Dear friends and family,
 |
| David and mother Clara about ten years ago |
I wish you the best of health, that you’re happy and loved by family and friends. My brother sent this picture of me and my mother taken about ten years ago. In the story I’m going to tell, she later told me that she “knew” about my danger and prayed extra hard that I would be all right. I have no doubt the prayers helped.
This past week I haven’t been able to do much of anything other than deal with my health. Lying around in bed sometimes is a good thing. The mind gets productive, thinking about all sorts of things. For me it was an old life story, extremely condensed, but one I think is worth sharing . . .
 |
| after a haircut back then |
During a five year period in my life - from 1967 to 1972 - I was like one wide-opened young man “looking for adventure, whatever comes my way.” How I went to college and did all the crazy things I did is beyond me. I could write a book of hard to believe stories, but I’ll skim and start with--any chance I got I would drive my blue VW bus north from LA to San Francisco or to an Oregon commune, or once deep into Baja south of Tucson only to come within inches of being thrown in a Mexican prison, or to Canada for what I was considering an extended stay--I was wanted by the Army. (all great stories) Up into early 1970 every day was another new surprise - there was a revolution going on as the Beatles said “within me and without me.” My personal study of eastern religions and brilliant people like Nikola Tesla was way more important than graded classes. So I quit college and decided to take off and see the world--but I was broke. I heard the post office paid $4 an hour so I took the test. I got the job and began working the graveyard shift as a clerk--and moved into a garage. The main house was the local headquarters for the radical Students for a Democratic Society (SDS). I wasn’t a member but my buddy was and not imagining a concequence, I let him drive the blue bus.
 |
| 1960 panel van like mine (except I had big balloon tires) |
One morning I woke up after a couple of hours sleep. I heard there was a revolution going on at the Cal-State Fullerton campus so I rode my bike over. To my surprise my blue panel van, with iron fists painted all over it, had liberated the campus and was on stage directly behind the radical speakers. A week later I was arrested for burglary (bogus) and I kept getting pulled over for stupid reasons. I was marked. So I sold the blue bus, saved a thousand dollars as fast as I could, bought a backpack and stuck out my thumb.
I hitched-hiked across the US, took a plane from JFK to Luxembourg, thumbed my way through Europe to the heal of Italy, and then took a boat to Mykonos, Greece. There I met a couple English guys who were going to Darwin, Australia and invited me along. So boats, buses and a living hell 40-hour train ride got us through Turkey, rickety buses and cheap taxis through Iran and Afghanistan (yes, all other great stories) and then into Western Pakistan. In the map you see Kabul in left center. From there we went east to Peshawar and then north into the orange. From Gilgit there is a red line that heads to China. I decided to go there--to Hunza, a place in the Himalayas where people live to ripe old ages. Thought I might get a secret or two. (I was twenty-three with no fear)
 |
| north part of West Pakistan |
All along the way, during the weeks of rugged travel, the other two guys ate worse than me, but up at 12,000 feet we had the same meal. I went to my tiny windowless, dirt floor rope cot log cabin and never left. The dysentery proceeded to almost literally kill me. The same food had no effect on them and after a couple days of watching me wither away they left me to die. An old Moslem man came in and said prayers over me--asking me to say a good word or two about him to Allah when I pass. I was saved at the eleventh hour by some Scottish nuns who just happened to be in this totally remote place near the Chinese border, and miraculously had the right drug. btw--getting there was an all day harrowing and often beautiful jeep ascent on mountain cat trails with 1000 foot drops inches away. I saw a National Geographic show years later about how they finally built the road in 1978, eight years after I was there.
 |
| Gilgit area |
Of course, while still sick, I had to get out of the Himalayas. I was afraid to eat the food and the jeep only left once a week - and it was full. I couldn’t wait another week--so I begged to be able to hang off the back--no seat, looking down at those 1000 foot drops, holding on for dear life. And then--all 115 pounds of me—continued on by bus, train, taxi, ricksha, or however I could to New Dehli and through India during the monsoon (another story indeed). I did visit the Taj Mahal.
 |
| Taj Mahal |
I have been very conscious of my questionable constitution ever since then--always being careful with the food I eat. This past week something happened - an intestinal inflammation - that put me down. My “sick” voice had a lot to say, but as I start feeling better I realize that no matter where I go in the world, I’m a different man than I was in 1970. I make healthier and wealthier choices. I watch these twenty-three years old with their backpacks looking for cheap rooms and I think it’s great - I see my old self in them and admire their spirit. I know what my 65 year old body can handle. I’m here to test my limits as a novelist, not as an adventurer - while knowing that a bit of adventure sure helps.
I’m looking forward to restored good health, getting on my basket bike and exploring Chiang Mai some more. There’s places to go and stories to tell, and I’m not about to stop now.
To your health! Cheers!
David Dakan Allison
No comments:
Post a Comment