong with you, sissy?)
Yours Truly,
Ned Parker, Pres.
Brotherhood of the Arachnids of North America
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From the desk of El Pinche Pirata del Fuego
July 3, 2012
Sedona, AZ
To: Ned Parker
President, Brotherhood of the Arachnids of North America
1053 Metropolitan Avenue,
New York, NY 10001
Dear Mr. Parker,
It's unfortunate that you're not taking this incident more seriously. I may have to take matters in my own hands.
Sincerely yours,
EPPdF,
Los Piratas Internacional, Barbary Coast
_______________________________________________________________________________
Ned Parker, President
Brotherhood of the Arachnids of North America
1053 Metropolitan Avenue,
New York, NY 10001
Dear Poorly Hung, Weak Kneed, Weenie-Man,
First, we at The Brotherhood do not like threats; not at all.
(You have to sleep sometime, don't ya'?)
Second, Raid?
Really?
I guess all "us bugs look the same to you" don't we ya' jerk!?!
Racist.
Do a little reading next time you squat to pee.
The Arachnids have a a couple billion years of evolution AND 2 extra legs on the average insect. We are not the same.
I don't appreciate you lumping us all in together like that!
Insensitive dick.
Yours Truly,
Brotherhood of the Arachnids of North America
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From the desk of El Pinche Pirata del Fuego
July 3, 2012
Sedona, AZ
To: Ned Parker
President, Brotherhood of the Arachnids of North America
1053 Metropolitan Avenue,
New York, NY 10001
Mister Parker,
You have issues, pal.
Maybe you and Timmy should seek couples counseling.
Sincerely yours,
EPPdF,
Los Piratas Internacional, Barbary Coast
_______________________________________________________________________________
Ned Parker, President
Brotherhood of the Arachnids of North America
1053 Metropolitan Avenue,
New York, NY 10001
Dear Mr. Racist Homophobe,
Pppfffftttttttttttt!
Run and hide, girlie-man.
Yours Truly,
Brotherhood of the Arachnids of North America
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So, to recap:
I drove 20 miles down a dirt road to a commune in the mountains, drank an expensive, awful, semi-hallucinogenic liquid, a spider crawled across my boot, and then I couldn't sleep til the sun came up.
The end.
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