Features

Until early 1997, nearly all that I knew about the Floyd-scored film The Committee was what I had read in a review published in the film magazine Film and Filming. Having long despaired that anyone else would track the film down (and release both film and soundtrack), I decided to try to do it myself.

I knew The Committee was directed by Peter Sykes, and a library search of film books and film magazines revealed that he had directed a number of reasonably well-known films (such as To the Devil--a Daughter, and Steptoe and Son Ride Again). The fact that he was not a totally obscure director, then, meant he should not be too difficult to find. This proved to be the case. Soon after e-mailing the British association of film directors, I had Peter Sykes' London phone number.

My first phone call to Sykes was very rewarding, in that it provided much information about the film with which I was previously unfamiliar (for details of this, see the full interview). Not the least surprising piece of information was the fact that no one had ever approached him for the video rights to the film. I immediately expressed interest in acquiring these rights, and I was told that the person to contact was Max Steuer, who owned the film. I was also told that--in a bizarre coincidence--a Japanese group was at that time negotiating for a Japanese cinema release of the film. In a curious way, which I shall explain later, this unlikely coincidence was arguably responsible for the death of the whole video project.

Sykes had warned that Max Steuer could be difficult to deal with, but I called him nevertheless. (He is currently a lecturer in economics at the London School of Economics.) He soon confirmed many of the details that Peter Sykes had provided, although he refused to reveal how much Pink Floyd were paid for supplying music for The Committee. His actual words were "Please don't ask me that". (Reading between the lines, one can only assume that the amount was so small that, given the sort of fees Pink Floyd now command, he felt embarrassed.) Nevertheless, he was very enthusiastic about the idea of a video release of his film. We made tentative plans to discuss the project in more detail.

One of the obvious problems with marketing a video is getting it to the people who will appreciate it most. I had written a few articles for Jeff Jensen's Pink Floyd fanzine Brain Damage; and since this magazine had a very large readership, I asked him whether he'd like to go partners in the video project (the idea was that he would receive the lion's share of any profits from the project). He agreed almost at once, and we were soon planning a complex video release package, including a special collector's edition containing photos, a signed certificate of authenticity, and an interview with Max Steuer.

At this stage, one Jon Blair was brought in by Max Steuer to handle the financial negotiations. Jon Blair is an Academy Award winning director (he won his Oscar for his documentary Anne Frank Remembered); he also directed a two-part drug documentary called The Art of Tripping, which features snippets of music especially written for it by David Gilmour (at one point in my initial conversation with Blair he anticipated my next question by saying that there would be no re-release of this documentary). Blair, it turns out, is also a friend of David Gilmour. Peter Sykes had warned me right from the start that Pink Floyd would have a say in any move to release a video of The Committee; this should have warned us that the appointment of Jon Blair to handle the financial details could result in a possible conflict of interest. Unfortunately, it didn't.

At first, all seemed to progress well. Arrangements were made to distribute the video in America; a contract between Jeff Jensen and Max Steuer was drawn up: and then there was a sudden silence from Jon Blair. For almost a month he wouldn't answer e-mails, except to say that there had been "an unexpected development".

And then we had the news: while Pink Floyd had no objection to a cinema re-release of The Committee, a video release "would not be in their best interests." The problem was that at some point Max Steuer had lost the contract he signed with the band. This contract, dating as it did from 1968, obviously predated the age of home video recorders, and so would have contained no clause expressly permitting the release of a "Committee" video; its loss, however, made the legal implications of releasing the film worryingly cloudy. And unfortunately the band disliked the music intensely (although it is highly unlikely that they had heard it in a long time). That, so far as Jon Blair was concerned, was that. He saw no point in trying to negotiate any further with the band.

I suspect that Jeff Jensen was particularly upset by the collapse of the project, as he had made considerable preparations for the video release. Max Steuer was a loser, too, as he had just spent a thousand pounds getting a new master tape of the film printed. I remarked to him recently that what we should have done at the initial stage was simply release the video; if Pink Floyd had objected, the video simply could have been withdrawn (by which time thousands of people would have seen and owned it). But at the initial stage, unfortunately, everyone was too unsure of one another to proceed in this way.

It seems strange to think that an unlikely coincidence--two groups expressing an interest in The Committee at the same time--should effectively have dealt a deathblow to the video project. But it is a fact that if the situation had been less complex Max Steuer may well have handled the release details himself, and The Committee would be commercially available.

What are the chances of a video of The Committee now? Max Steuer still has not given up hope; convinced that the veto was the product of Pink Floyd's management rather than the band itself, he has been trying to pass surreptitious messages to Nick Mason via Mason's car club. In my opinion, this is unlikely to lead to anything concrete: apart from the fact that it is probably David Gilmour rather than Nick Mason whom Max Steuer has to convince, there is the fact that Brain Damage magazine no longer exists. The sad fact is that The Committee is unlikely to get a public release until the main stakeholders in Pink Floyd are no longer with us. Any person desperate to see the film can hire the 16mm print from the British Film Institute; but such a person should expect to pay a few hundred dollars for the privilege. The permission of Max Steuer will also be required, but he is almost certain to give it.

David King is an expert on Floyd films, and a special contributor to Spare Bricks. Portions of this article may be reproduced, provided that David King and Spare Bricks are properly credited.

Life Could Be a Dream is a short film about the life of Pink Floyd drummer Nick Mason. This Mike Shackleton film, released in 1986, with original soundtrack music written and played by Nick Mason and Rick Fenn, was a Roger Cherrill Limited Production for NVC Media Limited, in London, England. It clocks in at only 26 minutes, but is an interesting glimpse into Nick Mason's world of motor sports and drumming with Pink Floyd.

The movie appropriately begins with the sound and vision of a racing car speeding over a hill. As the hum of a Porsche 956 engine is heard, a brief glimpse of Nick Mason performing a drum roll begins the song "Profiles," which serves as the background music during the introductory segment. Nick Mason is shown putting on his racing helmet and racing gear, playing drums with Pink Floyd, and racing his Porsche 956.

The opening sequence of the movie takes place at the Mosport Race Track in Toronto, Ontario, Canada, in August 1984. This is the 1000 kilometer Budweiser GT Endurance Race, where Nick Mason is making his North American racing debut (he was the official camera car, driving a Porsche 956 as a member of the Rothman's racing team). Excitement builds during pre-race activity as an announcer tells the crowd that Nick Mason of Pink Floyd is driving the number 3 Porsche car in the race. Mason is seated inside his car beginning the warm-up lap, and as he rounds the track, he begins narrating.

"I suppose from my early childhood, I've dreamt about driving the ultimate sports car. I must have been about ten when I started going to races with my father. We used to set off for Silverstone in the early morning and drive up through the English country side." The scene then switches from present day racing at Mosport, to a picturesque film portraying Mason as a child, riding with his father through the English countryside in an old Bentley.

As the Bentley with the young Nick Mason and his father drives along the English country road, the old Crew Cuts song, "Sh'Boom" (a.k.a. "Life Could Be a Dream"), begins. This is a re-recording of the song by Mason and Fenn, with Eric Stewart on vocals. It has the production feel of the Mason + Fenn Profiles album yet maintains the carefree air of the original nicely. The Bentley looks beautiful on the road, and Mason explains that, in those days, it was incredibly windy and he had to devise a rather clever way of keeping warm by exposing just his head and wearing his father's old crash helmet. If it got too windy, he would just tuck himself away completely. The young Mason's head can be seen peeking out from underneath an oversized crash helmet. Life Could Be a Dream. Sh'Boom. Sh'Boom.

Mason explains that, at that time, Bentleys were considered antiquated but they still offered great performance. In a bit of English humor, the young Mason and his father are pictured in a Bentley stopped at a stoplight as a couple of young drivers in a modern sports car pull up beside them. The young drivers make fun of the old Bentley, yet are left behind as the light turns green and the Bentley speeds off.

Mason reminisces about one of his most vivid memories, that of his father and Wally riding in the front seat of the Bentley as he observed them from the back seat. Wally had been a racing mechanic for Bentleys in their heyday, back when mechanics were expected to ride in the car with the drivers so that they could hop out and fix anything that went wrong on the spot. Mason's father had liked Bentleys because the car served two purposes: he could use it as an everyday car for the family, or he could drive it to the racetrack and race it. The young Mason with his father and Wally are shown driving into the Silverstone Racing Complex in 1954 where they prepare the family car for the race.

Mason explains that Wally would get the car ready for racing as young Nick would go around listening to the sounds of the engines of the other cars. He remembers the smell of Castrol oil as he would watch the drivers of their cars getting ready for the race. All the classic cars (Talbots, Healeys, MGs, ERAs, and of course Bentleys) are shown driving past the young Mason, on their way to the race. Mason's favorite races were the Vintage Sports Car Club events, with the all-comers scratch race being the most exciting. Mason then describes how he would try to do little things to help prepare his father's Bentley for racing. They would remove weight and make the car more aerodynamic by removing the spare tire, and tape up the headlights.

One of Mason's favorite cars was the Type 35 Bugatti and a beautiful blue Bugatti is shown, with the driver insisting that the young Mason get in and sit behind the wheel. Like most small boys, he revels in the opportunity and dreams of what it would be like to drive it.

The roar of engines is heard as the race begins, a sound that still excites Mason today. A vintage sports car race from the 1950s is recreated, with the young Mason shown working a stopwatch to keep a record of all the lap times. Mason explains that this exercise taught him that good consistent lapping is very important for a good result. As Mason clicks the stopwatch, the Pink Floyd song "The Scarecrow" begins.

The stopwatch fades into a wall clock in Mason's house. Sports car memorabilia is shown on shelves, while Mason, who is seated on a couch, flips though a photo album. He views with pleasure pictures of racing at Silverstone in 1954 as he explains that he trained as an architect at the Regent Street Polytechnic. It was there that he met the rest of Pink Floyd. Mason continues flipping through his photo album, which now shows pictures of Pink Floyd in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Mason talks about the early years of the band, when things seemed to move rapidly from them doing student parties to the point when they were rushing up and down the motorway between exotic locations. He explains that eventually it reached a point where a kindly teacher suggested that Mason take a year off, and he hasn't managed to get back yet.

Mason then reaches over and turns on a film projector. As the song "Arnold Layne" plays, home movies of the Pink Floyd in 1968 are projected onto a screen. Roger Waters gets out of a van as David Gilmour happily mimes playing a guitar. In a bit of jest, Waters is shown miraculously putting the neck of his bass guitar through Mason's chest as Mason laughs. Gilmour looks on in amazement as Mason turns and laughs at the camera. Richard Wright also laughs at the humor. All in good fun!

This is followed by a film of giant inflatable octopus with its tentacles all laid out on a lawn next to a lake. Steve O'Rourke wanders up a hill as scenes of Pink Floyd performing on stage at the Crystal Palace Bowl on May 15, 1971, are shown. Home movies of this concert include scenes of the band performing live on stage, various scenes of the audience relaxing and taking in the concert on the bank of the lake, and band members backstage. It was a memorable performance.

After the Crystal Palace Bowl film comes home movies of the filming of the movie, Live at Pompeii. Nick Mason is seen enjoying himself behind one of the huge movie cameras as it is raised up in the air on a crane. At this point the film grinds to a halt, the screen fades to black, and the song "One of These Days" begins. A montage of pictures of Pink Floyd at Pompeii flash across the screen. With a butterfly on his chest, Nick Mason plays his drums with mallets, then sticks, driving the song on. As the song ends, the scene switches back to the Mosport Racetrack with Nick Mason behind the wheel of his Porsche.

Mason continues his narration by explaining about the safety of driving the Porsche 956 and the peculiarities of racing it at Mosport. Once again the song "Profiles" is played, and scenes of the actual race are shown. Shots of the race from inside Mason's car, at ground level outside the car, and from above the race track flash across the screen. Additionally, films of his pit stop are included, as Mason is shown taking a short breather from the race. All the aspects of a day at the races are covered. Scenes of the race fade into shots of Mason and Fenn in a recording studio recording the song "Profiles." Mason is shown playing drums and bells, while Rick Fenn is playing keyboards.

Scenes of Mason playing drums alternate with scene of his racing at Mosport. And in the end we see the checkered flag. Although Mason doesn't win the race, it is apparent that his life is still a dream, and shots of Mason behind the drums in the early days of Pink Floyd are followed by a picture of the young Nick Mason wearing his father's crash helmet. Fade to black, followed by the credits.

Vernon Fitch is the creator of the Pink Floyd Archives, and a special contributor to Spare Bricks.

Photos of Zabriskie Point by Johnny Valenzuela
1-thermo.jpg (58K) 330 x 564 The world's largest thermometer at Baker, the gateway to Death Valley.	2-road.jpg (107K) 594 x 388 Arriving at Zabriskie Point in Death Valley.
3-buildings.jpg (63K) 530 x 318 Remember the little red outhouses in the film? They've been upgraded.	4-vehicles.jpg (81K) 597 x 394 The lot, and the road up Zabriskie Point that you can't drive up anymore.
5-sign.jpg (92K) 800 x 469 The summit of Zabriskie Point, featuring the new and improved sign.	6-reading.jpg (57K) 450 x 241 The photo's a bit blurry, but you get the idea.
7-wind.jpg (116K) 720 x 387 During "Come In Number 51, Your Time Is Up."	8-johnny.jpg (65K) 596 x 302 "This was a great idea!"

When it was decided to dedicate an issue of Spare Bricks to films, the big three - More, La Vallee, and Zabriskie Point - were at the forefront of my mind. I've seen many of the Floyd-related films, even some of the hard-to-find ones, but these three are the ones that your average Floyd fan who's done a minimal amount of investigating beyond The Wall first learns about. That's how it was for me anyway. Actually, not counting the concert films and The Wall, Zabriskie Point was the first one I ever saw. And frankly speaking, the first time I watched it I wasn't impressed. I mean, let's state a few facts about Zabriskie Point. Number one, the acting is pretty horrific. Number two, it's very dated. I'm sure when it was first released in 1970 there were some who thought it made a bold statement against the establishment and all, and to a degree it did, but the reality is that it bombed at the box office. And I'm sorry, but that scene where Daria envisions the Arizona mansion blowing up over and over and over again is almost laughable. Yes, Zabriskie Point is flawed all over, and when it was finally over that first time I watched it, I looked at my roommate at the time and said "Wow, that sucked."

In the weeks after that first viewing, I found myself remembering scenes, quoting lines, recalling the various places in the film, and for whatever reason I still can't figure out, I felt myself being drawn back to it. I eventually got my sister to give me a copy of it for Christmas, and I've been hooked ever since. Again, I have no idea what turned me, but I just adore the film now. Is it possible for a movie to grow on someone? Zabriskie Point sure grew on me. The only explanation I can come up with for my conversion centers around Death Valley. I've hiked in, camped at, bounced my 4WD truck over, tripped in, and spaced out in Death Valley numerous times, so maybe it's the familiarity of the terrain. So for this issue, I jumped at the chance to do a story on the actual place, Zabriskie Point. I could easily scoot out to Death Valley for a weekend and come home with a wealth of ideas. So, that's exactly what I intended to do.

But the first step was to watch Zabriskie Point again, one more time, and take some real notes. The first thing I noticed was the impossible time frame of Daria's drive to Phoenix. The direct line from Los Angeles to Phoenix is Interstate 10, however the drive to Death Valley takes you east on Interstate 15, over 100 miles north of Interstate 10 and well out of Daria's way. And the film makes it look like she detours off the 10 to Zabriskie Point, hangs a while, gets stoned and makes love with this guy she just met, then gets all the way to Phoenix, hangs a while at this mansion, dreams of it blowing up, and starts to drive back to Los Angeles, all in the course of one single day. Utterly impossible, but hey, it's the movies, it's Hollywood, it's forgivable. And by the way, the town she's looking for-"Hollister, Hollisburg, or something with a 'burg' in it"-I looked all over the map in that area and there's nothing even close. Oh well. I also rewound and paused and slow-scanned the video all through the scene where Daria is at the roadside diner, to look for clues of where the actual place might be. There wasn't a lot to go on, but I decided that one of my missions on this trek was to find "Daria's diner", and maybe even stand on the platform where the kid asked her "Can we have a piece of ass?"

"Are you sure you'd know what to do with it?" One of the two classic lines from the film.

The next thing I did to prepare for my trek was to make a cassette of the Pink Floyd music on the Zabriskie Point soundtrack album. I have the re-release, so I laid down the outtake music on side two of the cassette. And because I'm also a confessed Deadhead, I included all of Jerry Garcia's compositions too. After all, it was his music that was featured during the love scene-probably the most famous and memorable scene from the movie. I was now armed and ready to hit the road to experience Zabriskie Point as every Floyd fan should, and also to find Daria's diner.

I had taken into account that the Zabriskie Point film is 30 years old, and that the locations will have definitely changed, but my suspicion was that Daria's diner was in the town of Baker, California. Baker started as a filling station stop for cars that couldn't make it all the way to Las Vegas but had already passed Barstow, and in the 60s and 70s it was nothing more than a gas station and a diner, so it seemed very likely that Baker was the place. While it still may be considered a wide spot in the road, Baker sure has grown over 30 years. Multiple gas stations, general stores, fast food restaurants, and the World's Biggest Thermometer are all part of the Baker city proper now. Well, I drove all over Baker (which doesn't take very long) and I couldn't find anything that resembled the diner. As I headed north, away from the interstate, I concluded that if Daria's diner was originally in Baker, then it's been torn down and/or replaced.

The road from Baker to Death Valley was instantly recognizable as the road where Mark Frechette made several swoops in his borrowed plane past Daria's car. There is a small, dirt landing strip outside of Death Valley, and I assume it's the one from the film, but again, if it was indeed the spot, the original building has been torn down and replaced, and again, still no sign of the diner.

It had been raining the entire drive, but the inclement weather apparently avoided me, choosing instead to fall nearby and leaving a pocket of sunshine that seemingly followed my truck and I wherever I drove. Too bad I didn't have a good, clean version of "Rain In The Country" to fill out the moment. When I finally arrived at Death Valley, it was clear that it had just rained at Zabriskie Point, but stopped maybe a few minutes prior to my arrival (I'd like to think the Pink gods had something to do with that, thank you). So I drove into Death Valley and approached Zabriskie Point. The point is just off the main road into the park, and you can't really miss it as you drive in. When the point came into view from the road, the first thing I noticed was that there were a lot of cars there. Ah, gone are the days when you could quite possibly be the only one there. It's a bit sad for me because I remember driving out to Death Valley and Joshua Tree with my friend, Rich, and spending the whole weekend roaming the desert with no signs of anyone. It's much worse at Joshua Tree now--that place, space wise, is ruined--and Death Valley sees a lot more visitors than it used to, but at least it's big enough that you can get away from the crowds if you need to. But not at Zabriskie Point. Oh well. I had arrived at the point, and people or not, I had a mission.

They don't let you drive all the way up to the point anymore like Daria did in the film, so I parked my car in the lot with the others and prepared myself. I thought "Okay, I'm about to go walk around Zabriskie Point for a while with my Walkman blaring Pink Floyd and Jerry. I have a pad of paper and a pen. I'm going to write down what I feel, and all these tourists are going to be watching. Man, if only I still shroomed." Those days are long over, but I must say that, as I exited my car with my headphones on, I felt the same kind of anticipation like I had just eaten a few grams and was waiting for the "tingles" to kick in. So I began my walk up the road to Zabriskie Point. The first song was "Heart Beat, Pig Meat." This song worked really well for the anticipatory walk up the hill. In a way, the heartbeats of the song mimicked the excitement and buildup as I got closer and closer to the summit. Yes, people were looking at me as I walked by. For them, they were experiencing the quiet of the desert save for the wind, but for me, I had this surreal soundtrack pounding in my ears that made an entirely different environment out of the same space we shared. I was smiling all the way. People probably thought I was on something, and indeed I was. My mind, soul, and body had been taken over by Pink Floyd.

The bliss of the ascent diminished upon my arrival at the summit. "Crumbling Land" began to play as I came onto the panoramic view of the valley from the summit, and to be honest, it really didn't work the way "Heart Beat" did. Really, I like "Crumbling Land", but it just didn't match the "vibe" I was riding on very well. Didn't matter though. I was listening to Pink Floyd at Zabriskie Point; it doesn't get much better than that! Anyway, I noticed that the sign at the top is different from the one in the film. You can still see the cement slab that held the original sign behind the new one. The wind was blowing like crazy. People were holding their hats, shooting videos, taking photos, and taking in the splendor and awe of Death Valley, and I questioned just how many (if any) of these people knew about the film. There was one younger couple that I suspected might have, but except for them, I doubt highly that any of the visitors there even had heard of Pink Floyd, let alone seen the film.

I then headed down the hill towards the dry riverbed. I tried to find the exact part that Mark ran down in the film, and I think I found it, but I can't say for sure, and having recently recovered from a sprained ankle, I wasn't about to do the "Frechette Run" down the hillside. As I made my way down, Jerry Garcia's "Love Scene" played in my ears. Since this is a Pink Floyd webzine, I won't go into how ABSOLUTELY POSITIVELY UNBELIEVABLY F*CKING PERFECT this music was for the moment, but suffice it to say I was grinning from ear to ear. I recalled my absolute favorite line from the film; Daria's classic "So anyway' ought to be one word, 'Soanyway,' like the name of a place, or a river." Adorable little hippie chick Daria was. Then I thought "You know, maybe if Pink Floyd had actually visited this place before they recorded the music, they might have come up with something that Antonioni would have used for the love scene." Anyway, when I got to the bottom of the hill, I also got to the end of Jerry's tune. This meant only one thing: that the moment I was really waiting for was upon me. "Come In Number 51, Your Time Is Up," and I couldn't have been at a better place for this. For the duration of the song, all I could do was stand there with my arms outstretched, my eyes taking in the vast desert space, the wind keeping the desert heat in check, the feel of the sand caking up on my skin, the taste of the elements that were equal parts wind and sand, and all the while the sounds of Waters' foreboding bass guitar E octaves stirring up an almost-frightening emotion within me. At the point in the song when Waters lets loose his scream, it was all I could do not to join in, but knowing that there were throngs of people up at the point, I didn't want them to think I had been bitten by a scorpion or something. As much as I was in "the zone", I didn't want to bum out anyone else's moment either. So I just twirled, taking in Gilmour's wailing leads, Wright's haunting chords and Nick's violent beat. It was pure heaven. Absolute bliss. Surreal.

After "51" finished, I turned the tape over and prepared for the outtakes side. I had laid down the outtakes in the same order as the disc, so first I got to experience Zabriskie Point to several different moods of Jerry Garcia. Again, I won't go into big details, but man, Jerry just nailed it. Each version brought about its own set of emotions in me. When Jerry was playing happy, lilting melodies, I was at peace, and when he played darker lines, I felt a bit uneasy. Then came Pink Floyd's "Country Song." Wow, this worked! It may have been a bit too "boppin' along" for Antonioni to use, but it sure was working for me. I've always felt the tune had a little "Green Is The Colour" mixed in with a little "Stay," and either of those songs would have been fine for the moment, but "Country Song" really was nice. And then came "Unknown Song." This one hit right as the sun set behind the Panamint Range on the west side of Death Valley. I sat on a small knoll and watched the sun wave goodbye, all the while David Gilmour treated me to some of the most peaceful, relaxing, "don't worry about a thing" guitar playing I could have ever asked for. I thought for a moment about Mr. Gilmour and Mr. Waters, and what their reactions would be if I was to say to either of them, "So dude, I was in Death Valley, at Zabriskie Point, and I had my Walkman on, and I had your music playing, and it was cool!" Gilmour would probably say something like "Very nice", while Waters would probably say something like "Oh, you're one of those people." Then I thought about Jim Ladd's possible reaction: "Johnny, sometimes you really worry me." I laughed out loud.

Since I didn't want to get caught at the bottom after dusk, I started to make my way back up the hill during "Love Scene-Version 6." A fun little blues number, but I didn't think it was very appropriate for the environment. Or was it? At first, I thought, "Well, this one's not working", but as I forged on up the hill, it got better. I think maybe if the song started out a little subtler and gradually built to the big stuff it would have worked better from the beginning. But by the time I got back to the top, the song was almost done, and I was really digging it. There was a whole new crowd of people at the top, and the looks on their faces were priceless. "Who's this dude with the headphones? What's he on? He sure is smiling." Funny. If it had been one year earlier when I still had long hair down to my waist, I probably would have scared a few of them off. Anyway, I sat on the stone wall and watched the distant horizon's colors evolve from bright orange to blue to purple as "Love Scene-Version 4" played in the phones. A very fitting piece of music to wrap up my odyssey at Zabriskie Point. I walked down the hill under the kind, gentle guidance of Rick Wright's piano playing, and the feeling I had was one of satisfaction. I had come to Zabriskie Point with a purpose, and I got everything out of it I had hoped for, and then some.

The next day, on my way out, I stopped at Zabriskie Point again, feeling as if I was popping over to say goodbye to an old friend that I would undoubtedly visit again. It was about 10am, no clouds, and it was much warmer than the day before. Just for kicks, I grabbed my Walkman again and loaded it with side two of Meddle (you all know what that is, right?). There's a little hiking trail that starts about 50 yards north of Zabriskie Point, and it takes you down a wash to the riverbed, then back up the side of the hill. I'm not kidding, the duration of this hike lasted exactly as long as "Echoes". When I took my first step onto the trail, I launched the first "ping," and 22:30 later, as the last ghostly ascending notes faded out, I had made the circuit of the hiking trail and reached the summit. What is it about "Echoes" that the song seems to synch up to just about everything? Anyway, it was a nice way to wrap up my visit to Zabriskie Point.

The only bummer was that I never did find Daria's diner. But you know what? I got over it.