“One pill makes you larger; one pill makes you small” hollered a woman with a fierce scary voice. “I want to take you HIGHER!” grunted some righteous dude over thumping bass. “What a long, strange trip it’s been” sang someone else over a mutant blues shuffle. There was something in the water in that town. I would have to go to San Francisco one day and see what it was. I was in my 50s by the time I finally made it, stashing my bag in an eggshell-blue room near the Fillmore, where the faithful once queued to see the Grateful Dead, Jimi Hendrix, Jefferson Airplane, Sly Stone, Santana, The Doors.