Bob Weir, the indelible guitarist of the Grateful Dead, will not rest. (GQ piece)

"...Sometime later, he saw a photo of an ancestor. “He had a full-on Yosemite Sam mustache. I said to myself, ‘That's a look that's fallen from favor for the past 150 years or so. I'm just the guy to bring it back.’ ” It is possible that Weir's tongue is in his cheek, but it is hard to tell. On account of all the beard."

...

Then Weir tells the story about the night Jerry Garcia died. ... Sometime in the early-morning hours, Weir had a dream about Garcia: “He had a real sort of intense look in his eye,” Weir says. “He looked straight at me, and then through me”—and here he adds the new part—“and then he stepped into me.”

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He is a living piece of musical and countercultural history, for starters one of the few humans to have been on the bill at the Mythologized Boomer Trifecta of the Monterey Pop Festival, Woodstock, and Altamont. Kesey gave him acid; Neal Cassady gave him driving lessons; the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi gave him the mantra he still uses to meditate daily.