CHOICES & CHANCES, CHEECH & CHONG

I’ve had my Stella scooter parked out in front of my daughter’s home with a “For Sale” sign on her for the past couple of weeks. I have finally come to terms with my orthopaedist’s firm assessment that my traumatically compromised and valiantly repaired left leg is no longer adequate to kick start her when needed. After having her garaged for far longer than she should have been in the hope that I might ride her again, I am conceding that, since she was built for fun, she needs to be out having it.

I had a hilarious encounter with a couple of stoners who were interested in Stella last Sunday afternoon... one of them called as I sat working at my desk in the back bedroom. He informed me that he was sitting out curbside in his VW van and that his battery was about to go dead... he wanted to know about Stella, so I talked as I walked and, when I reached the front porch, I found him already seated on her. He was clearly baked, as was his compatriot, and the two of them were straight out of every Cheech and Chong record I have ever laughed my way through hysterically.

"Dude," asked the one in the bandana, flannel shirt and cargo shorts, seated on Stella, "you think I could ride this cross-country?" "Oh, yeah, man," offered the tall one in the Carhartts, his dreadlocks rowdily escaping the confines of a baseball cap. "You could totally ride that cross-country..." Bandana Boy asked how much I wanted for her, I told him, and he replied, "Ohhh, wowww....” (anyone familiar with the West Coast of the USA recognizes that slow, stoner “Ohhh, wowww” that rolls forward simultaneously guttural and yet somehow out of the high back of the speaker’s throat), “I was thinking about spending, like, $700.00 for a scooter..... man!" “Yeah, dude,” offered Captain Carhartt, “You can get one of these for about $1,500, I’ve seen ‘em on line…” “So have I,” I quickly offered, “and they have far higher mileage, little or no maintenance and/or body damage… this one is in pristine condition…. and you get what you pay for.” Captain Carhartt bobbed his head and rubbed the thumb and forefinger of his left hand on the soul patch of his chin thoughtfully. His large, dark eyes were downcast in heavily-lidded agreement…

“Man, I don’t know,” said Bandana Boy, heaving a heavy sigh… I felt badly for him because, out of all of the people who have expressed an interest in her thus far, it was clearly he who understood her heart… it was evident in the reverence with which he looked at her and in the way that he gently touched her. I could just see the visions of his highway dreams roll across his face like a late summer storm moving across the desert southwest… exciting, powerful, full of potential danger and possibility… freedom.

"Well," I finally said, "You give it some thought and let me know. You can certainly find something cheaper than a Stella, but you can't find anything with more style, class and sturdy engineering. But, look at it this way," I continued with a smile, "If you do decide to go cheaper, what you undoubtedly will have is an engrossing epic with which to entertain all of your friends.... all about what happened to you when you inevitably broke down somewhere in Podunk, South Dakota, on your $700.00 scooter!"

There was dual Dude laughter in response, and he asked what my bottom price would be... I told him that I couldn't let her go for less than $2,500... "Cash in hand?" he asked, all the while pulling in the clutch and working the twist shift on the handlebar. I said, "Yes, cash in hand and you drive her home today."

He reluctantly dismounted, and he took a look back before he alit the blown-out upholstery of the passenger seat of the VW bus that had brought them here. As Captain Carhartt took his place behind the wheel and pulled away from the downsloping curb, the bus backfired in ornery disapproval. As I watched them go, they inspired a smile in me, and I stood there chuckling and measuring their progress down to the intersection until the van hiccupped and lurched out of sight. I had little faith that he would be able to come up with the cash. But, we shall see... in any case, I would now have a funny story of my own to tell, and I thought at the time that this, on its own merit, might be the end of it.

A couple of days later, however, other thoughts have begun to emerge about the encounter…. Thoughts about all of the “small” choices that we make in life, the “small” chances we pass up unknowingly as a result, and how all of them are ultimately interwoven in what eventually becomes the tapestry of our lives. The kid clearly wanted Stella, but he had placed his money and his energy elsewhere, maybe in the “small” habitual choice to take another toke… that adds up and, over time, might perhaps have manifested for him his new scoot instead of his next toot.

It also got me to thinking about the experiments in the early 1980s conducted by a psychologist who created a “Rat Park.” Half of the “park” was comprised of confining cages, and the other half was set up like a laboratory rat paradise with places to run, play, stimulate the mind and interact socially. All rats were given a choice of plain water or a cocktail of water laced with sugar and opium. The rats in the cages became instant addicts and the rats that had healthy options available to them refused the drugs. Even when they changed places, the formerly free rats that were then confined went to the opium, while the formerly addicted rats gradually weaned themselves off the drug as their options became more stimulating.

People can spend entire lifetimes trying to be something they aren’t because they feel they “should;” but, as my wonderful Mendhi artist, Wendy Rover http://www.rovinghorse.com/ recently shared with me while she was working her henna magic on my hands, “I’ve learned in life not to “should” on myself!” Or, we defer our dreams because we somehow believe that we lack the ability to turn them into reality. So we enter into unhealthy patterns of behavior only to repeatedly realize that the illusion of security that we hoped that behavior might bring was fleeting at best. Ultimately, these experiences just serve to reinforce everything negative that we ever suspected about ourselves in the first place.

Again, I am drawn to the wise words that I am unable to source, but the impact of them in my own life has been acute:
Watch your thoughts, for they become words.
Watch your words, for they become actions.
Watch your actions, for they become habits.
Watch your habits, for they become your character.
Watch your character, for it becomes your destiny.

Or, as my self-styled “Ordinary Joe” puts it in simplicity: “Be the best that you can be.”

I may be reading a great deal more than necessary into that young man and his motivations, and I sincerely hope that I am… perhaps he just happened to be high on that Sunday afternoon. However, having come up in the ‘60s and ‘70s, I believe myself to be more keenly able to discern the difference between drugs as recreation and drugs as a lifestyle. Sadly, I believe that he fell into the latter category. That kid has a road trip in him. We all do at some level and, as I know from having taken my own road trips when I have needed to, if we don’t take them when opportunity knocks, we can only look back on our lives with a great deal of regret. I hope with all my heart that he will make a way to manifest his, and that he comes back with “cash in hand.” If he does, I will stand on the corner as he drives away on Stella, smiling and waving as they leave my sight, off to their adventures… and so grateful and happy to be proven Dead Wrong about him.