9/3- The Wonderful Way of the Hitch

I'll concede, Todd was right. Hitching is a ton of fun, though I do prefer the backroad approach to the truck stop sit style. To each his own.

When last we left me I had just been dropped off in Silverthorne, CO. One mighty ride over the Rockies and through the Eisenhower Tunnel. After sitting in the library for a stint, reclining to the air conditioning and emails, I strapped on my pack again and set off back to the road. This time up CO-9 to test out the theory of small road thumbing.

I had barely gotten to the northern edge of town when a truck filled with logs and branches pulled up behind me. Caleb was hauling some crap off to dump and apologized for the small amount of room in the cab, but I hoped to put him at ease letting him know any ride is a good ride and the pack feels fine in my lap rather than on my back.

He was a neat guy, and as conversation rolled around we hit on a common bond as the ill fated "nice guys". I had struggled with that mark all through high school on into college and only in the past few years have I learned how to love the role rather than be condemned by it. It seems some of the secret is in self assertion, but retaining the respect of others. This was a topic I had not forseen talking about by any stretch of the imagination, but when we hit on it suddenly we were both launched into passionate speeches on the topic.

I was sad to see him go when we landed in Kremmling so soon. I wished him luck and set off down the main street in town. Food was low, water was okay, and the road ahead of me to Steamboat was looking treacherously long. For the next 53 miles I was told I'd find nothing but open land. No little towns, no gas stations, no havens of any sort to refuel and replenish. At the edge of Kremmling was a community grocery store that I meandered debating loading up on excess food and water to sustain me, but in the end, whether wise or not, I opted for the gamble of testing the resources I had on me.

Two miles out of town I started questioning my wisedom. Todd's diatribes on the hubris of McCandless followers began to float through my head. I wasn't by any stretch going out into the wilds, but I was throwing myself out there a little bit into the kindness of strangers. I had enough food to last me 53 miles easily, if I could keep up my old walking feet of 20-30 miles a day. I, however, did not figure in that I had not been walking such distances in over five years other than my brief Colorado walk in early April where I maybe walked 20.

Soon enough, though, my worries were put to ease. Interestingly enough it seemed to be around the time that my calculations in my head decided that if I could find water enough for all the boiling and cleaning of the food and pots I had then I would be fine if I just hoofed it through. This mindset I would begin to keep an eye on over the next day or two.

Two guys pulled up in front of me with a loaded pick up and little room, but they told me to drop my pack in the back and cram in regardless. They took me six miles until the Gor Pass turn off, and I never got their names, but the ride itself restored some of my hope for catching another longer ride the rest of the way.

A mile down the road from where they dropped me I found a little lake. It was about 4:30pm by then and I figured it was time for lunch, if nothing else than just to take advantage of not having to deplete any of my drinking water for all the cooking and cleaning. I'd lent my water purifier to Todd for his backwoods adventure, but I figured if I'm boiling it up it should be fine. Besides, when I was a kid I drank out of lakes and streams all the time and only got sick once from it. Mental note; never drink out of a major river that runs through an industrial city. I spent a good hour or so lounging around, boiling up some noodles and washing up after.

Once I got back on the road my mind slid back into my old walking mentality of mile marker counting and calculating. Don't ask why, but when my mind drifts it drifts to mathematical calculations. I never did amazingly well in math or anything like that, but apparently my brain likes it as a relaxer. While passing mile marker 176 I remember thinking that if my walking speed is back to what it was then I should pass 173 in precisely one hour.

I never made it to 175. One hour later Josh was dropping me off at the library in Steamboat Springs 45 miles down the road. While I was walking, working on my internal math problems and occasionally throwing out my thumb, I'd noticed Josh's suburu fly by. A minute later he was pulling in on the other side having turned around to get me. He was coming from Denver and after seeing me walking he decided he couldn't abandon me to the heat.

It turned out he was another fresh Michigan import having come in from a few hours north of Detroit. For half the ride in we talked about the contrasts between people in the mountains to the people of the east coast. Personality differences, niceities, things like that. For the last half I was chuckling to myself as he told me in detail the greatness that is Cedar Point Amusement Park; Todd's bane. By the time he dropped me in Steamboat we were talking like friends and he gave me a few tips about how the town worked, a big one being the free bus that takes you all around town.

The library was closing in 45 minutes so I had only a little bit of time to update my Facebook status so people could know where I was, then check a few emails. From there I looked into this whole "free bus" thing and how far west I could get on it. A little wandering around looking clueless eventually got me to a bus stop by a local bar where Jack was wandering out of.

I liked Jack. He seemed to be having a good night all on his own. He was sure to tell me he had a good buzz going and was now happily retiring home, but that he loved this town. I felt a little ashamed of myself when I asked if it got annoying in the winter when all the tourists crammed in to ski. He just smiled, opened his arms, and with great enthusiasm said, "Noooo, I love this town. Its great all year round." I felt shame, because here I am thinking we should all be trying to make a little more positive conversation in the world and the first thing I ask is how annoying folks might be. He put me to shame with his enthusiasm for them.

We rode the bus out of town together as he asked me about my pack and what I was doing. I told him I had been hitching around and was making my way to Seattle to see my sister. He loved it and told me of how he'd always wanted to do that kind of thing. Before he left he pressed a few bucks into my hand and wished me luck.

The next stop was the last in a camp ground at the edge of town. I wandered out of there and went down about the road about half a mile to find a free place to camp. There was a pristine spot down a steep drop off a curve in the road. It landed me on a little grassy outcropping right by a small river. With a full moon and an open sky I drifted off for the night.

The next day I made myself a big breakfast, again, taking advantage of the water nearby for boiling and cleaning. Using up the last of my noodles and a good chunk of my rice and boulion cubes I ate a very, very salty large meal that was a little bit disgusting. From there I set off walking down the road again toward Craig.

It was the same deal as the wander out of Kremmling. I went a few miles and was picked up by a guy whose name I didn't get. He dropped me about six or seven miles down the road in a little town called Milner. He gave me a few helpful hints on how to approach getting to I-80 in Wyoming, but they ended up not being needed. There was a curve a mile or so down from where he dropped me and as I rounded it another pick up pulled up telling me he was going to Craig. This was Skins.

Skins is a pretty fucking cool guy. He had moved to Craig from the beaches of California to be a granddad. His son had moved to Grand Junction, so Skins bought a motel in Craig with a house on top and took up Colorado mountain living. When I first got in he told me he could definitely bring me to Craig but that he had to empty out a storage unit there, but after that he was going up to Baggs, WY. Hearing that, and given my dear affinity for moving, I offered my services for the ride. This lead to a full afternoon hearing of Skins' various adventures, history of the area and its resources, and his political beliefs. Todd and he would have gotten along just fine as well.

As we hitched, loaded, and unloaded and unhitched the trailer through out the afternoon Skins would tell me of the vast pure resources stuck in the ground around Craig that was being siphoned off to places like Denver, Texas, and Pennsylvania to dirty it up. We talked at length about his days in California cruising the beaches on a specially crafted trike, and chilling in the strip bars. As he talked about raising his kids we started getting into the sociology and political beliefs that Todd loves, and I shared a lot of my friend Loreli's beliefs as well with raising Izzy. Namely, that parents who raise their kids with unconventional, but far more affective, methods live in constant fear of the state taking their kids away.

By these unconventional methods I'm not saying they beat the crap out of them or something like that. I mean by varying their education so that they actually learn in the world, rather than suffer the 15 year waste of youth of schooling aimed at indoctrinating you into being a well behaved, unquestioning citizen that can fit nicely into the 9 to 5 program until retiring to no social security. I look at Izzy and am envious of the outlook she's being given of the world at her age.

Toward the end of the afternoon we wrapped up the work and were off to Baggs. Skins had decided that in exchange for my help he'd give me a lift all the way to Crescent Junction where I-80 is. However, it came with the warning that Crescent Junction consists of an on ramp, an off ramp, and a fireworks store, but if I wanted I could hang out at his place in Baggs to try to pick up a ride there with the truckers. Given the stories I'd heard from Todd about getting rides with truckers and their policies against riders I opted for the direct I-80 connection which was an hour past Baggs.

That whole ride up was my political education. Skins told me about his days as a Freeman and their fight against he Federal Reserve and income tax. I have known for a little while now that income tax is illegal, there's plenty of documentaries on it and court cases if you look them up, and I had also known the Fed is a bullshit private organization that is the reason for "the business cycle" of a recession every twenty five years or so. I hadn't known that speeding tickets were a jurisdictional scam. I haven't looked into it yet, but if anyone's interested and does some research I'd love it if you emailed me some of the things you find out.

Skins left me by the on ramp in Crescent with a sandwich, a couple candy bars, and a few extra bucks for helping him out. It was a great ride and I hope to keep in touch with him. He gave me one last offer to come back to Baggs with him if I wanted now that I could see the desolation of where I was being left, but I figured its no more desolate here than the lonely back highways I've been walking. So we shook hands and off he went.

I stood there. I stood there leaning against a light pole nicely placed by the on ramp looking around at where I'd likely be camping that night, trying to figure out the best spot. Occasionally workers would drive by in vans or pickups, but I knew I wouldn't be getting rides with them or the truckers that passed every once in a while. To my surprise, though, I only needed to stand there for about 40 minutes before another pick up pulled beside me.

Tossing my pack into the back and jumping in the cab Sean shook my hand yelling something about losing a bet. For a second I wasn't sure what to say, didn't seem he was talking to me, but I couldn't figure out who else he'd be talking to until I say a nice looking phone attached to the dashboard and soon enough it was talking back to him. It was an interesting beginning to the ride. Normally I feel like an annoying chatter box as I blabber on trying to find something in common with the driver so its worth their while to have gotten me. This time, it was clearly unnecessary so I just relaxed and watched the land go by.

About half way to Rock Springs Sean and I ended up chatting. He was a busy guy, hadn't been home in three days while out running about making his trucking business flow. As we got to talking we got into comparing stories of our days being over worked. He had me licked working 8 days straight with only the occasional nod off here and there hauling trucks to and fro. I humbly shared my 88 hour weeks working in the basement of a Japanese department store and candy shop with a two hour commute each way back in Hawaii. That and weird set hours back in my indie film days.

As we neared Rock Springs, however, the conversation once again turned to politics as would be the theme of the day with rides. I agreed whole heartedly with Sean in that if politicians would just leave things alone for a bit and see what the things they have put in place will do we might have a chance. As it is, it seems we're doomed to a lot more meddling.

The sun set by the time he was dropping me off at the Flying J in Rock Springs. We'd had a good time chatting in the end and I was really surprised when he offered me some money as I was getting out. Once he was off I set about looking around the place, figuring if I should grab a bite to eat or find a place to sleep. I ended up just sitting in front of the store after updating my location on the computer inside.

As I sat there, taking a load off for a minute, an older guy nodded a hello to me on his way in. He tanked up, then went back into pay joking that I was still there. On his way out he suddenly turned to me and said he was heading west if I was looking for a ride. Absolutely.

Joining my pack in the back of Dock's pickup was a parrot he was bringing to a guy in Nevada who lived in a house decked out like a pirate's cove. Dock was mainly going to Provo, UT, though, to visit his sons. It was an incredibly silent ride all the way to Evanston, with occasional comments exchanged. He was dead tired, I could tell, as he'd left the Branson, MO area around 5:30 that morning and was driving straight through. Rolling with the riders theme of the day, though, the one time we did talk for a bit it was to discuss our disgust for the political situation these days. As he succinctly put it, we need to get rid of them all and just start over again.

Once in Evanston he left me off at yet another Flying J. I stayed there for a bit then decided to stroll out of town to find camp. The Flying J was off Exit 3 and any traffic going west would be heading dead on into Utah, a dead zone for hitchers as I hear it. I knew I may have gone too far passsing up Green River for Evanston anyway, but I figured if I had any chance at all at picking up a ride it would be down WY-89 heading north toward Idaho, not west into Salt Lake.

I walked through town and out under a full moon. It was beautiful. The moon was so bright I decide to walk quite a few miles, probably four or five by the time I found a place to lay down. Snuggling up behind some grass just tall enough to conceal me next to a barbed wire fence I passed out.

Today I awoke refreshed and ready for a long walk ahead of me. I wasn't really expecting rides too often since I was going to be dipping into Utah about 11 miles down the road. Once again, however, after a few miles Braun pulled up in yet another pick up.

Braun came out of Arizona by the Utah border and was up in Evanston on work. Apparently there was trouble with the chimneys so he decided to take off back to where he was staying in Kemmerer. He gave me a thing of chips and drove me through the Utah strip and back into Wyoming again until we hit a T where WY-89 and went north toward Idaho and US-30 went west toward Kemmerer. Conversation had been choppy at best, but it was a bit of a shock to jump out at the T dead set in the middle of nowhere. None the less, it was a good 40 or 50 mile ride north.

Setting off down the road again the sun had risen a bit higher now and was beaming down. I walked another five or six miles, sometimes thumbing, sometimes not bothering, before I was picked up again by Randy.

Randy and I hit it off right away. He was up from the Branson area as well and out on business up here gathering land to run power lines through. We talked a lot about some of his trips around and my travels, exchanging stories of eccentric people we'd met. He drove me up into Idaho to where I am now in Montepelier and as I crossed over the border talking about these exciting characters we'd met I got excited to be nearing an old friend I'd met on my walk years back.

Just before leaving Loreli's this past weekend I found Lex and his son Glen on Facebook and told them I was traveling again. Lex is up in Bellevue and Glen is over in Boise. I'm hoping to be able to make my way to see either of them if not both. Crossing into Idaho got me excited that it could be coming up soon. Todd also has been settled down at his sisters outside of Boise and I'm not sure, but might be hanging out long enough to catch me coming through.

Either way, the hour is waning and I feel I may have a few more rides to catch before the day is through here.