The New Years Eve party of 1989 was the last of the great parties out at the hot springs in the desert. We’d had lots of parties, some big and some small, in the many years I’d lived there with my girlfriend Kelly along with my other friends and enemies. We celebrated numerous events such as, birthdays, anniversaries and all the various holidays. We also reveled for no other reason than to raise a little hell, but the New Years Eve parties were always the biggest, the wildest, the craziest, the bestest. People would show up from all over to party at the hot pools on New Years Eve. They’d come from as close as Palm Springs, San Diego, LA and Yuma to as distant as the Pacific Northwest, the Midwest, the South and the East Coast. Even from as far away as Europe a few euro’s might show up to ring in the New Year with the rest of us naked stoned crazies. They came because the hot springs were out in the middle of nowhere. Out where there was no one to tell a person what to do or where to do it because there was nothing around for miles. It was a place where a person was totally free to act and be anyway they wanted. There were few places like it in the entire world. By 1990 all that would change, but right now it’s still 1989 so let’s PARTY!
At this time there are around 20 or 30 of us living full time in the winter at the hot ponds which seemed to be just the right amount. Enough people so you wouldn’t get bored but not too many as to get in your way. On weekends the crowds would swell, depending on the time of year and what was happening, to anywhere from 10 or so to well over 100. There were the regular weekenders who, during season, we would see almost every Saturday and Sunday to the folks who would only visit once or twice a year for special occasions. Plus there were always a few people who’d show up who had never been there before but having had their curiosity piqued by the wild tales they’d hear about the place, some would come again and some would not.
For us residents the New Years parties would start the weekend before Christmas and end on January 2nd. That meant the party could last anywhere from a 8 or 9 days to 2 glorious weeks of sheer unmitigated fun. Where everyone could either loll around in the hot pools naked and stoned or run wild and drunk out in the desert on their dirt bikes and in their dune buggies. We would start the festivities by gathering supplies. About a week prior to the event as many of us that could would pile into our assorted vehicles and head down to old Mexico where we could pick up remarkably cheap and extremely potent liquor. Our favorites were: full litres of Sauza Gold Tequila, Bicardi Anejo Rum, El Presdente Brandy, Guanso Rojo Mezscal with the worm in the bottle and, mostly for the ladies, Kalula. We could each bring back only 1 litre per crossing so we would each have to cross the border a few time in order to get enough to last us through New Years. The booze though, was just for the party, for our daily consumption of alcohol we drank mass quantities of cheap beer, which we purchased at the supermarket. We didn’t worry about obtaining illicit drugs. The folks who came from the cities to party would bring numerous kinds in large amounts.
However, since it was our daily bread, we always made sure we had enough marihoochie. Being so close to the border there was never any problem getting it, and at a very reasonable price. In fact, for a couple years there were 2 young dudes with big powerful dirt bikes that they rode the hell out of. They would make runs down to Mexico overland on moonlit nights without lights, bringing back with them 2 kilo’s each which they would then sell for $300 a pound, more than doubling their money.
I asked them once if they ever worried about being caught?
“Shit man,” they laughed as they told me, “there ain’t no Border pigs who could ever even keep up with us let alone catch us.”
After a hard week of Christmas partying everyone rested up real good last night because today is December 31st 1988 and nobody wants to punk out early tonight for all is in readiness for this evenings blowout. The weather is gorgeous, sunny and cloudless with the temp hovering around 75. Tonight should be just as beautiful, a clear sky filled with stars from horizon to horizon. It won’t be as warm as in the day but if you do get a bit chilly, no worry, just jump into the hottest hot pool, it’ll be well over 100 degree’s and you’ll be sweating in no time. George has made a big pot of his famous “Oh My God” pinto beans for anyone who’s hungry tonight. For the bon fire, Paul drove in his pick up to the fields just north of here where he stole 2 loads of grape stakes. So now there’s an 8-foot high pile of wood right next to the hot pools. Plus Rick got a VW engine case from a friend of his who owns a garage. They’re made of magnesium and when they burn you can see the flames over 2 miles away.
Guitar Gil and his band is here with his monster Carver amplifier that has 8 speakers each the size of a small car. He also brought his portable stage to play some live music and when he cranks that Carver up to the max, the music can clearly be heard from a mile away. Dennis the Menace has brought his usual huge assortment of illegal firecrackers to terrorize the night with. Ruskie, our lovable resident drunk, has shaved one side of his head so he’s bearded and bald. On the other side he’s longhaired and clean shaven. Plus he’s put some really obscene make up on, and all he’s wearing is a ratty old red merry widow with some torn fishnet stockings that Scary Mary has given him. What a sight! We all congratulate him on his new look.
All the locals who love to party are here, including a contingent of young swingers from the next town over who love to get drunk then fuck in the hot pools if front of God and everybody. The only bummer is, they only have sex within their cliche but hey, it’s still fun to watch them and critique their styles. Then there’s a group from farther away, The Camping Bare’s from San Diego. A large group of folks who range in age from their late 20’s to their early 60’s. In the day like to hike the desert nude and at night like to get drunk then grope one another in the hot pools. However, once they get horny enough they take their fucking inside into their motor homes. There’s people here not only from all over the US and Europe but from all walks of life as well. The hip and the straight, the hetro and the gay, the young and the old, the well off and the very poor, the crazy and the sane, and they all have one thing in common: They came here to celebrate because they can party without any social restraints.
Yesterday a couple of The Camping Bare’s came up to me and asked, “We heard you know how to pit food, Tai. Is that true?”
It was. I’d lived on Kauai and Maui on and off for 4 years and had learned how to pit food for a luau. A couple years previously I had thrown myself a big party out here. It was the 15th anniversary of my entering the hip life. In the intervening years I hadn’t cut my hair, shaved my beard, put on a suit, worn undershorts or, most importantly, held a job. I decided that for the party besides the quarter pound of pot, the 6 cases of beer, the 3 gallons of wine and the hordes of muchies I was bringing, I would pit a pig.
I bought a 100-pound pig at auction and fed it corn and apples for 2 weeks. In the meantime, George, Paul and I dug a big pit, collected large rocks then lined the pit with them. We also collected enough wood to burn in the pit for 12 hours. On the day before the party we started the fire. Then we slaughtered and butchered the pig, dipped the carcass in boiling water, scraped off all the hair, wrapped it in sheets and put in it a gunnysack. About midnight, after the fire burned out, we dug all the hot coals and ashes out of the pit. We filled the pit with a thick layer of palm fronds, then the pig, then more fronds. We threw a couple buckets of salt water on the pig then covered the whole thing in a foot of sand. 12 hours later, Viola’, Kilua Pig. The best tasting most tender deliciously succulent pork in the whole world. I invited everyone in the area and their dogs to partake of this feast, and none went away hungry.
Anyway, the Camping Bare’s want to know how do to pit. I tell them exactly how to do it. They’re only doing turkeys so they don’t need a very big pit or too long a burn. They wrote all my instruction down, thanked me then left. (And get this; I heard the meal was a success. I wouldn’t know for sure because they never even had the courtesy to invited me for a taste.)
Earlier today we even had a bit of excitement. Ron was a speed freek weekender from the coast who had brought his 16-year-old son out with him for the party. While dad was hanging out with us drinking and smoking, the kid had taken dad’s new ATC out to tear up the desert. We’re sitting in the hot pools when the kid, driving very slowly, comes up to the ponds looking real scared.
He gets off the ATC, walks over to his dad and says, “ Dad, I think I have to go to the hospital. I got a stick in my throat.”
We look at him and sure enough, he has a stick about the size of a long pencil sticking right through one side of his neck.
His dad asks him what the hell happened?
The kid says he was going kind of fast when he lost control and ran into the bank of a wash. He crashed into a large bush and when he regained his senses, he felt the stick going right through his throat.
Ron gets up and looks at the wound. He tells his son that it doesn’t look too bad. He reaches up, grabs the stick then just yanks it out. The kid passes out and falls right into his father’s the arms. We all check out the wound. There’s a little blood but it really doesn’t look bad at all. The kid comes to. His dad tells him he’ll be all right then Ron says, “You’re very lucky, it could have been a lot worse. Let’s go look at the ATC.”
They walk over to it and Ron checks it out. It’s not in too bad a shape so he doesn’t bitch at his kid a whole hell of a lot. He tells his son to wash the wound off real good and from now on to be more careful.
Later, sitting in the hot pools naked we light up a hooter and watch the sunset bidding a fond farewell to 1988. Now it’s time to party like it’s 1989 so let’s pull out all the stops and go crazy. The bon fire is ignited as Gil and his band takes the stage. They fire up the generator, tune their instruments, crank up the amps and blast the hot pools with loud nasty rock and roll. We brake out the hard liquor to help wash down the all the food and dope we’ve ingested, and to help us dance to the music with wild abandon. It’s a scene right out of Dantes Inferno. Outside the hot pools there’s ear shattering music blasting through the black night air with a huge pile of wood burning brightly and casting garish moving shadows on the ground from the withering moaning bodies jumping around it in ecstasy. Inside the hot pools it’s loud talk and lying above, with sly touches below, the dark waters.
The hot pools were so full of nude bodies that we were pressed up right against each other, our wet skin sliding easily against the next person. I even have a girl sitting with her pussy right on my toes. Every now and then just to give her a thrill, I wiggle them. Whenever I do she looks over her shoulder at me and smiles. Sometime even giving me a little wiggle back. Somebody throws the VW engine case on the fire. Everyone has to step back because not only is it too bright to look at but the magnesium pops as it burns and if one of those white hot pieces of metal hits your skin, it won’t stop burning until it reaches the bone.
By 11 o’clock Gil and the boys pack up their axes, they are just too fucked up to play any more. I drive my van right up next to the hot ponds, open all of it’s doors, put a cassette in the stereo and pump it up to maximum volume. After all, it’s way too early not to have any music playing. Up until 12:00 everything is going fine with a great time being had by all. Right before midnight I tune in a radio station so we can count down to the New Year. The Camping Bare’s brake out the Champagne and fireworks which they bring every year for the occasion. We wait. Then it’s 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1-HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! Almost everyone is kissing. Those who aren’t, are hooting and firing their guns off up into the night sky. The champagne is poured. Everybody toasts the new year then drains their glasses while one of the Bare’s is lighting off all the skyrockets, screamers, fountains and pinwheels they’ve brought. It’s beautiful and wonderful. Everyone is happy.
Right after the fireworks are over, the Camping Bare’s go to their motor homes to continues their party in private while the rest of us carry on around the fire and in the hot pools. However, by 2 a.m. only the hard-core partyers are left, everyone else has hit the hay. They are just too stoned to last any longer. Now is when the real fun begins.
The fire is still blazing and I still have my stereo turned all the way up. One of the Camping Bare’s comes out of his motor home, which he’s parked within 100 feet of the hot pools and asks me, “Is that your radio?”
I assure him that it is.
“Well,” he says loudly and viciously, “When are you going to turn that God awful music down! Or better yet, off! Some of us are trying to sleep, ya know.”
Before I can answer him, Paul, who’s standing right next to me and is fairly well toasted, gets right in the guys face and yells, “Who in the fuck do you think you are? We’re having a party! And if you don’t like it then either you can fuck off or I can beat the shit out of you! Which one would you like!”
George, who is close by, hears this and steps in between Paul and the dude. First George tells Paul to calm down, this is nothing to get yourself worked up about. Then he turns to the guy, smiles and says in a reasonable voice, “Now look, it’s New Years and we’re going to be partying here all night long. So if you don’t like the noise here then there’s a million acres of desert out there for you to sleep peacefully in.” George drops the smile, “Understand!”
The dude looks at George, Paul and me standing there glaring at him and decides that retreat is the better part of valor. He returns to his vehicle, starts it up then roar down the road.
After hearing this, Dennis the Menace tells us it’s time to wake the dead. He goes to get his firecrackers. He doesn’t buy the cute skyrockets and pinwheel, etc. He goes to Mexico and brings back rolls of Black Cats and Red Devils, plus boxes of Cherry Bombs and M-80’s. For the next half-hour the hot springs sound like a war zone. Anyone who complains is bombarded with firecrackers thrown at them. They make a very hasty escape back to their rigs as we laugh at them and taunt them for being such pussies. All too soon the firecrackers are finito. Dennis then informs us that he has a huge bundle of bottle rockets. He thinks it’d be fun if we divide up into 2 teams and had a bottle rocket war. By now we are all stoned to the bone and as drunk as skunks so this sounds like a perfectly fine idea to us. There’s probably no more than 20 of us left as we choose up sides. Dennis divides the bottle rockets between us then War Brakes Out!
The war starts out with our 2 teams firing the bottle rocket directly at one another across open desert. Even though most of us are still naked, if one hits you it’s really no big deal, it just stings a little. However, since the largest motor homes make the best shields, the war progresses over to where they’re parked. Of course, the owners of these rigs do not like their expensive vehicles being pelted with bottle rockets. At first they come outside to yell at us, which only makes us turn our attention, and our bottle rockets, on them so they quickly re-enter their vehicles then bitch at us through an open window. One guy is so upset that he even threatens to shoot us. We’re all so drunk that we tell him to go ahead and shoot. Then just for good measure, we fired all the rest of our bottle rockets at his rig with him ranting and raving at us from inside.
That was fun. Now what? By now it’s probably getting on to 4 a.m. Most of the other revelers say their just too fucked up to stay awake any longer and head for bed. The bon fire has died down to a regular sized campfire. There are only 4 of us left still awake and on our feet, Kelly, the only female along with Paul, Ron and yours truly. We sit by the fire smoking a doobie while finishing off the last of the Tequila. When that’s done I notice there’s a lot of clothes laying around on the ground. I start throwing it on the fire while berating the wimps for ruining the fun by crashing out so early.
Kelly, Paul and Ron tell me this is a bad idea as they pull the clothing out as fast as I throw it in, except for Floyd’s clothing, an asshole everyone here hates. They let his burn. After awhile I tire of this and tell them I’m going for a soak. They each tell me they’ve had enough fun for one night and are going to bed. Good Night Tai.
I sit in the hot pool all by myself until I start to wrinkle up. It’s starting to get light so I guess it’s time to call it a day. I try to stand up. I find I can’t, I’m too drunk. I figure I can crawl out of the pool but I can’t even do that, I’m just too fucked up. Guess I’ll just have to sit here and watch the sun rise.
Next thing I know, I wake up alone in my own bed in the van. I can see by the sun that it’s getting on to noon. I get up and notice I am still a little drunk and a lot hung over. Oh well, ya gotta pay ta play, so tough it out an get yer lazy ass outta bed ta face the new day. And anyway, a joint, a beer and a bowl of George’s beans will fix me up just fine. I find my clothes and put on my pants. But what’s this? My wallet and car keys are missing. I figure either I lost them or some motherfucker stole them during the party. What can I do? Nothing. I head over to the hot pools and see what’s happening. I get to the hot pools and everyone there looks as bad as I feel. No one is acting too lively this morning. I find a warm beer, pop it open and take a long swallow. I hear a few people bitching about the firecrackers and bottle rockets, and a question or two arises about why do some of the clothing look scorched and burned. Thankfully no on has ratted me out. I see Kelly in the pools, get in next to her and kiss her good morning then ask if she has a joint. She does. She fires one up, takes a hit then passes it to me. The day noticeably improves.
When I tell her about losing my wallet and keys she says, “You didn’t lose them. Last night Ruskie went through everyone’s pants and purses confiscating their keys and wallets so they wouldn’t get lost or stolen. This morning he told every body what he did and to come see him when you want them back.”
I just laughed. That fuckin’ Ruskie, always looking out for his fellow man.
As I said, 1989 was the last year where freedom would rule the hot springs. By the autumn of 1990 the word was out as to what a bitchen place this was to spend a winter in. After that the “we must have order” Snowbirds with their big rigs and their small minds along with the “spare change” Drainbows with their downer ways would take over the hot springs. However, we lighthearted free thinkers who believe that a lot of fun and a little chaos is good for the human soul didn’t leave without a fight. But the Snowbirds and Drainbows just kept coming until their numbers finally overwhelmed us and drove us out with their incessant bitching and constant hassling over the small shit. Year after year their numbers swelled until finally the County Health Department declared the hot pools a health hazard and closed it down forever. I’ve partied a lot in my life all over the world but there were few other places anywhere that could match the sheer exuberant freedom that I was lucky enough to experience and to participate in at that amazing little hot springs out in the desert.