It was always a big event when the Greatful Dead came to Eugene. They would usually stay for three days -- so the parking lot would be nonstop party for that entire time. The newspapers made the gathering front page news, with pictures of Garcia and Weir plastered everywhere. But 1987 was a special year because Bob Dylan came with them. It was the For the Roses Concert.

The Makah Indian reservation is located on the north west tip of the United States. To get there you have to drive out a winding old highway about thirty miles from the nearest regular town. Logging trucks zoom up and down that highway and the curves are graded so the logtrucks can take them at high speed. They widen these roads with soft river bottom dirt as fill. So the pavement is always cracking and falling down. The roadsides are cliffs, so a large pothole can easily be a hundred feet deep. It's a good road to be careful on. More about this later...

We loved driving out to fix bikes on the Makah rez. The ocean is right there tossing and rolling, sea gulls circling, calling, salty spray fills your senses. And the Indian people who live there, they know how fortunate they are. The tribal council originally arranged for us to park in a certain place and fix bikes whenever we came through. We made a lot of great friends. The fellow on the left had been sold a bike by a real bike salesman who just wanted to get rid of a bike and didn't care if it fit him or not. It was way too small for him and he rode the heck out of it and it fell apart inside a month. I went and had a talk with the store manager and got him a new bike.   So we became friends...

These Makah lads came running to meet our bus whenever we pulled into town. After a hearty greeting we would soon have bikes tipped over and be tightening bearings and truing wheels. The two boys were best friends.We took the Diamond Back bike they are standing beside apart down to the last bearing, sanded the frame, painted it, and reassembled it like new. They did most of the work themselves.

Then we did the same thing to create a bike for the other fellow. One of the ways they came in handy was when we needed something off the top of the bus. Climbing up and down that ladder all day long would wear me out, but they enjoyed going up on top. It was often a race to see which one would get there first. Bike races were another thing we organized. Sometimes we'd have a dozen kids in on the races. One of the favorite races was to pick a tree and have them race around it -- except that half of them had to race around it clockwise while the other half were racing around the same tree counter-clockwise. I tell you sometimes it was so funny I would get to laughing so hard I'd have to sit down in a chair. They were great kids.

These two boys always came by when I pulled into Forks. They would often hang out and work on bikes from morning till after dark, day after day. These were the two who came by years later in their army uniforms. I didn't even recognize them...

Forks was a real logging community deep in the forests. After folks got to know me they would sometimes kid me that I was the only "hippy" who had ever done more than pass through their town. The local restaurant had spotted owl on the menu. For those of you who don't know, the Spotted Owl is an endangered bird that has caused a lot of contention between "loggers" and long-haired environmentalists, (i.e. hippies).

Actually most forest workers are pretty conscientious, and love the wilderness. I met them as fathers who needed their kid's bikes fixed, and we got along just great. I would usually stay in Forks for two weeks at a stretch and never have a problem.  The only problem I ever had was once in developing a roll of film in town that I had taken at a hotspirings. All the wilderness hotsprings in Oregon are nudist and the owner of the shop became very indignant with me and Ellie. Culture clashes were VERY possible in these towns... Hippies were deluded demons to them. And there would be no nudeniks in heaven. Even the angels will be wearing department store clothes and shoes.

Cougar hotsprings, 47 miles east of Eugene, was our favorite hang-out in the eighties. A frequent friend there was "Doc", an wild outspoken Viet Nam medic. He loved Patty. They got married at Cougar. Doc asked me to photograph the ceremony. They lived together happily for years, and then, sadly, she died. When I last saw him he was asking me if I had any photographs of the wedding, So this photograph here is for them. Marriage is so sacred.

Our lifestyle was so different from theirs. We were vegetarians. They weren't. We were nudist/hotspringers. They weren't. We were wandering poet/artists. They weren't. We were environmentally conscious activists. They weren't. We did not worship money and corporate power. They did. So they were in a position to take away our children. And we were not in a position to stop them. Marriage is sacred. Families are sacred. Children are sacred. Wisdom is sacred.

Michael Eagle has been one of our best friends for a good many years. He usually lived in some sort of rig or other. Whenever he'd come over we'd go out and shoot pool somewhere. Or we'd sit around in the Bike Bus and make up a pot of coffee. He could build anything and he could just about fix anything. It was pretty amazing sometimes. My Ellie is sometimes hard for people to understand. Her French accent gets in the way, especially when she mixes in French words here and there. But Michael had a way with people. He could always make Ellie laugh. She'd always make sure he had a cup of coffee when he came to visit. Here they are dancing together at a Christmas dance.

The other photo is one I have always liked. The bus was so tall, about fourteen feet, that at the edge of some roadways where the pavement slants to clear off the rain, the top of the bus would lean outward precariously. We always had to beware of tree branches and sometimes of streetlights.

There was a place in Eugene where we were fond of parking, because we could occasionally make a few dollars there fixing bikes -- but the only place to park had these beautiful lights. It was always real tricky to parallel park the goliath bicycle bus there without smashing a bulb. I eventually got real good at it.

Don't get me started talking about low bridges...

Santa Claus Bill had a full white beard and long white hair. He had been a well known Saxaphone jazz musician -- back in Chicago, I guess it was -- and was on a bunch of albums. Something brought him west to Eugene Oregon where he lived with his wife and children. We would often see him playing his saxaphone on various stages or sometimes at the outdoor Saturday Market. He made quite a figure with his flowing white hair and his golden Saxaphone. He really enjoyed seeing us and he loved the Bicycle Bus. In those days when we pulled into Eugene we would head to the famous Keystone Cafe and park near there all day long. Folks knew they could find us in that neighborhood. They'd bring bikes for me to repair, or just to visit. Often a group of us would sit outside on the sidewalk beside the Bicycle Bus on a summer day.

People would bring drums and guitars. Ellie would cook up a big pot of food for everyone, and tea or coffee too. They were really good times, though of course there were occasionally some strait-laced folks who looked askance at our friendly gathering and complained that we were blocking the sidewalk.

Santa Clause Bill would come join us. He even brought his saxaphone and played. But his wife was of a different opinion when it came to us and our gatherings which often took place on the sidewalk in front of her house. We never meant to make her upset, we just had to park SOMEWHERE, and that place was often available. Santa Clause Bill died on a bicycle trip. He had decided he wanted to ride his bicycle sixty miles to the Pacific Ocean. He had a heart attack along the way. What a sad day that was for all of us. He was a man who played the saxaphone from his heart, and he spoke kindly from his heart in exactly the same way. When he said "Thank you" or "It's good to see you!" You KNEW he really meant it. Such a warm person... Thank you Bill..

Newspaper articles from '87 and '88. Click to enlarge.

We'd pass Crescent Lake whenever we were driving from Neah Bay to Forks. There was a beautiful free overnight parking area there. The road was terribly steep and winding to get down to the campsite beside the water. The first time we drove down there we were wide-eyed and worried all the way. But the good old granny gear pulled us back up just fine. After working on bikes under hot summer sun for weeks on end we anxiously looked forward to relaxing here at this spot for two or three days. The lake was very warm in summer. You could walk out into it quite far. Sleeping there at night was also especially nice, so close to the lake.

Squirrels would scamper around among the wheels on top of our bus. We'd cook meals outside on the picnic table. Maybe do some reading. Maybe leisurely repair a bike or two. I particularly remember one autumn day when I lay half-awake in our bed with the rear window open, listening to the sound of the rain splattering on the roof, smelling the fresh scent of cedars and other trees surrounding us. Some places are so naturally poetic they just fill the soul...

The Bicycle Bus was getting kind of famous. Newspaper and magazine reporters were coming up to us regularly asking if they could do a story about us. In every town we passed through local people were spreading the word that we did good work on bicycles, that we were honest, sober people, and that our bicyclebus way-of-life was a great benefit to everyone as well as "something different" and very interesting. We had honest to goodness friends everywhere we went and we went to bed smiling every night. We knew many other couples who lived in buses and RVs and traveled around with their children. In our hearts we thought constantly that this life would be excellent if we were to have our children with us. They would get to know the Indian kids on the reservations. They would learn to fix bikes. They would help Ellie fixing meals in the bike bus. They would love camping in nature in spots like Crescent Lake and the desert around Warm Springs and, oh, everywhere we went. We dreamed and dreamed and dreamed. How could we help but dream of our children? If only they could be with us sharing this adventure!!!  Our hearts ached. I was always thinking that the way the Bike Bus was going it was just a matter of time before I could go into a court of law and be able to convince them Mushmara and Sandy should be returned to us. Alas... It would never be....