REFLECTION, RUMINATION & RHETORIC FROM THE ROAD: DEEPER DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE

4. Pass the Mushrooms

Morning in Galena begins with caffeination on Main Street at Kaladi’s and since I dropped an Adderall I’m speeding through this morn at a rapid pace, launching to Galena Grant Park and then Ulysses S. Grant’s house-turned-museum. This town’s beauty extends far beyond Main Street, green and hilly, clean and neat and a river runs through it.

The Italianate Grant house sits on a hill preserved almost exactly as it was when he lived there with his family in the late 1870s into the early 1880s. They had no running water; it was carried in from a well. Bath day was Saturday and everyone in the family used the same water starting with Grant then his wife followed by their children and that’s where the phrase Don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater derives because the water would become so murky the baby might get lost.

U.S. Grant’s favorite armchair

Otto’s reels us in for lunch and soon we’re back on Main Street perusing its artsy shops…

Otto’s (from the railroad station)

…an owl carved from wood, a book about cursed objects, a deck of Royal Mischief “transformational” playing cards until Van Stein, having also dropped an Adderall, drives off in a frenzy to search for Old Crow and almost runs out of gas before returning empty-handed.

Around 5:33 we regroup and munch magic mushroom edibles for descending deeper into the rabbit hole, in this case a restaurant called Log Cabin…

…where we planned to dine after a couple drinks at the bar… that is, until a devil guy—mean, bloodshot eyes, ruddy complexion, ginger goatee, white shirt, red tie and a foul aura—follows the artist and me inside smack on our tail then thrones himself at the horseshoe bar directly opposite us and immediately fixates on a younger woman, starts yakking at her as if he is God’s gift, bellows an offer to buy her a drink and, politely rejected, directs his attention to his cell phone and in a loud high-pitched voice arrogantly spouts off to someone at the other end believing that everyone in the bar should be riveted not only by his despicable presence but also by every irritating word he spits.

Drawing: Van Stein

This is an invasion of evil that not only soils my eardrums but negatively disrupts my whole being and, with psilocybin taking hold, I see it for it is: An aggressive attempt to penetrate my soul and frazzle my mind.

I have no choice but to exit this scene and I do, leaving part of my whiskey un-drunk and Van Stein to settle the tab.

Outside, I plunk myself onto a bench and study the clouds partly covering a descending sun, a panoply of faces gazing down at me from the sky. The artist eventually seats himself next to me and I spiel about the importance of “set and setting” when doing mushrooms and how the devil guy just fucked it all up so now I need to sit here and study the clouds and listen to troubadours who may or may not be real.

“Sounds like you need an-owl-lysis,” says Van Stein. “Or a-now-lysis.”

I snap a pic of the clouds and scarcely believe all the faces I’ve captured.

“Owliens,” comments Van Stein.

So with dinner at Log Cabin out the window I suggest we return to Fried Green Tomatoes if, still somewhat discombobulated, feeling no appetite or thirst.

Stooled thusly at the bar, sweet Alyssa the barkeep takes us under her angel wing and Brock the maitre ‘d recommends the antidote to Log Cabin’s devil guy: Their last bottle of Nickel & Nickel cabernet which, while steeply priced at 130 bucks, is undoubtedly the remedy we need.

That and calling Rudy back home on FaceTime for advice on what to eat—specifically, should we order the meatloaf? And this seems extremely important to me, partly because Rudy is a meatloaf expert and partly because I truly cannot otherwise decide.

Our conversation goes something like this:

“Listen to me,” I explain to Rudy. “ I’m in a crisis situation.”

“Oh dear,” says Rudy.

“I need to know whether I should order the meatloaf or not. This is really important, okay?”

Rudy: “I understand how critical this is and I’ve always had good luck with meatloaf, three times out of four.”

“I’d like to read you the description,” I say. “They call it ‘Mile High Meatloaf.’ May I continue?”

“Please do.”

“Homemade beef and pork meatloaf served over cornbread, piled high with garlic mash.”

Rudy: “I’m speechless. I’m beyond speechless. The only thing I have to look forward to is going to The Maggot for meatloaf so I’m happily envious of you.”

“It that a thumb’s up for meatloaf?”

Rudy gives a thumb’s up on screen and asks, “What are you going to wash it down with?”

“Wild Turkey to start because we can’t find a drop of Old Crow anywhere in this whole town, which is really ridiculous because that’s what General Grant drank.”

And then Rudy mentions the cool clouds I posted from Iowa (he’d seen them on the blog) after which I thank him and terminate the conversation and I’m no longer frazzled but epiphanizing the notion that Ask Rudy should be a regular staple of our travels.

Having decantered the cab Brock recommends it be paired with their Espresso Steak: “6 oz. grilled filet mignon encrusted in espresso ground coffee with a caramelized shallot and port wine sauce, served with garlic mashed.”

So we order steak and meatloaf and split them down the middle between us and it is not only the best filet I’ve ever eaten in my life but also the best meatloaf.

“I understand that with cannabis you set your tastebuds and olfactory sense alive and everything tastes amazing,” I ramble to Van Stein, “but then you get carried away with a thought that goes deeper and deeper and you become so internally oriented that you can’t escape but with mushrooms you get the same sense of heightened awareness meaning that you’re more alive than ever but sadly that also applies to your ears and that’s why that damn devil guy got on my nerves but you don’t have the internalized focus which means you don’t get lost in your mind but remain truly in the moment.”

Says Van Stein, “Still feeling the Adderall, are we?”

Of course we eventually get around to asking Alyssa the bartender for a message from the universe and it takes her a few moments to muster but she finally delivers: “Do the things in life that you want to do even if it means you have to do them alone.”

A local couple sitting at the bar engage us and somehow or other the conversation turns to where are you from as in where is home and I decide to quote Kurt Vonnegut, which due to my shroomy state-of-mind becomes a highly emotional experience and halfway through I’m blubbering into what is left of my drink.

That’s the other thing about shrooms: Intensely-felt emotion.

And then another patron named Russell ambles over to where we’re sitting as if we’re a magnet for craziness. He is hirsute with thick oversize spectacles, a colorful shirt and colorful suspenders and a red trucker cap and I ask him for his message.

Russell is puzzled.

“There’s a reason you came to talk to us,” I say, “and I just want to know what the message is.”

“I don’t know.” He scratches his head. “The message?”

“There’s something deep down there, something important you need to impart to us this evening.”

“I enjoy this town,” says Russell, not getting it.

“What’s the secret to life?” I press.

“Oh, good grief,” he says. “Enjoy what you do. Yeah, that’s it. Enjoy what you do.”

I enjoy drinking wine so this is our cue to escape down Main Street to The Grape Escape, a glass of pinot noir before revisiting Ulysses S. Grant, the statue, to collect his spirit orb.

Grant retaliates by circling around and shooting up my shirt or maybe up my rear end as documented on video by Van Stein…

…and, mindful of flipism (or infiltrated by Grant), I suddenly feel the need to own a Shield Nickel from the 1860s.