Hell Ride

I had never seen mountains. All my camping experience prior to this had been in the “wilderness” of suburban Boy Scout camps in New York and New Jersey. Sure, I’d seen photos and movies, but experienced real mountains. No. So my first time through Smuggler’s Notch in Vermont was a unique experience. I was a coastal boy, brought up within the sight and odors of river, bay, and ocean.

Maybe that’s why the air was so different. The nearest large body of water I imagined was Lake Champlain, a puddle by comparison to the Atlantic. But the steep twists and turns were a new experience.

I was on a “Hell Ride” with my old buddy Clint. Up to a week ago, the rides had been local around New York City. Clint had owned a Vespa motor scooter. And we were the nighttime terrors of parts of Riverdale, Yonkers, and nearby Westchester County. Clint was unsafe, but exciting, at any speed.

But Clint’s mom sprang for some real wheels, an old Ford. It called for an upgrade of the Hell Ride from the local city environs to new areas.

Ride!

We’d left New York for Burlington, Vermont, on some large roads and highways. But after Essex Junction, it was all small stuff. We climbed and twisted our way higher into the green forests of Vermont. Passing through variegated hardwoods, spruce, and pine. Our destination? Some place Clint described as Girl Heaven near North Gorham, New Hampshire, almost hard against the border with Maine. His girlfriend, Suzy, worked there as a camp counselor. She had a tent mate who would be my date when we arrived.

Clint had determined that our best course of action was to leave Thursday morning for a Friday afternoon or early evening arrival. There would be plenty of time to Hell Ride through some awesome territory.

The History

Since I had moved out of the family home and taken up folksinging in Greenwich Village, Clint and I had seen little of each other. The friendship had ruptured over lifestyles. Family friends had ensured that young Clint got a job at Xerox, and young Lou was hanging with low-life poets, Beats, and guitarists in the Village. One had clearly taken the high road, and the other, well, you know.

The Hell Ride

But there was going to be a Hootenanny Night at the camp, and I was going to be useful. Reflecting on how much fun we’d had over the years, I decided to let the animosity slip for the weekend and have some fun with an old buddy.

The plan was to Hell Ride to Montpelier, then to Saint Johnsbury. From there, we’d dip south and skirt the White Mountains before turning North again to North Gorham. The challenge in all of this was to stay off main roads as much as possible. This led to many stops asking for directions from farmers. Also, there were many indifferent coffee breaks at small town diners, and getting stuck on a stretch of unpaved road. We got stuck thanks to bad directions, but a kindly dairy farmer pulled us out with his truck. I played and sang work songs while he and Clint tackled the extraction.

Lou Carson! Live!

At several locations, I was asked to haul out the guitar and play some songs. Clint would get up and introduce me as the Great Lou Carson. I had recently been engaged to perform at the well-known Cafe Why Not in the heart of New York City’s famed Greenwich Village. Remember, this was in 1964, local TV only, lots of small towns, no cable, no streaming, and no internet. I was some of the hottest stuff to come through in a year, and I was live! A limited-time engagement!

That night, one of the towns was having a talent show at their local community center/ dance hall. I was requested to perform. And afterward, several young ladies requested our attendance at a party. Clint was a bit put off that the Famous Lou Carson was the center of female attention.

The next morning, we headed out on the final leg of the Hell Ride and pulled into North Gorham around three in the afternoon. We soon found out that Suzy’s tentmate was going out with her boyfriend. I rapidly went from a necessary side man to an encumbrance. Within an hour I had caged a ride with another counselor who was interested in visiting the Village, having grown up in North Gorham and vever being farther from home than Saint Johnsbury.

My lips are sealed about that trip back to the City, but it was the end of the road for Clint and me. I enjoyed many other Hell Rides, but Clint settled into a life as a Xerox repairman. The next year, 1965, I went on the Road as a Pius Itinerant, and did not look back for many years.