The Burcht

      When you're in the country and you see a cop behind you y our normal speeder will panic and immediately pull over to the side when he sees the big red light behind him ... and then he will start apologizing, begging for mercy.      This is wrong. It arouses contempt in the cop-heart. The way to handle one of these country cops is to speed up to five mph over the speed limid and gun it until you come to a straight away, and then pull over.       The  country cop approached the drivers door.  I got ready to explain that Gerry was a geriatric who relied on marijuana to ease his pain.  I didn't fancy staying in jail all night during my acid trip.  If he found the drugs, we could all be doing time.  "you fellas having a joy ride?" he asked, squinting his eyes at us.  I gave him my license.  "Well mister, eh, Schlepper.  You know that it's illegal to smoke marijuana outside of a place of business i...

      We were somewhere around Johnston on the edge of the forest when the drugs began to take hold.  I remember saying something like " I can really drive on these edibles."    Everything was slipping into the rural reality of Rastafarianism.  I had one, maybe two Rastas in the car.  I was driving for an MC, Artem to go and see his dad, who lived in coventry where they still have a no tolerance policy for Marijuana use.  It was a 40 minute drive. It was quieter there in the backwoods than in the city, and Artem opened the window and smelled the air.  " The air is cleaner out here" he said.  In the passenger seat was a Trinidadian navy man named Harold.  He was a good copilot, quiet mostly, but there when he needed to be.       It was almost 2:30 and the winter rain was starting to come down.  "We should stop at that Buddhist temple!" I said.  I was wondering if I was on the Hippie trail and I didn...

Wednesday Day 1      Leaving home went seamlessly, my perfecto leather jacket was a little tight, but every schilpad needs his shell.  Flying a bargain airline was new to me, and the process went very smoothly.  Security was a breeze and the terminal was elegant, with flowing chaise lounges.  The flight was quaint, with the  busty flight attendants wearing baby t’s and Christmas hats.  I had a delicious boterham.  On the flight from Reykjavik to Amsterdam I slept like a rock, despite lacking a pillow.  A wind farm in the north sea looked like the graveyard at Normandy.      I lit up a cigarette when I stepped on the tarmac and this very uptight dutch woman threatened to have me locked up.  After I got my bags went out in front of Schipol to have a smoke.  There were no smoking signs everywhere, but there were droves of smokers, many of them employees and flight attendants.  I took the train to Cent...