Dead Horse Point

I remember the first trip I made to Dead Horse Point.  It was in 1972, more or less, one of my friends was doing his conscientious objector assignment in Moab.  I believe he was doing general psychiatric work and running the first drug crisis center.

We drove down to Moab in a big maroon Buick, the Riviera with the pointed back.  My friend had just won $20,000 in Las Vegas, at the Sands, playing 21 on acid and he traded his VW Bus for the Buick.  It was more suitable for a successful gambler than a hippie in coveralls.  We picked up the wife of our CO friend, loaded the cooler with cold Coors, and headed out to the point.

The view was really amazing and we sat and talked, walked the trails, watched lizards and tossed small rocks over the edge.  During the day one of the first motorhomes pulled up, really strange looking people, and their dog was even stranger – the first real Boston Terrier we had ever seen.  This was decades before Spuds McKenzie. After an amazing day we climbed back into the huge Buick and headed East.  It was hot, I open a cold Coors and it sprayed on me.  It felt so good that I poured the rest of the can over my head and popped another.  On the cassette was the new release Abraxas by Santana – perfect.  When we got back to Moab we listened to Leon Russell – Shelter People in tow – and finished our beer.

The have been many trips to Dead Horse Point since that day but none had quite the symmetry of that drive in the Buick in altered states with the great music and good friends.

This is one memory of you Brucikins.


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