I can't remember who was driving the van. There were four or five of us girls packed in to the back with the windows down, music up, and joints being passed around. We were cruising 'the El', the El Camino Real, a long-ass street that goes from Millbrae to San Jose. At the ripe old age of 14 or 15, I had mostly stopped smoking dope as it had begun to make me paranoid, but wasn't one to turn down booze. Cans of Bud tall were as plentiful as the pot, so I was set. In a creepy turn around, we were slowing down at the sight of cute boys on the sidewalk and trying to get them into the back of the van on the promise of a good time. The dudes were pretty easy targets. I remember Lehr sliding open the side door of the van and the guy standing on the curb looking as if he had just hit the jackpot at the sight of a gaggle of cute chicks with drugs smiling and waving him in for a sit-down and a smoke-out. We let that particular one out a couple of blocks and a lot stoned later.
Tam and her bitchin' ride.
Tam had a 1974 Nova that she tricked out with shiny, chrome mags and a sparkle-y Midnight Blue paint job. I can't remember what kind of stereo was in the car, but it cranked and Tam liked to listen to it LOUD. I remember some of the musical selection: Van Halen, ZZ Top, and, one of Tam's personal favourites, Bob Seeger and the Silver Bullet Band. We were pulled over once while driving up HWY 1. The cop who doled out tickets for not wearing seat belts--just lap belts, actually--told Tammy that she would be held financially responsible for those in her car who hadn't 'buckled up for safety'. Tam thought that that was bullshit, and we drove away with the music blaring, Tammy as mad as a hornet.
I'd like to think that we were listening to 'Runnin' With The Devil' as we sped out of town heading to San Francisco.