Mr. & Mrs. Jerry Garcia

A little over a week into our journey, we were hit hard by a case of mushroom fever and felt the need to find a forest of giant trees, stat. After some intense research we determined that the most shroomable grove of redwoods was located 150 miles south in the Giant Sequoia National Park. Fully reloaded with snacks and supplies* we headed out on our first real road trippin adventure. Just miles before we reached the park we came across an immense and unguarded orange grove. Living by the road trippers code we pulled into the grove and helped ourselves to a free armful of grenade-shaped, pesticide-covered oranges. Not long after the orange grove the road began to unexpectedly climb the side of a mountain. In less than 15 minutes we had climbed to 6,000 feet above sea level and wasted half a tank of gas doing so but at least were treated to nearly perfect sun staring conditions:

(sunset)

We were nearly out of gas and daylight, and had yet to see a campsite that wasn’t covered in a foot of snow. A few weeks ago we would have panicked in this situation, but we had watched a handful of Survivorman episodes recently so we were fully prepared to pull over and dig out a snow cave to sleep, and most likely freeze to death, in. We ended up using our road savvy to make it to the closest town (Three Rivers, CA) by coasting down the backside of the mountain. Home to a gas station and small dive bar, Three Rivers turned out to be a great detour. That night, the bar just happened to be featuring one of Eastern California’s finest jam bands, The Jam Band. The Jam Band was comprised of three generations of failed rockers (a middle-aged man on lead guitar and vocals, a 16-year-old hobbit on drums, and a 70-year-old Dead Head on bass, keyboard and acid). Nothing ignites my thirst for alcohol like a 10-minute keyboard rendition of what I believe was Smoke on the Water so we headed to the bar and ordered a couple beers from the bartender (who was, quite possibly, an extra from Pirates of the Caribbean). Apparently, this bartender had been around for a while and had figured out a more efficient method of checking IDs. Instead of asking for our licenses, he simply asked us if we were cops (“if you’re cops you have to tell me and then you can’t arrest me because that’s an illegal sting”). With our poorly planned sting attempt all but ruined we settled for getting a buzz on with the locals. We felt slightly uncomfortable with our outsider status until we noticed the two rival road trippers from Team O’Douls and realized that we were only the third and fourth faggiest dudes in the bar. Two hours and around 100 beers later we realized that the only chickies there had their hearts set on blowing the bass player so we left to find our campsite. As we were on our way out, we ran into the band members returning from a back alley and deeply regretted our missed opportunity to smoke meth with The (one and only) Jam Band. Spirits low, we hit the road and resumed our campsite search. Seven Bear Warning signs later we were convinced that The Pakwashi Camping Grounds would be our home for the night. We fired up the camping grill and cooked ourselves an exquisite feast of hobo chili (one can dynamite hot chili, one can Tabasco chili and several pieces of old burnt garlic bread). This choice would come back to haunt us the following morning, when we woke up with a mean case of hobo diarrhea. The morning wasn’t a complete loss though, thanks to Corey’s clever ploy we got out of paying the $18 fee for our campsite**. My clever ploy of throwing the rest of the garlic bread near our neighbor’s campsites in an attempt to provoke a bear attack, however, was less successful.

Our first stop that morning was the Sequoia National Park Ranger’s Station to get some trail maps. The ranger informed us that the best trails all required snowshoes and advised us to take some lower elevation trails. It was obvious that the stupid old ranger was not a fellow shroomhead or snowtrekker, so we went against his advice and set off on the snowshoe trail. Fifteen minutes of deep snowtrudging later, we came across a perfect shroom-eating pot and got to work on mind expansion. Corey chose the old chewing tobacco method*** while I stuck to my tried and true method of trying not to throw up as I force the mushrooms down my throat. We made an effort to continue up the path but our snowtrudging attire of basketball shorts and running shoes made it foolishly difficult.

(Snowtrudging)

With our feet frozen solid, we changed directions and headed toward a slightly less adventurous snow trail. The trail contained several towering sequoias, circling a snow-covered meadow. I had trouble determining if my amazement with the brilliantly colored, giant trees came from my love of nature or the handful of mushrooms digesting in my stomach. Either way, I was rather impressed. Almost as impressive as the trees was our spotting of an older hippie couple who finally answered the question of what it would look like if Jerry Garcia had married Jerry Garcia and then went on a hike through the redwoods. After our first trip around the meadow, Corey could no longer stand the anticipation and decided to give his recently purchased kaleidoscope a test run. Judging by the stares he received, Corey determined that using a kaleidoscope in public is just about as socially acceptable as jerking off right in the middle of the trail. I can’t even attempt to describe how great the scenery was so here are a few pictures that hopefully do it a bit of justice:

(Us in front of huge tree)

(Corey next to gigantic tree)

(Our favorite shroom root)

(Corey's attempt to recreate the mushroom experience with the use of photoshop)

As we began to come down we found a cool spot where a sequoia was growing over a large boulder and decided to climb up to it. Sitting on the boulder, slightly hidden from the view of hikers beneath us, we watched a family struggle to contend with their unruly children. We quickly learned that Nathan (the youngest and most unruly of the bunch) had been rather insistent on taking a “nature hike” and then immediately ruined it for everyone by screaming and refusing to walk any further. This was clearly not the first time Nathan had requested, and then subsequently ruined, a “nature hike” because his mom promptly pulled out the “nathan leash” and dragged him along to the car for what we imagine was quite a beating (the fact we were laughing hysterically and attempting to take pictures of the situation less than 15 feet away only added to the misery that Nathan’s family was going through).

Feeling fairly accomplished for the day, we headed up a less populated trail to smoke a joint and lose all motivation for life. All we did after that was visit the largest living thing on the entire planet...that’s all (read in Gareth Keenen voice).

(picture of General Sherman Tree the motherfucking largest living thing on earth)

I wish I had a more miserable/humorous story to tell, but all in all it was a great experience for our first mushroom-fueled adventure of the trip.

*The night before, Corey’s girlfriend’s mom took us on a drunken shopping trip and bought us such useful items as ramen, girl scout cookies and a comically oversized bag of Hoody’s peanuts.

**Due to our pending case with the National Forest Service we cannot go into further details about this ploy.

***He chews up the mushrooms, lets the disgusting black paste sit in his mouth for around 20 minutes and then swallows the whole concoction because Richard deems this to be the most efficient manner of mushroom consumption. Just writing that makes me want to throw up.

-Spencer