Kundalini and the Art of Being ... 14the festival the next day. The morning after leaving the Rainbow
Gathering, to our frustration, we ran out of gas on Interstate-40 in
western Arizona, just past the California/Arizona border. The gas
gauge didn’t work, and Apollo had apparently lost track of the mile-
age. After a few hours of waiting in the hot mid-summer sun along
the freeway for a tow truck, we were soon enough back on the road.
We made it to Flagstaff early that afternoon, and then headed south
from there towards the small, spiritual town of Sedona.
About six miles outside of Sedona, coming down a steep grade
amidst the red-walled canyons that snake down to the lower eleva-
tions of southern Arizona, the motor stuttered to a stop. We had let
the van run out of gas again. What a bunch of hippies we were. Since
it was downhill, we decided to keep coasting and see how far we
could make it. Fortunately, the old van didn’t have power brakes. We
rolled into the north end of town as evening was descending, thank-
ful to have finally arrived—and not to have to deal with the empty
gas tank until the next day.
But the most memorable moment of our overnight, inter-state
driving marathon occurred later that evening. We’d decided to stay
where the van had come to rest and make do for the night. After
hunting down some nearby cheap burritos, we’d all hung out in the
van for a little while and relaxed, glad to have nowhere else to go
for the time being. A little while later, I was organizing my things
before going to sleep in the courtyard of a nearby church, and Apollo
was kicking back on the sidewalk, watching traffic, when we heard
a sudden exclamation of dismay from Natty, who was going over a
flyer for the festival, to find out where in town it was happening the
next day.
“Ah, shit, man!” he yelled to Apollo and me from the van. “Shit,
shit, shit! This damn thing tomorrow isn’t here in Sedona! It’s in
fucking Sonoma, California! We misread the flyer!”
“No way, Natty—let me see that thing,” said Apollo, reaching into
the van to grab the flyer. Sure enough, they had confused the names
of the two towns, and had driven all night and all day to get to an