After that, I saw Weir fairly often when he came to New York. Everyone wanted to party with him at night, it seemed, but his days were often free, and we would take walks in Central Park, or go to the Met, or have lunch. For a time, we worked on a project for which he raised some money and gave me a share, and I would go to California and stay with him and his wife, Natascha Muenter; their daughters, Chloe and Monet, were away at school. Weir lived in Mill Valley, but mostly we would stay at a house he had in Stinson Beach, about ten or twelve miles away. The narrow blacktop road over the hills and through the woods to the ocean is full of sharp turns, with steep drops on one side, and I felt like I hadn’t lived until I’d travelled it with Weir passing cars on blind curves.journey-inline-newsletterinline-newsletter