I started listening to the Grateful Dead a week before Jerry Garcia died. The year was 1995 and it happened as it always happened then: a friend played me some Dead tunes, and then I made a tape recording of the ones I liked.
I played Uncle John’s Band, over and over again, entranced by the sound, the feeling, the vibe. Something very special, but I had no idea then of the crazy timing of my interest, and the lifelong love for The Dead that was starting.
I think I found out on MTV that Jerry had died, and I watched as the memorials from across the world poured out. I didn’t have an emotional connection though, this was just a band that had a certain sort of sound, nothing more, nothing less.
Becoming a Deadhead in the time period following Jerry’s death was awkward. The remaining members of the band kept bringing people together — the music never stopped — but it was clear something was missing.
As a depressed and anxious teenager, I was lost myself; when I remember this scene the whole thing seemed aimless. I thought my savior — Jerry Garcia — had left me too soon, and I missed out on the best thing in the world: following the Grateful Dead around the United States on a never ending road trip of adventure.
Jerry looked old, grey and withered, in his final years, like he was 90 years old or something. But in reality he was still young, he died when he was only 53. A lifetime of heavy drug use and cigarette smoking, plus the heavy weight of fame and being considered a prophet, surely contributed to his appearance, and early death.
For several years, from when I discovered the Grateful Dead, and until I discovered rock climbing, I thought I had missed the bus. Little did I know, I may have been saved by the end of The Grateful Dead.
As much as I love The Dead my mental health doesn’t do well with the sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll lifestyle. And the drugs part of this equation was especially dangerous, particularly when it comes into run ins with the law. Though cannabis and psychedelics have rightly been legalized or decriminalized in some places of the United States, back in this time they were still highly prosecuted. Getting busted at the wrong place at the wrong time could ruin your life forever.
In all of this fog, these years were defined by my depression and substance abuse, there were bright moments. The music of The Grateful Dead was still there, and it was the era of cassette tapes. I collected the tapes and traded them through the mail with Deadheads from all over the United States. A vibe of camaraderie still existed with the Grateful Dead community. You knew a Deadhead when you spotted one.
The musical highlight of chasing around a band whose leader had recently departed with the Phil Lesh and Friends shows. These shows were in small venues, the Fillmore Auditorium in Denver comes to mind as my favorite. It’s difficult to write about the magic of music, but I do remember going up to Denver with some new friends from Gunnison, and then driving back the next day. I loved the show and the dancing so much, that I decided to drive back the next morning for the final show of the run, a seven hour round trip; all the while sleeping in my car, trying to find myself after being lost.
The greatest treasure of my love for the Grateful Dead is the bond it created with my best friend Tim. We traveled together for many shows, shared tapes together, and shared a love for all things Dead. Like me, Tim was also perhaps headed down the wrong road in the Midwest, and he decided to move out West with me in Colorado.
Though it happened slowly, I had found all I was truly looking for in life by discovering rock climbing, the places it brought me, and the community it surrounded me with. The community often had a hippie vibe.
Once I discovered the transformational exercise that is climbing, and stopped consuming certain substances like nicotine and the dexedrine pills I was given for ADHD, my mental health greatly improved. Climbing had all the adventure of a Dead tour, and then some. And on every adventure The Grateful Dead was with us. The music in our truck. The lyrics in our head. The spirit in our soul.
As a hopeless romantic, who also tends to be on the obsessive side of things, I was caught in a narrative that I’d missed out on something big: the chance to follow the Grateful Dead around.
But in reality I was being given all I would ever need from The Dead right at the beginning: the music. And in that music is some of the most moving a powerful words; words that still move me today, and inspire my own writing, my own path.
And at the backbone of all this music and poetry was Phil Lesh. The man who died last week at the age of 84. The reason I’m writing right now.
When I found out Phil had died it immediately brought a tear to eye. In recent years I’ve often thought about how incredible it was that so many members of The Dead are still alive. After all those years of the rock n roll lifestyle, what a blessing that they are still around in their seventies and eighties.
I was with my girlfriend in a restaurant when I saw the news on my phone. She noticed me getting emotional, and we talked a little about The Grateful Dead. She’s Mexican and the whole culture of The Dead is new to her.
When I was alone I felt a deep, deep, surge of emotion, leading to tears. In that moment thirty years of feelings rose to the surface. Thirty years of music and poetry, heartbreak, romance, and adventure. With Phil playing the bass, and really being the heartbeat of it all.
In this moment of deep emotion, a clarify arose. Long ago, I chose the path of a writer. Anyone who choses the path to become an artist is surely to face much hardship, challenge, and difficulty.
If we are successful in our efforts we are able to earn a living, and just as importantly we are able to positively affect others lives, even strangers. And maybe especially strangers. And who taught me in the ways of being an artist? Jerry Garcia. Phil Lesh. And every member who was ever a part of The Grateful Dead.
After I learned of Phil’s passing, I sent messages to my fellow Deadheads, Tim first of course. I smoked a joint, and then went for a hike, up into a canyon where I’d wanted to do a first ascent.
I’m sure many people gathered together with friends and family to memorialize Phil Lesh, and I felt that collective energy, while also being content to be on my own.
I revisited the area where the new climb might be. Often I’ll get excited about something, only to return and find out that I was perhaps over-stoking.
This time, the line looked just as good, maybe better than I had originally envisioned. I knew it would end up being a tribute to Phil, Broken Arrow, a name of one of the songs he sang. A place to remember and memorialize an artist who gave the world so much; who was the heartbeat of a multi-generational phenomenon that goes by the name of The Grateful Dead.
Thank you Phil.
With Love,
Luke
Luke Mehall is the publisher of The Climbing Zine. You can read more of his adventures from this era in his memoir American Climber.
Beautifully written, Luke… At 68 now I’ve seen so many leave their bodies and the planet—both beloved musicians and climbers. Quite sad alright, but it’s the way of things, que no? And on we go…