Carefree Highway

I had an interesting childhood in a lot of ways. I was the middle-child of five kids growing up in the San Francisco bay area in the 60s, 70s and 80s. By the time I was 12 years old, my older brother and sister were in their late teens and my sister was dating Gary G. Gary G. was the leader of a local gang that named themselves after the park across the street from our Junior High School.

The gang consisted of a large group of white boys from affluent families that hung out together, rode dirt bikes, got stoned and thought they were tough and, they actually were. It wasn’t like they lived in a tough part of town where they had to fight for their lives, the only people they really had to fight with were the guys from the other side of town, but the MP Gang rarely lost.

The MP Gang members were also the most popular boys in our town – some still in high school, some graduated, etc., and as the little sister of Gary’s girlfriend, I grew up with these guys hanging around. So, by the time I started Junior High School, I was one of the most popular girls in school and . . . I didn’t even know it. The first week of JHS kids would come up to me in the halls and say, “You’re Urban, right? Urban Stargazer? I’m Jill/Priscilla/Brenda/etc., etc., etc., and I really want to be your friend.”

The first couple of days I would just stare at them and think, “Huh?” When I finally figured out what was going on, I was kind of grossed out and considered anyone who did that to be someone definitely not worthy of my time.

We had a bus that picked us up from my neighborhood and took us to school. Not being of driving age, this was my main transportation to school but, not heading home. The MP Gang, as you might suspect, hung out their namesake park and more often than not, when I would come out of school, one or more of the guys would be waiting for me and give me a ride home.

This is what caused the light bulb to go off about my instant popularity when kids went from asking if I was really USG (by this time everyone already knew me) and if they could be my friend, to asking, “Wasn’t that [fill in the guy’s name] that picked you up yesterday? You know [insert guy’s name]? Wow!” and other similar inane questions.

There were quite a few brothers in the gang, two of which were Pete G. and Paul G. Pete and Paul were also two of the toughest guys in the gang. Paul was tall and wiry and Pete was shorter and buffed and both were wild. One day, I came out of school and there was Pete in his souped up, tricked out, hot rod car (unfortunately, I don’t remember what it was other than it was blue with black interior) and most of the kids stopped to look, I waved when I saw him and he hollered out, “Urban! Come on, I’ll give you a ride home.”

I hopped in the car as kids were staring in envy and we roared off out of the parking lot. Pete asked me about my day, how was school, anybody bothering me? Were there any boys that liked me or that I liked, etc. It was a beautiful day and we were driving along with the windows open and I was chatting away. The radio was playing in the background and then an old song came on, “Carefree Highway” by Gordon Lightfoot. When Pete heard the song he turned the radio way up and said, “I love this song.”

I started giggling and said, “You like this song?” He laughed and said he did and asked what was wrong with that and didn’t I like it? I laughed and said that I did but that I was a 12 year old girl. He laughed again and we drove on both of us singing along to the song, my arm out the window, wind blowing our hair, smiling. When the song finished, he turned the radio down and looked at me and said, “This is our secret, right? You don’t need to tell the other guys that I like that song.” I laughed and said, “Of course!”

We finished the drive to my house chatting away about the silly stuff that an 18 year old boy and a 12 year old girl talk about. Pete pulled up in front of my house and I hopped out and headed up to the door. Before I walked in I turned and Pete leaned across the passenger seat and waved. I waved back and he took off in a roar, Black Sabbath blaring from the car.

Unfortunately for Pete, he never really outgrew the thuggish lifestyle of being a carefree, wild-child and spent his early adult years in and out of jail and eventually died, in his late 20s, of a drug overdose. But this afternoon, many, many years later, as I'm driving along, “Carefree Highway” comes on the radio and I think of that day and of Peter -- carefree and happy -- as I do everytime I hear the song.