Back in the day at the Rainbow Gathering,

I drummed for fried potatoes, and dodged naked guys on stilts.

After the flea misadventure in South Beach, life settled back into Denver normalcy, until a very strange encounter, sent my friends and I wandering around a forest in New Mexico - chasing rainbows and magic energy.

In the mid 90s, I was at a Vegas Dead show with Jana, and no matter where we went, all throughout the stadium, this same strange guy seemed to just pop up right next to us.

First we found a spot on the floor, near a group of people we recognized from the lot, but then, all of a sudden BAM - this other guy was standing there instead of them.

My dumbfounded friend and I looked at each other like,

"Huh?" How did that happen?

But guessing we must be tripping already, we brushed it off, assuming we just hadn't seen him.

A little while later we relocated, and standing in line to get concessions, recognized the same random guy, staring at us from another vendor a few feet over (weird coincidence).

We wandered around a bit, running into friends from Boulder, eventually ending up in an entirely different section of the stadium, before worming our way through the blissed out crowd to claim a rare open spot.

Singing and dancing to the music, suddenly the person directly in front of us turned around and it was THE SAME GUY! The chances of that happening seemed astronomical, and I still get chills thinking about it.

Jana and I stared at each other wide-eyed, both trying to convince our own warped minds that we must be tripping really hard.

A slow calming smile crossed his face, and he nodded his head stepping aside, allowing us to see the stage better.

When the song ended he turned to us and asked,

"Are you going to the gathering?"

We had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, standing there completely creeped out, wondering how in the hell this could be the same guy?

He continued talking,

"You know it's in Taos this year, Carson National Forest.

Fourth of July weekend, of course.

Follow the rainbows until ...."

We smiled awkwardly, unsure what was happening, but then The Dead started playing again, and we turned our attention to Jerry.

A few minutes later, glancing sideways in the direction of the guy, chills ran my spine to see a different person where he had just been (!) and my brain was unable to comprehend how he could be right there, and then POOF/gone.

We kept looking over our shoulders freaked out, scanning the crowd, trying to figure out just exactly- what the fuck? - and left Las Vegas early the next morning, rolling into Denver around 5pm, road weary and hungry.

Going inside to chill before unloading the car, the moment I sat down on the couch and flipped on the television,

THE SAME FUCKING GUY

was staring at us from the screen. (I swear.)

The channel was tuned to a PBS Depok Chopra special, and at that exact moment, as the cameraman scanned the audience for thoughtful reaction shots, he zoomed in on the same strange guy from Vegas, now looking directly at us from the tv dimension.

We were blown away, flabbergasted, stunned into incomprehension, and both of us knew... there was no denying... we had to go... to whatever that rainbow thing was he was talking about...it was a sign.

***

Luckily, one of my Bimbo friends (Hammer) had some basic gear, and after recruiting her to come too, she and Jana and I loaded up THE ENTERPRISE and drove to New Mexico, figuring we’d mostly be car-camping.

Closer to Taos, we began to see little signs nailed to fenceposts, or stuck on trees, depicting a rainbow with an arrow, or with the words: "Welcome Home", and figured we must be going the right way.

Eventually, the signs led us off the highway and up a dirt road, to a couple of hippie buses parked next to a lodgepole gate, where a group of people who looked Straight Outa' Woodstock, were handing out tinfoil packages containing some sort of black tar-like paste. Pretty hippie girls opened their arms wide, swaying back and forth, and repeating,

"Welcome home sisters, welcome home".

We drove on, coming to a massive area of parked cars, trailers, and busses, but unsettlingly, NO PEOPLE.

Unsure what to do, eventually a seasoned 60s couple walked by, and when we asked them where everyone was, they laughed as if we were the three dumbest white girls on the planet, before answering,

"In the Valley girls, go to the Valley."

So we divied up as much of Hammer's minimal camping supplies we could carry, and started down a narrow dirt trail sloping off the parking lot. Before long, a low rumbling could be sensed in our feet, every step closer becomming louder, until the sound we felt was a constant drumming noise, with discernible rhythmic patterns.

Up and over rolling hills, across muddy low spots, between tall shade trees, and through tight rock outcroppings, the walk was much further than we'd hoped; and our arms felt like they were going to break carrying all of our shit like that.

Finally, around the last leg of the trail, a large valley opened up in the form of a beautiful mountain meadow, filled with thousands of people spread out across, and swarming the surrounding mountainsides.

Tents, flags, teepees, blankets, kites, and tarps, of all colors, shapes, and sizes, created a patchwork of shelter and statement, and from our vantage point, the clusters of people moving along interlaced lines looked like a giant human ant farm.

We found a clear spot between a couple of pines to set up the 2-man tent, (for the three of us) while watching a few naked guys go in and out of what we guessed was a peyote sweat lodge.

They went back and forth from a smoldering fire ring, to the tiny door of a stacked-stick enclosure, slowly moving large hot stones inside. Naked, except for paint markings all over their bodies, it definitely seemed like they were on psychedelics, and we sat there laughing at the great people-watching they provided.

Making our way into the fray, we discovered a beautifully simple social system, where each ant-farm cluster was actually a different "camp" handing out free food or drink, as long as you worked for it.

Word would spread quickly about a certain item in the works, or ready to be served at (whichever) camp, and everyone would rush that way to get a taste.

Different camps included:

• Native American Teepees - (Where you could get roasted corn made over a fire, if you helped shuck, serve, or clean-up.)

  
  

• The 'Bread of Life' Christian Camp - (Where you could get hot homemade bread, if you helped knead the dough or shape the rolls.)

  
  

• Drum City - (Where you could get fried potatoes cooked in oil, if you helped peel and cut them. *If no peeler or knife was available, you were asked to drum, and keep the incessant circle going at all times.)

  
  

• Krishna Camp - (Where you could get raisins, dates, and pistachio nuts if you stayed a few minutes and listened to their religious beliefs.)

  
  

• Sereni-tea - (Where you could get hot black tea from a big cauldron, and if needed, spend time resting on a little woven mat.)

(I'm sure there were more, but those are the only ones I experienced personally.)

There was also an area called 'Barter Town' where you could walk up and down perusing rows of blankets laid out on the ground, exchanging your stuff for their stuff.

No actual money was involved, just traded things like:

• a weed pipe for a leatherman,

• a half empty bottle of vodka for a few candy bars,

• or some magic mushrooms for a sleeping bag

Getting a few sideways glances from the hardcores, my friends and I took off our jewelry and lip gloss, and put on more layers of flannel - trying to grunge ourselves up to fit in better.

At noon on the Fouth of July, everyone lined up around the valley, joining hands to form a gigantic human chain. We found a spot to link up, connecting to the magical energy pulsing the hillside, watching it travel like the wave at a football game.

I could FEEL the LOVE emanating through all of us, filling the mountain meadow with joyous Om energy, and then all of a sudden as if on cue, the circular human chain raised their arms and let out a majestic happy roar, and everyone rushed their section of slope, converging in the center.

That's where everything became a complete and utter free-for-all celebration, and we incredulously bounced through a crowd of:

• Native American Indians in full ceremonial dress, dancing traditional dances,

• Vestal Virgins in gauzy see-through dresses, carried on flowery platforms,

• Dreadlocked rastas in regal green, gold, and red robes, smoking big communal bowls,

• People dressed like fairies throwing glitter in the air,

• Braided hippie chicks dancing crazy dances,

• Bearded drummer boys banging chaotic beats,

• And of course, Naked Guys on Stilts (their business on full display, at an unfortunate, unavoidable eye-level)

All in all, I'm so glad we went - to experience such hopeful, loving energy, uniquely and wildly American.

Thanks to the strange guy in Vegas for getting us there….and for the…

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