Doctor G at the Cannabis Cup 2000 Chaper 1
I??d be OK if I could just remember what happened to my short term
memory
Notes from CUP 2000
I knew I was in trouble when I was awakened by scraping of a lighter just
before six in the morning. It was Monday and I was wondering if this was such a
good idea anyway; even though the Flu that had grabbed me Friday when I left
the states was just now starting to taper off.
When my son woke me up on Friday morning to go to the airport I told him
to leave without me. I had been up all night driving the porcelain bus and did not
have the energy to dress, much less heft the 60 pound suitcase I had packed. My
sons, God Bless them, would not be swayed, they grabbed my bag and carried
me to the car.
My children were a great aid to me in this time. They shepherded me to the
airport, carried my bag around and generally helped out. We managed to make it
to the airport with 2 hours to spare but there were huge lines at the counters.
When it looked like we might miss an important connecting flight, I managed to
stumble over to a customer representative and show her our tickets, we were still
ten people from the front of the line. Immediately she grabbed the four of us,
pulled us to the front and ushered us to the next available agent. I had foreseen
some problems as the kids had insisted on bringing scooters. Not the little fancy
folding ones but some real American iron. No boxes, no packaging, just three
scooters ready to ride. I made our way through the passports and other
documentation too slowly for the ladies behind the counter, they wanted me to
leave soon as possible before I died on their station.
There were two immediate problems. One was the cancellation of the flight
we were scheduled to leave on and the substitution of our seats onto another
flights that was boarding forty five minutes earlier. That is to say, NOW. The
other difficulty, as I suspected, was the scooters. In desperation to get rid of us
she grabbed a general liability release and had the kids fill out three; one for each
scooter. Then she could only find 2 of the 3 confirmation tabs. By this time
another agent had come along, called the gate, confirmed they could accept the
scooters; unboxed, as long as the liability forms were completed and they had
sent a baggage cart for the "oversize luggage" We were through, and ??did I need
a cart to get me to the gate???. ?? No " I told them " the kids can carry me " and off
we flew.
I had the shakes so bad on that flight one couple asked to be moved away
from me because I was so obviously ill. As I had the row to myself I lay down and
tried to rest. When we landed in St. Paul I had a nice blonde in the airport ask
me if she should call a doctor or get me a candy bar for insulin shock. I explained
it was most kind of her but I was merely ill and the although the tickets were
refundable the festival only happens once a year so there was no point but to
carry on.
As the four of us waited during the layover in the St. Paul airport we could
recognize other people headed for the same tour. Many carried their documents
in the same envelope we had received ours in. The obvious ones carried their
belongings wadded up in a bundle or a back pack. The late fifties ponytailed
Harley freak was an easy guess. Not so the mid forties couple from Las Vegas.
They had planned to do the trip no matter what, but at the last moment they won
some local jackpot and were ready to whoop it up when they got here.
If I hadn't had some monster fever I would have been much more
concerned when: after mechanical problems with the previous flight that resulted
in its cancellation, they announced they were having difficulties with this flight and
we would "get a report in twenty minutes". Not in retrospect a reassuring
message. However I was so completely out of it barely registered. After a couple
more of those announcements they began boarding our flight. They got most of
first class on and then the gangway had to be reconfigured for an incoming flight
so it's passengers could be shuffled off to customs. Eventually we got on and got
off the ground. I honestly was not aware of any of the delays. I ached in every
muscle, I had no sleep the night before, between bouts of driving the porcelain
bus, and shivering under 4 layers of blankets, I would have been an idiot to have
left the house to go to the store; here I was three days later in a room in a hostel
in Amsterdam, still sick as a dog, remembering how much I loved this city.
As one of the boys lit the hash pipe the other called out " Dad, it's the
Superior Siberian, want a hit?"
The boys had long ago decided that they were not going to catch what
ever it was that knocked Dad over so they felt they could pass the bowl along as
they liked. I stretched an arm out of the sweat soaked sheets and reached into
the dark room. One of the boys placed the pipe in my hands and held the flame
just above the bowl. A fine flavor filled my sore lungs. Even the rasping in my
throat was eased by the almost fluid smoke. "Nice stuff" I muttered, "put it down
for a 6 to 7"
The boys began to cough uncontrollably, I had been conservative in my
hit, just breathing was painful enough. The hash had a nice aftertaste as well,
slightly piney, an over hint of cinnamon, generally a fine grade A hashish. Then
the swollen glands in my neck reacted to the saliva generated by the flavor and I
was seized by excruciating pain as I involuntarily swallowed. I bit my tongue as I
held back a small squeal. "Nice flavor " I hissed
I rolled out of bed that Monday morning with the knowledge that I was
three days behind and I had to cover at least cover at least 8 shops before I could
crawl back in. As it was a challenge just to stand I knew this was going to be
difficult. I threw on some clothes and dragged my self down to the breakfast
room.
The glass of orange juice was excruciatingly painful. What ever open
wounds had opened up in my throat was not helped by an application of citric
acid. The juice was of course fresh squeezed and quite good
The place was an old but serviceable hostel, it had seen better days but
the room had a private bath and only the four of us would be there.
When we first arrived at the hostel the bus driver had been unable bring
the full sized city bus down this windey ass little street, so he backed into a
nearby parking lot and let us off;
??Just around the corner? he said ??then bear left, it??s on the right.?
Not the most concise of directions but I managed to find it. As I boarded
the bus I lost track of my children and my luggage so I had none of the
confirmation paper work when I arrived and when my turn in line came I was
hoping I had remembered what I had read correctly. He couldn't find my name at
first, and when I joked I had gone to the wrong hotel he said no that he had seen
those names on his lists and yes here they are. Here are your keys. Another
miracle, some of the rooms were still occupied and people had been told the
rooms would be available by 2pm as they were cleaned, I could go upstairs and
crawl into a bed immediately. The kids came by on another bus about 15 minutes
later. We had gotten separated at the bus from the airport to the hotel and I was
unsure about my luggage was well as my survival. I was flat out when the kids
came in, low on sleep but high on energy, they were ready to head right out and
see what they could find, and they did.
