"L" is for L Rides

I wonder how many times we shared our ideas for the future. I wonder how many times I cried because I was overwhelmed, or Joe was silent because he was struggling in school. I wonder how many times we swung around the sharp turn, revving the car’s engine to charge up the Mohonk mountain. I wonder how many times we puffed and passed between our cold fingers.

We went for a drive and a smoke hundreds of times, Joe and I. We met living in the dorms next door to each other and became close over many sessions of smoking weed (and our astrological compatibility- Virgos and Scorpios have a reputation for clicking). We huddled over the twin-bed, cheap, wooden posts, sparking our bud-packed bowls and hiding from the RAs. But our favorite past time was taking L rides.

“L riding is smoking an L (blunt) while driving, or being the passenger in a car. The blunt is usually rolled and cooked with lighter in the car before smoked. One usually L-rides on a semi-long car ride in which smoking a blunt could pass the time.” - Urban Dictionary

We would went in the evenings- after a long day of deadlines and due dates, of stress and stupor. Joe always rolled the “L”- sprinkling the little crumbles of green delicately into the smelly brown wrap. He huddled over my desk in the dorm room, his fingers avoiding the obstacle course of mascara and hair ties I so kindly left for him. We bundled up in flannels and beanies and headed to Joe’s car to travel our beloved path. Past Main Street and Bacchus, the Mobil and Snugs. Past the Groovy Blueberry and the farmer’s market. We drove up the Mohonk mountain, enjoying the simplicity of our easy friendship and passing our coping mechanism of choice back and forth as the road stretched out in front of us. I liked it when Joe drove, so I could sit back, admire the dark trees, not have the responsibility of keeping us safe, and be in control of the music, of course. He likes rap, I like indie and pop, so we usually settle for rock. The classic, dad-rock kind like Led Zeppelin or Dave Matthews. I remember this one time we couldn’t find a good station to listen to. We pressed scan to randomly search the radio and came across a guy speaking poetry. It was surreal and hilarious and we couldn’t stop laughing as his booming voice filled the car.

The best part of an L ride is when we finally get to the overlook, the scenic little parking lot that views what seems to be the entire county. We would usually be pretty stoned at that point, and we escaped our little two seat world into the bigger, real one. The real world we’d be entering soon upon graduation- the one with bills and debt and freedom.

I always looked straight up. There’s something about looking at the sky, the clear, bigger than life sky, that makes me feel alive. We were above the trees but under the stars; our campus buildings looked small and far away as if they belonged to a doll house.

When we went at night it felt like a secret. Only our set of eyes (and the couple making out in the car over) could see how beautiful the night sky was. No camera could capture the streaks of purple clouds that made the horizon look like a black metamorphic rock, or the infinite amount of constellations we craned our necks to see.

Joe appreciates the stars too, something I’ve always loved about him. He’s a quiet, old soul. He struggles with depression and anxiety like I do, and we clung to these rides in the midst of our tumultuous twenties. Our moments of pure friendship and solace, of laughter and coughed-up smoke.