Four years ago I went on a road-trip from Vancouver down to the Big Sur, south of San Francisco. I would like to say I was drunk the whole way and ate a bucket full of drugs in the style of one Hunter S. Thompson, but IN THE REAL WORLD I drove an RV with my wife and then four-year-old son.
It was a magical trip, we had six road traffic incidents in three weeks, I didn’t see a single speeding camera, I ripped off the roof of a pizzeria in Eugene doing a ‘short-cut’ (which was also the first time my son met a Policeman), we went to the house of the wonderful Henry Miller and we met hippies and listened constantly to Ventura Highway by the band America.
I also read Christopher Hitchens for the first time. His book God Is Not Great was being serialised in the Vancouver Sun newspaper and it completely knocked my head backwards, a bit like that girl in The Exorcist.
I bought it immediately and most of that trip I just kept saying YES, YES, YES!!! THAT’S WHAT I THINK, THAT’S WHAT I’VE ALWAYS THOUGHT! In many ways it became like a bible to me and when we finally arrived at The Big Sur I found out that he was reading from his book in Berkeley that very night.
I have big history in Berkeley and it was only 180 miles away. I figured that I could leave my family at the campsite and go and see him speak, I thought that if I couldn’t live like Hunter S. Thompson any more, at least I could go and see a genius.
To my regret I didn’t go. I stayed at the campsite and last night he died.
In the ensuing four years I’ve read a lot of Hitchens and his autobiography should be in everybody’s stocking this year, it is life-affirming that such big lives can be lived.
I know Hitchens was an atheist and somebody who despised organised religion and its utter lack of authenticity in an intellectual world and he probably isn’t looking down on us or even looking up at us.
But what I do know is that he was with me on that trip down the West Coast and I will never, ever forget him.
RIP Christopher Hitchens.