I was five years old and living in Pacific Palisades, California. My family lived in five different houses as I grew up – not counting L.A. where I was born and one long trip to Sweden when I was 2 years old. We lived in a lot of houses because Dad was in airplanes and also was a builder.
We were living in Portuguese Bend on the Palos Verdes peninsula. The land there had been devastated by a geological fault called the slide. The hillsides and roads were caving in and cracking, destroying the houses. From a kid’s point of view, this was a definite plus. We moved into the neighborhood because of the crashing real-estate prices. We lived right by the beach.
Lyndia and I discovered surfer parties, pot, wine, and a coffeehouse in San Pedro called the Golden Ass, which was owned by an older man who had three redheaded sons. I went out with the middle son Pete who had a motorcycle. I ran away to San Francisco with a beatnik poet also called Peter, where I moved into a commune.
I traveled back and forth between New York and San Francisco, three times in three years, mostly hitchhiking. I hitchhiked 15,000 miles altogether. I was living with George the Beast in San Francisco, and in New York I met Herbert Huncke, Alan Ginsberg and Peter Orlovsky.
I rejoined my parents who were now living in Seattle, Washington. I got a job as a waitress- secretary-go-go girl in a rock & roll club. I was dating the owner of the club, who was a saxophone player. He turned out to be married. I ran away to San Francisco with a meditation teacher from a hippie church and married him.