“Lately it occurs to me / what a long strange trip it’s been.” — Robert Hunter, Jerry Garcia, Bob Weir, Phil Lesh
Bob Weir is off truckin’ for real now. The Grateful Dead mainstay was last seen headed west at 78. Years, not miles per hour.
I was never a huge Grateful Dead fan, though for years I looked more or less like their target market.
But who in their right minds, or even the wrong ones, didn’t love “Truckin’?” I mean, other than Robert Crumb, who came to hate his iconic “Keep On Truckin'” cartoon after it took off without him seeking someone else’s fortune, copyright law be damned.
I saw the Dead just once, on Sept. 3, 1972, at Folsom Field in Boulder. No idea how I got there — I may have had a driver’s license by then, but certainly no car. Could be I caught a ride with my old high-school bro’ and fellow music lover Bruce Gibson, if he wasn’t already in the Navy by then. I was in my first year at Adams State College in Alamosa, missing the dean’s list by light-years but probably making it onto a few less sought-after rosters.
We were way up in the cheap seats, and someone in the band — Jerry Garcia, maybe? — started throwing shiny objects to the crowd. Couldn’t quite make out what they were, thanks to our distance from the stage and the platoon of brain invaders setting up a perimeter in my cerebellum.
“Hell’s that?” I mumbled. “Cans of beer? Silver dollars?”
Nope. It was lids. Of weed. Oh, how I wanted me some of that San Francisco treat. But I seemed to have been lag-bolted to my seat in the nosebleed section and my mind soon wandered off by itself, muttering, “Forget this dude, he ain’t going nowhere.”
It came back, of course. Hence this blog.
It may be a while before we see Bob Weir again, Dog willing. But when we do, he’ll be jamming with Jerry, Phil Lesh, Pigpen, Robert Hunter and the rest of the old gang. Peace to him, his family, friends, and fans.
Mad Blog Media 
That was a bummer to see yesterday. I almost saw the Grateful Dead in concert once, but weather intervened.
My freshman college friend Ron called me from Noo Joisey, where he had relocated to the Rutgers Livingston campus, finding the U of Rochester a little too pricey (at the time ROTC was picking up my tab, as that place was way too rich for my blood as well). Told me he could get me a ticket to the upcoming Dead concert down there. So I packed up the motorcycle for the ride from Rochester to his place and set off.
He had a night job, so I crashed out on the floor for the night. Next day arrived and we set off on our motorcycles to the concert.
Unfortunately, weather intervened and there was this huge thunderstorm that I guess knocked out the power, so we were S-O-L. That’s as close as I got to seeing the Dead live, but I was always a big fan. But it was my first long motorcycle ride, and that was fun.
Guess I’ll have to break out the “Best Of” CD in honor of old Bob’s hitting the road.
Bibleburg was a shit town for concerts when I was a young douchebag (instead of an old one). All the music was up north — Denver, Boulder, Fort Collins.
I saw REO Speedwagon and the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band in Alamosa (NGDB’s road manager was an Alamosa vato, and rumor was that Jerry Garcia might sit in; he didn’t). Caught Jerry Jeff Walker, Leon Kottke, Steve Martin, and either Earth, Wind and Fire or Tower of Power in Greeley, among others.
But the real scene was the Denver-Boulder metroplex. Mile High Stadium, McNichols Arena, Folsom, etc. B-burg didn’t have an event center that could host a big-name act and its fans back then. And without a driver’s license and car it was tough to get out of Dodge.
and of course Red Rocks.
That was always part of the Greater Denver Clusterplex as far as we Southern Front Rangers were concerned. My crowd and I went there a time or two, most memorably to see Tom Waits opening for the Eagles (yes, I said “Tom Waits opening for the Eagles. …”) but it was almost always too much hassle.
Herself and I caught James Taylor and Lyle Lovett at Fiddler’s Green, which by comparison was a breeze to access. Right off the Valley Freeway, bing bang boom and Bob’s your uncle.
I am grateful to you, The Great Perro Loco, for introducing me to another great song that passed me by in my age of musical ignorance. That is a great song with an undeniable groove. If you don’t move a little listening to that, you should check your pulse. I had to grab the Rainsong, always hanging on the wall since it doesn’t care what the humidity is, and play along. It’s basically a 3 chord song in the key of E. But, you can make it sound better by throwing in transition notes from one chord to the next and some bar chords for the A to B changes. Garcia really liked to use that open E chord in that song.
Delighted to serve, señor. Not too turble-bad hard to play … but what a staccato tongue-twister to sing, hey?
Word. Those lyrics need a lot of practice. Bob had a little trouble getting started on the first verse. Been there. Go once around the progression while looking for the lyrics on the ceiling.
In memoriam
You missed Ebbets Field saw Kotke in Denver, as well as Who, Clapton at the auditorium in Denver. Rondstat and dirt band, at Moby in the fun fabulous fort. Dan Fogelrberg and Doug Kershaw at Ramskellqr at CSU and the stones at hughes stadium with Thank god for good weed, Charlie Daniels band and shaka kahn as opening acts. I may or may not have been at Folsom Field that afternoon in September 72, my high school friend was at CU and we smoked a bunch of opium cured weed and tried to drink the hill dry. memory not to clear.l
Ebbets Field! Forgot all about that place. We saw The Firesign Theatre there.
Later on I caught The Clancy Brothers at one of the Denver performing arts centers, a newish one. They were selling Guinness in the lobby. Grand idea — soon the tossers were singing along with the Clancys.
May’ve been the same place where Herself and I caught George Carlin honing his “Complaints and Grievances” act. He killed, of course.