In honor of the 10 year anniversary of Hunter S. Thompson’s death, Here is my most Hunter S. Thompson style story. aken from my book If I had Wings These Windmills would be Dead

by Chuck Howe

Scooter wanted out of Colgate. The year was over and he was ready to come home. He had already applied to other schools and it looked like he was going to get into Hampshire. I had already decided to head out to the University of Oregon in the fall, so I wouldn’t see too much of my friends.
Phish was playing in Syracuse that night, and then at a festival in Amherst the next day. Picking up Scooter on the way to the Syracuse show made perfect sense. We loaded his stuff into my car, and with Lenny and Steve, made our way to the show.

Next thing I knew, it was four in the morning, and I was tripping my balls off. I was driving 95 miles an hour. I had to make it to Amherst by morning, or else we might not get into the show. We had stayed in Syracuse for too long, but I couldn’t see the cigarette in my mouth, let alone the road. Phish had blown our minds. We even got to see Mimi Fishman challenge her son to a vacuum-playing contest. I was so out of it, I had no idea who won. So we waited in the parking lot until I came down enough to drive. Of course once we hit the road, I took another tab. I had to stay awake after all.

Everyone but me was asleep in my car when the cop came up behind me. I didn’t even notice him until finally he pulled up alongside of me, and ordered me to pull over. “Everyone, crotch your drugs.” Lenny woke up to see a cop pointing his flashlight into the window.

”Everyone out of the car,” he ordered. He took one look at me and knew that I was fucked up. “How much have you had to drink tonight?”

”Not a drop sir,” I was telling the truth. “How much did you have?”

”OK, so you’ve been smoking pot. I can smell it on you.” He had us sit on the side of the road as more police cars pulled up. “We believe that you may be in possession of illegal substances, so we are going to search the car.” Normally I would argue the search, but I was still a little too fucked up to think straight.

He was right. Illegal substances covered almost every inch of my car. Luckily there were a lot of backpacks and all of Scooter’s crap from school cluttering the car, but there was also an ounce of pot, a sheet of acid, and 2-dozen Valium. Looking through the back of my Volvo station wagon I could see the police lights swirling through the blue plastic of a two-foot bong. I thought that some dip shit upstate cop was about to make the biggest bust of this town’s history.

A few kids walking past stopped to see if we needed help. I said no, but asked them to stick around just in case. “Were you guys at the Phish show?”

I guess it was obvious. “Yeah, it kicked ass.”

The cops made us empty our pockets, and Steve pulled out a pack of rolling papers. They immediately began searching my car. I could see the cops opening empty packs of cigarettes, and pulling empty beer bottle out of the back seat. I looked at Lenny and Steve, and they had their heads in their hands. They were sure we were going to jail. As I sat there, I remembered the pipe in my visor and the mushrooms in my glove compartment. I figured we were busted, too. Scooter had no clue what was in the car and was talking happily with the kids who stopped by.

Twenty minutes later, the cops were still searching. If they had looked up they would have seen the bong. I knew then and there that they were a bunch of idiots. I was still tripping my face off, but I figured it was time to talk to the cops.

”Excuse me sir,” I said standing up and walking to the cop sitting in the driver’s seat. He was sifting through the 300 cigarette butts in my ashtray looking for a roach. That was the only spot in my car without anything illegal. “I’ve been driving all night, and I still have 4 hours to go. Can we finish this up?” I tried to make it seem like I was not worried at all.

”Tell me where the drugs are. Do you want me to call in the dogs?” I knew if they had dogs, they would have been there already.

”Sir, I haven’t used any drugs. The smell is probably because we were at a concert.” The cop looked at the other cops, and then amazed me by telling them they could go.

”Come to my car. I’ll write you a speeding ticket, and if you pass the Breathalyzer you can go.” I had no problem with that. I hadn’t had a thing to drink. I hated mixing the acid with alcohol.

I walked with him back to his car, passing the bong sticking up like a flag pole. Scooter, Lenny and Steve got up and went back into my car. The officer administered the test, and when I passed handed me a ticket. “Now drive safe. If you get tired, pull over, or have one of your friends drive.”

”Yes sir,” I said and went back to my car. I opened the door and got in. Lenny handed me the packed bong, and as the cop pulled past me, I blew the smoke out of the window. I started the car and drove off to Amherst. I wasn’t going to miss Phish playing a festival with Fishbone and the Beastie Boys after all.