Sometime mid-morning Don and I pulled into Binghamton and it was a real goodbye this time. I couldn't believe I'd just spent three days and four nights on a ride that proved to be incredible in many ways having ridden from the middle of Nebraska to four hours from my Dad's door in upstate New York. It was now Friday and his birthday was the next day, and I was within spitting distance. Once again, I had to look back over the course of events and realize all I needed to do was just trust that everything would work out and follow my gut, and it would.
Don bought me a coffee then slipped me $5 saying I'd have to eat again before I got home. I wished him well on his endeavors that he had coming up and we told each other we'd stay in touch via email. I then sat down with my coffee in front of the truck stop and he went off to drop off his load. I was there maybe half an hour, and hadn't even finished my coffee, before Dave came by.
Dave had just come for a coffee, I think, and when he passed me going back to his car and found out I was looking to get east, he said he'd give me a ride 50 miles when he got back from the junkyard. I offered to help there and he accepted. I hadn't been to a scrapyard in decades. Probably not since I was 8 or 9 was I going through old cars watching my Dad pick out parts for his beat up old green Toyota. It was nice spending a while pulling out starters and just wandering around with tools.
From there we went back past the truck stop and hit NY-17 East. Oneonta, the town I was born in, was right up the highway north of Binghamton, and I later found out that down 17 was the road my folks would take to get into the city. Dave, as it turned out, had been an avid hitcher and had all sorts of stories about sleeping under bridges, cutting open palm trees down in Florida for some sort of fruit inside, and general survival skills along that line. He was interesting to listen to, but definitely had a bitterness about people and life in general from those days.
Eventually he dropped me off at a rest stop in Roscoe wishing me luck since he spent much of the ride telling me people in New York don't pick up hitch hikers. Pennsylvania, yes, definitely, but upstate New York was a different lot. The skies were grey again, and it was another rest stop like the one in Auburn; just a bathroom pit stop. I sat out front and broke out the crackers and peanut butter I'd been hauling around since Missouri. As I got close to finishing those up about forty five minutes later I noticed a big pink rig hauling what I figured to be trash pull in.
I didn't take too much notice because it definitely looked like a company truck, no cabin in the back or anything so I didn't even try hitching it. When the guy came out he looked over at me and asked where I was going. I told him I was shooting for Kingston to get to Mass, and he waved me over. I've never caught a ride with a company truck before.
Harold drove me the rest of the way down 17 with few words. The few things he did have to say were a little shocking that he was telling some kid who just jumped in his truck. Apparently two years earlier he'd had an incredibly bad year. He had a stroke, found out his 11 year old was being molested, and his wife left him. The rest was silence.
He dropped me across the Hudson in Fishkill, NY at a gas station and told me to wait there, he was going to get more garbage to haul, and he'd be back to pick me up and bring me to Albany in about two hours. I took him for his word and didn't even try to hitch those two hours. I was still processing a lot of what Don had said and trying to interpret the past two weeks as to what, on a whole, was going on around me. Again, this is where people say I take this all too seriously, but for me it does seem to all make sense.
Two hours later Harold pulled right over and I jumped in. Soon I was up in Albany at a truckstop well off the main road. Wendie had flown in to Springfield a day or two earlier and I had been in touch with her through texting as Harold drove me to Albany. She offered to come pick me up there, since its an hour from home, so when I got in I just hung out there waiting on my ride.
Eventually I moved over to the bus station, since its an easier found landmark in town. Dad was coming with her and he knew precisely where it was. In the end, it all did work out. The three of us had a good family visit for the hour ride home, and I had made it in time for the birthday gathering.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
10/27- The Long Haul with Trucker Don
There were many different facets to this ride with Don. The first bit of intrigue would show up that first day.
I had been under the impression that we'd be in St. Louis early in the afternoon after he'd picked me up. We pulled into a Pilot 20 miles east of Kansas City, however, and when we parked he told me we'd be here for most of the day. It turned out Don had been hauling a triple load pulling overtime through the past few days and needed to stop driving to catch up on his hours in his log book. This is the way these guys get things delivered on time is by fudging their books until they get to a point where they can reconcile the made up times.
On hearing this, since it was about 1pm, I started to get nervous about time again. It was Wednesday, and if I wasn't going to be dropped off in St. Louis, just three hours down the road, until tomorrow some time then I may as well get out here and try to press on. I told him as such, and decided to have lunch with him there, then I'll sit out front and hitch. It was a decent sized truck stop, perfectly located for me, and quite busy. I also had Don as a safety net on the random occasion that I couldn't get a ride out of there.
Over lunch Don was a bit sad. We had already grown attached to each other, and I did feel like this was a premature move to be making. Other than that it all made sense. When we finished I thanked him again, we swapped contact info, and I sat out front and he returned to the trucker's lounge.
It was a grey day and cold. So far, since leaving Matt's back in Oregon, I'd had rain predicted for every single day where ever I was and had only had that hour of drizzle back around Florence and the bit of drift snow outside of Denver. The next day Denver had gotten slammed with a huge snow storm, but where I was in Nebraska was blue skies. Anyway, sitting out there at the previously mentioned busy gas station maybe one car came through in an hour. No one was coming and going, the skies were grey, threatening, and cold, and I was starting to wonder if I was getting greedy for miles again. Perhaps this was a time to just relax again, enjoy the rest with Don, and keep on with him until it does feel right to get out. After all, this whole trip was supposed to be about following your gut, right?
An hour after sitting there with nothing but cold and desolation in the lot a lady who worked for the place came around collecting trash. She looked at me huddled up by a pillar with my bag and asked me why I wasn't inside watching the movie with the drivers. It struck a chord with me and I looked back at her and said that sounded like a good idea. So I went back in.
Don was watching TV upstairs in the lounge and I nudged his shoulder letting him know I was back and interested in staying on with him. He was happy about it and we watched TV for a bit before heading across the street to Walmart for a new phone for him. While there I picked up a new journal to write in and he wouldn't let me pay for it. In fact, the rest of the time I traveled with him he wouldn't let me pay for anything.
When we got back to the Pilot we watched Blades of Glory in the lounge then retired to the truck for the night. He let me use his laptop to check my email and I ended up on it until he needed to wake up and get moving around 2am. That put a strange twist on the next day, because when he got up to drive I passed out after a little while and didn't get up until we were past St. Louis.
The deal from the get go had been that he'd either bring me to St. Louis or I'd hang on until he made his drop where he suspected he'd be going to Arkansas after that, and hopefully Texas. In which case he said he'd drop me off in Memphis. I know that seems like some strange geography since I'm heading to the Northeast, but my theory was that Memphis was better than St. Louis because the South is easy to hitch and I could likely fly through to Virginia. Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio looked like more barriers to me. So when I passed out he asked if I wanted out in St. Louis and I told him I'd hang on past the drop.
I woke up as we were just heading south away from St. Louis. As we headed down I started working out my plans again as to where I should get out. I was eyeballing a place called Sikeston, MO which was right by the bridge to Kentucky and right on Don's way. I figured I could sit with him through the load to see where he's going next, although it seemed entirely likely he'd be heading west and he was going through Sikeston to get there, then I'd have him drop me there and I'd try flying through Kentucky, West Virginia, Pennsylvania, to New York and Mass. They all seemed like easy hitch states.
We hit the drop, and I tucked away in the back of the cab since I wasn't supposed to be there anyway. When he got back in he was chuckling. While winding our way out of that little town to get back on the main road he told me I was going to love his new load. We were off to Binghamton, NY and it needed to be in Friday morning.
Now Don had spent a lot of time telling me he hated the Northeast. Not just because he was a Texan, in fact I think that had little to do with it, but more as a trucker because no loads come out of there. According to him, if you head to the northeast you're probably deadheading out (riding empty) for a few hundred miles, which is costly in gas and time, before you get to another pay load. He took the job because the pay was nice enough to make up for that.
It was later that night, when we parked at a stop near Herculaneum, MO that Don completely whigged out my brain. Somehow Don got into saying that he really didn't like Malls. I couldn't agree more with him, but his reasoning was different than mine. He claimed he could read people and that when he went to crowded places like that it was hard for him because images of what was going on in everyone elses life around him would crowd in his brain.
Of course you can't have a conversation like this and not ask "well, what do you read off of me?", whether you believe him or not. He didn't want to tell me, but when I egged him on he said that, for one thing, I wasn't going to be going to South America when I thought. In fact, he said it wouldn't be for a few more years, his guess was 5 or 6. There were two reasons why, and they both had very short time frames. I've decided, however, that I don't want to write them up right now, because one was really good and one was really bad and I'd rather not put the notion out there in the air which could encourage the manifestation of the negative one.
The main point was that they were very direct, inambigious predictions coming out of nowhere talking about life changing events in my personal life within the next few months. The fact that one of them had a hard end date as to whether or not the prediction would come true or not was good for me, since I try to slump these things off with a grain of salt but in the end I can't help thinking about them. This way, when that time passes and nothing at all happens then I'll know the rest is bullshit.
What I found strange though, was that after he told me this stuff the conversation then changed to something else. About ten minutes later, as part of the new conversation, I made a reference to his ominous predictions. He didn't get it at all. Only ten minutes later he had completely forgotten about what he'd just said to me. When I reminded him, he told me that usually happened. Once he said what ever it was, and the message had been delivered, it completely left his brain. In his words, there was no reason to retain it. He promptly went to bed after that.
The next day was just a drift day. We blew through the midwest and by nightfall were camped out at a truckstop in Pennsylvania about an hour from Binghamton. Everything seemed said and done by then and it would soon be time to get out.
I had been under the impression that we'd be in St. Louis early in the afternoon after he'd picked me up. We pulled into a Pilot 20 miles east of Kansas City, however, and when we parked he told me we'd be here for most of the day. It turned out Don had been hauling a triple load pulling overtime through the past few days and needed to stop driving to catch up on his hours in his log book. This is the way these guys get things delivered on time is by fudging their books until they get to a point where they can reconcile the made up times.
On hearing this, since it was about 1pm, I started to get nervous about time again. It was Wednesday, and if I wasn't going to be dropped off in St. Louis, just three hours down the road, until tomorrow some time then I may as well get out here and try to press on. I told him as such, and decided to have lunch with him there, then I'll sit out front and hitch. It was a decent sized truck stop, perfectly located for me, and quite busy. I also had Don as a safety net on the random occasion that I couldn't get a ride out of there.
Over lunch Don was a bit sad. We had already grown attached to each other, and I did feel like this was a premature move to be making. Other than that it all made sense. When we finished I thanked him again, we swapped contact info, and I sat out front and he returned to the trucker's lounge.
It was a grey day and cold. So far, since leaving Matt's back in Oregon, I'd had rain predicted for every single day where ever I was and had only had that hour of drizzle back around Florence and the bit of drift snow outside of Denver. The next day Denver had gotten slammed with a huge snow storm, but where I was in Nebraska was blue skies. Anyway, sitting out there at the previously mentioned busy gas station maybe one car came through in an hour. No one was coming and going, the skies were grey, threatening, and cold, and I was starting to wonder if I was getting greedy for miles again. Perhaps this was a time to just relax again, enjoy the rest with Don, and keep on with him until it does feel right to get out. After all, this whole trip was supposed to be about following your gut, right?
An hour after sitting there with nothing but cold and desolation in the lot a lady who worked for the place came around collecting trash. She looked at me huddled up by a pillar with my bag and asked me why I wasn't inside watching the movie with the drivers. It struck a chord with me and I looked back at her and said that sounded like a good idea. So I went back in.
Don was watching TV upstairs in the lounge and I nudged his shoulder letting him know I was back and interested in staying on with him. He was happy about it and we watched TV for a bit before heading across the street to Walmart for a new phone for him. While there I picked up a new journal to write in and he wouldn't let me pay for it. In fact, the rest of the time I traveled with him he wouldn't let me pay for anything.
When we got back to the Pilot we watched Blades of Glory in the lounge then retired to the truck for the night. He let me use his laptop to check my email and I ended up on it until he needed to wake up and get moving around 2am. That put a strange twist on the next day, because when he got up to drive I passed out after a little while and didn't get up until we were past St. Louis.
The deal from the get go had been that he'd either bring me to St. Louis or I'd hang on until he made his drop where he suspected he'd be going to Arkansas after that, and hopefully Texas. In which case he said he'd drop me off in Memphis. I know that seems like some strange geography since I'm heading to the Northeast, but my theory was that Memphis was better than St. Louis because the South is easy to hitch and I could likely fly through to Virginia. Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio looked like more barriers to me. So when I passed out he asked if I wanted out in St. Louis and I told him I'd hang on past the drop.
I woke up as we were just heading south away from St. Louis. As we headed down I started working out my plans again as to where I should get out. I was eyeballing a place called Sikeston, MO which was right by the bridge to Kentucky and right on Don's way. I figured I could sit with him through the load to see where he's going next, although it seemed entirely likely he'd be heading west and he was going through Sikeston to get there, then I'd have him drop me there and I'd try flying through Kentucky, West Virginia, Pennsylvania, to New York and Mass. They all seemed like easy hitch states.
We hit the drop, and I tucked away in the back of the cab since I wasn't supposed to be there anyway. When he got back in he was chuckling. While winding our way out of that little town to get back on the main road he told me I was going to love his new load. We were off to Binghamton, NY and it needed to be in Friday morning.
Now Don had spent a lot of time telling me he hated the Northeast. Not just because he was a Texan, in fact I think that had little to do with it, but more as a trucker because no loads come out of there. According to him, if you head to the northeast you're probably deadheading out (riding empty) for a few hundred miles, which is costly in gas and time, before you get to another pay load. He took the job because the pay was nice enough to make up for that.
It was later that night, when we parked at a stop near Herculaneum, MO that Don completely whigged out my brain. Somehow Don got into saying that he really didn't like Malls. I couldn't agree more with him, but his reasoning was different than mine. He claimed he could read people and that when he went to crowded places like that it was hard for him because images of what was going on in everyone elses life around him would crowd in his brain.
Of course you can't have a conversation like this and not ask "well, what do you read off of me?", whether you believe him or not. He didn't want to tell me, but when I egged him on he said that, for one thing, I wasn't going to be going to South America when I thought. In fact, he said it wouldn't be for a few more years, his guess was 5 or 6. There were two reasons why, and they both had very short time frames. I've decided, however, that I don't want to write them up right now, because one was really good and one was really bad and I'd rather not put the notion out there in the air which could encourage the manifestation of the negative one.
The main point was that they were very direct, inambigious predictions coming out of nowhere talking about life changing events in my personal life within the next few months. The fact that one of them had a hard end date as to whether or not the prediction would come true or not was good for me, since I try to slump these things off with a grain of salt but in the end I can't help thinking about them. This way, when that time passes and nothing at all happens then I'll know the rest is bullshit.
What I found strange though, was that after he told me this stuff the conversation then changed to something else. About ten minutes later, as part of the new conversation, I made a reference to his ominous predictions. He didn't get it at all. Only ten minutes later he had completely forgotten about what he'd just said to me. When I reminded him, he told me that usually happened. Once he said what ever it was, and the message had been delivered, it completely left his brain. In his words, there was no reason to retain it. He promptly went to bed after that.
The next day was just a drift day. We blew through the midwest and by nightfall were camped out at a truckstop in Pennsylvania about an hour from Binghamton. Everything seemed said and done by then and it would soon be time to get out.
10/26- Sleeping On Either Side of Kansas
The night wore on in an absolutely freezing way. I must have slept at some point in there, but I couldn't even guess for how long and definitely wouldn't even be sure that I did. By 4:30am I decided I had at least laid down long enough and it was time to get up again. I was bored mostly, and wanted to get walking again to warm up. Feeling around for the zippers at the mouth of the bivy I felt ice from the condensation that had frozen over there. When I did poke my head out the bivy and my bag were completely covered in ice. On top of that, my foot, the entire night was itching like crazy. I had decided that I was either wearing my socks for too long of a stretch, or I'd gotten into some poison ivy back in Willits, CA.
Through a long, painstaking process I pulled myself out of the bivy and got myself dressed and packed. I stuffed the bivy in with the frost still on it having no idea what else to do about it other than sit still for the sun to come up and warm it off. Once I did get walking, though, it was quite beautiful. I figured out that I think I was walking into the sunrise right around where I'd walked into the sunset and made camp the first night I saw the glow of Denver six years ago and got all excited about it.
I walked for another good ten miles or so that morning as the sun slowly rose over the empty road. Around 9am, I took a break for a little while and thought about making some oatmeal until I discovered the water in my camel back still needed to thaw. Not long after that I was walking over a hill and a work truck blew past me, then clearly had a change of heart and suddenly slammed on the breaks. I ran for it, hoping he wouldn't change his mind again.
Steve was feeling a bit grumpy that morning, as he'd thought he was going to have the day off until about 6:30am. He was near Denver then and found out he needed to be in Holdrege, Nebraska by 7am. It was now 9-ish and had another 5 hours to go to get there and he could care less when he got there. He later told me he thought about blowing by me, but when he did he thought about how long and desolate that road is and couldn't imagine stranding anyone on it. The theory works, though I do feel a little guilty that I'm preying on pity.
Steve and I had good on and off conversation most of the way. Mostly he grumbled about work and such things. We'd stop for coffee along the way, and by 3pm or so he pulled into Holdrege and let me out at the center of town. I made my way to the library from there to figure out were to go next, but all the computers were used up. It was a cute little town, but by 4pm I was making my way out of it only to be picked up by two college kids.
Andrew and Jaime were tooling around running errands and had seen me taking a picture of the town sign for Funk, NE up ahead. They got a kick out of that and on their way out again picked me up for a ride into Kearney, about 20 miles off. As we rode there we got to talking about things and Andrew got all wrapped up into talking about these cars he rebuilds. Jaime had decided that there were better spots to drop me off at than the ramps and truck stops they were going to be near, so she said if I was fine with going with them on their errands they'd take me to a gas station on the east side of town right by I-80 seven miles east of there. Sounded good.
Once we'd done their chores picking up car parts they kept to their word and drove me down the highway to exit 279 leaving me at a Shell station there. I waved goodbye to them, but on the way set my sights on a billboard I'd seen for a Pilot station at exit 300. I waited for them to leave then walked up the road a bit toward US-30 which I knew wasn't too far off figuring I could hopefully hitch a ride from there to the truck stop. It was three miles off.
An hour later, with no luck thumbing it, I finally got onto 30 just as the sun was nearing the horizon behind me. It was a busy road, but it suddenly seemed like one of those roads that are so busy nobody stops on them. Again, there was a freight train to my right which I kept eyeballing, thinking now I would definitely hop it if it wasn't going so damned fast on that track. I walked another hour or so as the sun set and began seriously considering places to drop down for the night.
I was starting to see my idea as futile and was eyeballing the dead cornfield across the street as a perfect refuge from the wind as well as a hiding spot. Along the ground by the tracks were inch thick broken up boards of styrofoam that would be perfect for bedrolls for the night. Things were lining up to stop there and make camp. I didn't want to make the same mistake as I had the night before of passing up a perfect set up only to walk a mile more and end up freezing again. The difference this time, though, was that for whatever reason it just didn't feel right to stop there.
At this point I had physically stopped walking and was looking at all these options. Behind me, to the west, down the road the sun was well sunk in the ground now and still no one was stopping, to my right were the boards of styrofoam, to my left was the corn fields to tuck into, and straight ahead of me was a sign for Gibbon and I was getting a strong feeling that I should keep going at least to Gibbon for the night. I decided to go with the gut and walked about ten feet before a car pulled over.
Hector was right at his turn to go left and be home. I really don't know why he stopped for me, but he did, and when I told him I was trying to get to the truckstop twenty miles up he told me he'd take me the whole way. Weird. As we drove I found out his brother was also waiting for him to get home so he could use Hector's cell phone to call his girlfriend, and Hector figured he could wait. Again, weird that he'd pick me up and go 20 miles out and 20 miles back out of his way to drop me at a truck stop.
The other strange part was that when we got close to the town of Wood River he told me he was going to take a backway he knew to get there because he didn't want to go through that town. Apparently his ex-girlfriend of ten years ago who he was still in love with lived there and he didn't want to see her. Down that back road we saw one other car and he told me it was hers.
When he dropped me off at the Pilot I went inside to use the bathroom. I came out from that, looked around the store for a minute, then sat down at a table figuring I'd charge up my cellphone there while leaving my bag in a good place to advertise that I'm looking for a ride. I barely touched the seat before a trucker came over and started talking to me. This was Don.
Literally within minutes of arriving at this truck stop, through already interesting circumstances, I think, I had caught what would turn out to be the longest ride to date. Don was just tired and wanted some company on the road. He told me he was going to a place just south of St. Louis and I was welcome to ride for as long as I wanted. I jumped at it, and that night spent the night at a truck stop in St. Joes, MO.
I had to laugh when we parked there later that night because when I'd set off going down US-36 in Colorado I thought it'd be neat that I'd get to add Kansas to my little list of states I'd hit on this trip. I'd really enjoyed walking through the state back in '03 and was looking forward to traveling through it again. The route Steve took to get to Nebraska took us within 10 miles of the western Kansas border, where Don and I slept that night was about 3 miles east of it.
Through a long, painstaking process I pulled myself out of the bivy and got myself dressed and packed. I stuffed the bivy in with the frost still on it having no idea what else to do about it other than sit still for the sun to come up and warm it off. Once I did get walking, though, it was quite beautiful. I figured out that I think I was walking into the sunrise right around where I'd walked into the sunset and made camp the first night I saw the glow of Denver six years ago and got all excited about it.
I walked for another good ten miles or so that morning as the sun slowly rose over the empty road. Around 9am, I took a break for a little while and thought about making some oatmeal until I discovered the water in my camel back still needed to thaw. Not long after that I was walking over a hill and a work truck blew past me, then clearly had a change of heart and suddenly slammed on the breaks. I ran for it, hoping he wouldn't change his mind again.
Steve was feeling a bit grumpy that morning, as he'd thought he was going to have the day off until about 6:30am. He was near Denver then and found out he needed to be in Holdrege, Nebraska by 7am. It was now 9-ish and had another 5 hours to go to get there and he could care less when he got there. He later told me he thought about blowing by me, but when he did he thought about how long and desolate that road is and couldn't imagine stranding anyone on it. The theory works, though I do feel a little guilty that I'm preying on pity.
Steve and I had good on and off conversation most of the way. Mostly he grumbled about work and such things. We'd stop for coffee along the way, and by 3pm or so he pulled into Holdrege and let me out at the center of town. I made my way to the library from there to figure out were to go next, but all the computers were used up. It was a cute little town, but by 4pm I was making my way out of it only to be picked up by two college kids.
Andrew and Jaime were tooling around running errands and had seen me taking a picture of the town sign for Funk, NE up ahead. They got a kick out of that and on their way out again picked me up for a ride into Kearney, about 20 miles off. As we rode there we got to talking about things and Andrew got all wrapped up into talking about these cars he rebuilds. Jaime had decided that there were better spots to drop me off at than the ramps and truck stops they were going to be near, so she said if I was fine with going with them on their errands they'd take me to a gas station on the east side of town right by I-80 seven miles east of there. Sounded good.
Once we'd done their chores picking up car parts they kept to their word and drove me down the highway to exit 279 leaving me at a Shell station there. I waved goodbye to them, but on the way set my sights on a billboard I'd seen for a Pilot station at exit 300. I waited for them to leave then walked up the road a bit toward US-30 which I knew wasn't too far off figuring I could hopefully hitch a ride from there to the truck stop. It was three miles off.
An hour later, with no luck thumbing it, I finally got onto 30 just as the sun was nearing the horizon behind me. It was a busy road, but it suddenly seemed like one of those roads that are so busy nobody stops on them. Again, there was a freight train to my right which I kept eyeballing, thinking now I would definitely hop it if it wasn't going so damned fast on that track. I walked another hour or so as the sun set and began seriously considering places to drop down for the night.
I was starting to see my idea as futile and was eyeballing the dead cornfield across the street as a perfect refuge from the wind as well as a hiding spot. Along the ground by the tracks were inch thick broken up boards of styrofoam that would be perfect for bedrolls for the night. Things were lining up to stop there and make camp. I didn't want to make the same mistake as I had the night before of passing up a perfect set up only to walk a mile more and end up freezing again. The difference this time, though, was that for whatever reason it just didn't feel right to stop there.
At this point I had physically stopped walking and was looking at all these options. Behind me, to the west, down the road the sun was well sunk in the ground now and still no one was stopping, to my right were the boards of styrofoam, to my left was the corn fields to tuck into, and straight ahead of me was a sign for Gibbon and I was getting a strong feeling that I should keep going at least to Gibbon for the night. I decided to go with the gut and walked about ten feet before a car pulled over.
Hector was right at his turn to go left and be home. I really don't know why he stopped for me, but he did, and when I told him I was trying to get to the truckstop twenty miles up he told me he'd take me the whole way. Weird. As we drove I found out his brother was also waiting for him to get home so he could use Hector's cell phone to call his girlfriend, and Hector figured he could wait. Again, weird that he'd pick me up and go 20 miles out and 20 miles back out of his way to drop me at a truck stop.
The other strange part was that when we got close to the town of Wood River he told me he was going to take a backway he knew to get there because he didn't want to go through that town. Apparently his ex-girlfriend of ten years ago who he was still in love with lived there and he didn't want to see her. Down that back road we saw one other car and he told me it was hers.
When he dropped me off at the Pilot I went inside to use the bathroom. I came out from that, looked around the store for a minute, then sat down at a table figuring I'd charge up my cellphone there while leaving my bag in a good place to advertise that I'm looking for a ride. I barely touched the seat before a trucker came over and started talking to me. This was Don.
Literally within minutes of arriving at this truck stop, through already interesting circumstances, I think, I had caught what would turn out to be the longest ride to date. Don was just tired and wanted some company on the road. He told me he was going to a place just south of St. Louis and I was welcome to ride for as long as I wanted. I jumped at it, and that night spent the night at a truck stop in St. Joes, MO.
I had to laugh when we parked there later that night because when I'd set off going down US-36 in Colorado I thought it'd be neat that I'd get to add Kansas to my little list of states I'd hit on this trip. I'd really enjoyed walking through the state back in '03 and was looking forward to traveling through it again. The route Steve took to get to Nebraska took us within 10 miles of the western Kansas border, where Don and I slept that night was about 3 miles east of it.
10/25- The Eastern Walk Out
The morning was a typical one for Ang and I and our history of goodbyes. She's not one for them and niether am I, but I also don't like just leaving when I know she's up. I had woken up and packed a bit then for whatever reason missed her getting up and going into the bathroom for her readying routine. I lingered about a while straightening things up until she came out so I could give her an official see ya later. When she was ready we walked out together with Wookie and did our usual cool, calm, and collected see ya.
From there I hopped the 15 bus down Colfax and rode it to the end of the line. I started in on making my calls along the way since I'd shifted phone day to Sunday that weekend. I talked to Victor who had finally left Vegas to Oklahoma City, but his truck had broken down again there and was stuck again. His thoughts, though, were that he might be heading to Michigan next if I could catch up with him. When I got off the bus, just past I-225, I talked to Todd a while as I started into walking the reverse route down US-36 that I'd walked west on six years earlier coming into Denver.
Todd and I finished chatting just as US-36 was connecting with I-70. It was also starting to snow and the roads were looking fairly barren. I walked a good ten miles in the snow before I was picked up. That ride drove me to Bennett and dropped me off with some really good cookies. He had been a hitcher when he was younger as well.
I walked maybe half a mile before a pick up swung around pulling a U-turn to pick me up. These rides always impress me, because clearly you're going in the other direction so it always makes me wonder why you'd turn around to give a ride in the direction they just came from. This guy, apparently, was just driving around. As he drove me on to Byers asking about my trip he stopped at one point to blow into a breathalyzer to keep the car running. Apparently he'd been caught driving just barely over the limit five years ago and had to keep that installed in his car for another three years past when I met him. We had an interesting chat about that, but I agree with him that it was a bit excessive, especially since he was three years sober now.
He dropped me off in the parking lot of the last anything I knew of down that road. It was a grocery store, and I debated picking up more oatmeal, but then figured I was fine for at least a few more days. The snow was still coming down then as I walked out of the lot stepping down what I knew to be 31 miles of absolutely nothing. I was counting on my theory that I'd be more likely to get some good rides walking down a long desolate road in cold, shitty weather. About ten paces in the theory proved correct.
Almost immediately a guy in a work truck pulled over, while sipping his beer, and picked me up. The look on his face as he pulled over told me it was the snow and the audacity of walking out into it was why. He gave me a lift about ten miles in then dropped me off to turn north to his house. I was committed now, there was no going back and only forward to walk. I was actually looking forward to it quite a bit.
As I walked the next few miles or so I called my Aunt Hea to see how she was doing. We had a good long chat as the snow came down only to be interupted toward the end of the day with another quick hop ride. Lisa, Chris, and Jose pulled over to drive me another six or seven miles up to where they lived in an old hotel. Here was where another theory of mine developed learned by having not learned the lesson of the time.
When we got to their place Lisa was really concerned about me walking off down the road in the cold, emphatically warning me that there's nothing down that way. I was well aware of this having walked it before coming the other way which is why I think I didn't weigh it in as much when she asked me to stay for dinner. Knowing how things generally go dinner usually becomes a place to stay, even if its camping out on their lawn. It was a similar situation to when Russ dropped me off on the beach back in Oregon since it was about an hour to sunset and here a place was quite possibly showing up for me. I, however, was greedy for miles and figured I could probably pick up one more long ride before sun down and hopefully make it to Kansas that night. I would forever kick myself for that decision.
I turned Lisa down, thanked them for the ride, and wandered off down the road with the nagging feeling of thinking I should go back and take them up on it after all. That feeling persisted until I couldn't see the place any more. Three miles passed before the sun was low enough that it wasn't worth walking any more and I should bed down for the night. It was the coldest night of my life.
I don't actually know if I slept at all that night or not. I didn't have any bedroll supplement, like the cardboard from truck stops, and using the clothes in that way was somewhat helpful, but if I moved at all I felt the cold again. Long story short, it was a long, long night.
From there I hopped the 15 bus down Colfax and rode it to the end of the line. I started in on making my calls along the way since I'd shifted phone day to Sunday that weekend. I talked to Victor who had finally left Vegas to Oklahoma City, but his truck had broken down again there and was stuck again. His thoughts, though, were that he might be heading to Michigan next if I could catch up with him. When I got off the bus, just past I-225, I talked to Todd a while as I started into walking the reverse route down US-36 that I'd walked west on six years earlier coming into Denver.
Todd and I finished chatting just as US-36 was connecting with I-70. It was also starting to snow and the roads were looking fairly barren. I walked a good ten miles in the snow before I was picked up. That ride drove me to Bennett and dropped me off with some really good cookies. He had been a hitcher when he was younger as well.
I walked maybe half a mile before a pick up swung around pulling a U-turn to pick me up. These rides always impress me, because clearly you're going in the other direction so it always makes me wonder why you'd turn around to give a ride in the direction they just came from. This guy, apparently, was just driving around. As he drove me on to Byers asking about my trip he stopped at one point to blow into a breathalyzer to keep the car running. Apparently he'd been caught driving just barely over the limit five years ago and had to keep that installed in his car for another three years past when I met him. We had an interesting chat about that, but I agree with him that it was a bit excessive, especially since he was three years sober now.
He dropped me off in the parking lot of the last anything I knew of down that road. It was a grocery store, and I debated picking up more oatmeal, but then figured I was fine for at least a few more days. The snow was still coming down then as I walked out of the lot stepping down what I knew to be 31 miles of absolutely nothing. I was counting on my theory that I'd be more likely to get some good rides walking down a long desolate road in cold, shitty weather. About ten paces in the theory proved correct.
Almost immediately a guy in a work truck pulled over, while sipping his beer, and picked me up. The look on his face as he pulled over told me it was the snow and the audacity of walking out into it was why. He gave me a lift about ten miles in then dropped me off to turn north to his house. I was committed now, there was no going back and only forward to walk. I was actually looking forward to it quite a bit.
As I walked the next few miles or so I called my Aunt Hea to see how she was doing. We had a good long chat as the snow came down only to be interupted toward the end of the day with another quick hop ride. Lisa, Chris, and Jose pulled over to drive me another six or seven miles up to where they lived in an old hotel. Here was where another theory of mine developed learned by having not learned the lesson of the time.
When we got to their place Lisa was really concerned about me walking off down the road in the cold, emphatically warning me that there's nothing down that way. I was well aware of this having walked it before coming the other way which is why I think I didn't weigh it in as much when she asked me to stay for dinner. Knowing how things generally go dinner usually becomes a place to stay, even if its camping out on their lawn. It was a similar situation to when Russ dropped me off on the beach back in Oregon since it was about an hour to sunset and here a place was quite possibly showing up for me. I, however, was greedy for miles and figured I could probably pick up one more long ride before sun down and hopefully make it to Kansas that night. I would forever kick myself for that decision.
I turned Lisa down, thanked them for the ride, and wandered off down the road with the nagging feeling of thinking I should go back and take them up on it after all. That feeling persisted until I couldn't see the place any more. Three miles passed before the sun was low enough that it wasn't worth walking any more and I should bed down for the night. It was the coldest night of my life.
I don't actually know if I slept at all that night or not. I didn't have any bedroll supplement, like the cardboard from truck stops, and using the clothes in that way was somewhat helpful, but if I moved at all I felt the cold again. Long story short, it was a long, long night.
10/24- Zombie Crawl in Denver
It was quite nice waking up back on my couch again since the morning before had been frost-ridden. Ang and I had arranged to hang for the day since Loreli had things she needed to get down in the early part of the day. Later in the evening, however, she invited me to a Zombie Crawl that was going on downtown in Denver. Izzy would be back from her Dad's by then so it'd also be a great way so see her as well.
Being that it was Saturday it normally would have been a phone day, but I decided to shift it to Sunday and focus my visiting energy on just hanging out with Denver chums. It had also been a debate as to how long I was going to stay. At first, with the rush to Halloween growing on my head, I figured I should leave by either noon or one, evening at the latest. Waking up that morning I decided to relax, go with the "don't rush" mojo I've been feeling, and stay the full day leaving Sunday morning.
Normally Ang works on Saturdays, and for whatever reason she had this one off. When she found out she had this Saturday off she specifically had decided not to plan to do anything that day and to just enjoy it. Now with me suddenly appearing out of nowhere for the day it worked out perfectly to hang out that day. I text her I'd meet her at Dazbog, then made my way over there for a coffee and a visit with the folks there.
After a bit of a visit with Vince, Nick, Mike, and Boobs as well as some of the regulars passing through Ang showed up and we spent the day touring around Capital Hill. We stopped for another coffee at Pablos where I ran into Angie, my ex from the walking days, and got a brief visit with her. Then popped in at Kilgore Books where my friend Luke was working for a quick visit with him. We hit a few other places as well, then meandered our way down town, all the while catching up on each other's gossip.
As we neared the theatre downtown we got to talking about how we both wanted to see Where the Wild Things Are. I had just seen a preview for it at a truck stop, and she'd had plans to see it with some friends on Thursday but was held up for some reason and they went to see it with out her. She even said, normally she'd be pretty pissy about being ditched like that, but she uncharacteristically wasn't bothered and had thought then "I'd really like to see that with Chris". We decided to get midnight movie tickets as a last hurrah before I shoved off in the morning.
We found ourselves down at Tattered Cover later in the day where I picked up the English version of the Paulo Coelho book I've been barely trying to read in Spanish. From there she treated me to lunch at Illegal Petes. By the time we were done it was time to meet up with Loreli for the Zombie Crawl.
Being downtown already we had seen a few done up zombies here and there, but nothing that would really suggest a gathering of them anywhere near by. We met up with Loreli and a self-zombiefied Izzy a block over from where we ate and soon discovered the cluster gathering under the Lorimer Clock Tower. It was amazing.
There were zombie wedding couples, Tim Burton zombie doll girls, a zombie Jesus, zombie robot, zombie aliens, and even a zombie baby nursing on the spine of a severed head (pictures in the folder). As the sun waned zombie hunters also started to appear. Guys and girls in gas masks with oodles of rifles, a Storm Trooper, and more faceless armed V for Vendetta styled troops.
Loreli's friend Faith was the one who had invited her and spawned the whole of us gathering there in general, and one of her two kids was Izzy's age, both of whom started attacking me immediately on our arrival. Faith's older daughter was a bit more reserved and stuck to her mother, but the young one was a bit ferocious. She actually bit me, and continued wrestling me with Izzy for a good half hour before I figured out a way to bow out.
I also ran into my friend Tym from the earlier days of D&D gaming in Denver. He was there on his own so we hung out some for a bit and caught up. As the sun got closer to the ground the party ramped up little by little. Crazier and more out landish zombies started showing up. Faith's friend, Josh, was a pedicabber and had a make up kit in his pedicab so he did me up as a zombie as well.
Ang spotted some friends after a bit and meandered over there, Faith ran after her kids somewhere, and Izzy wanted to play on the blocks near by so Loreli and I took her over there. Somewhere in all the confusion of us wandering off every where the rest of the 1,000 people gathering broke itself up as well and Ang and I were soon texting back and forth wondering where the other was. In a moment's time the green that was littered with zombies was barren and strewn with trash. The sun was setting.
Loreli went off with Izzy and I managed to find Ang. The zombies had now all gathered in the middle of the 16th St. Mall. Dusk was creating an ominous coloring through the buildings and then suddenly everyone started running down the Mall. It was pandimonium. I have never been in such a fun, realistic depiction of what zombies taking over the world would be like than that evening.
Ang and I decided to head home, but as we walked back down the Mall zombie kids were banging their hands against the Mall bus that brings tourists up and down, scampering past us, running at top speed, and soldiered outfits in hot persuit of them. Back down by the clock tower you could hear loud moans, screams, and screeches unlike what normal loud crowd noises are like. I started taking video and one guy passing me told me I should put that away because they're jumping anyone with cameras.
Eventually we got to the end of the Mall, still hearing the chaos down the road. We agreed to meet back at her place around 11pm because I was going home to do laundry, swap some things out from my stuff at Loreli's, and just repack in general. Most of this I did get done in a timely fashion before Loreli returned home with Izzy and her best friend Jade who I knew from the summer at Julie's.
Izzy and Jade had decided they were dogs for the night, dalmations to be precise, and I think I was their Dad. I seem to always end up being their Dad oddly. I have to admit I got really caught up in playing with them, rolling them up in a big blanket and carrying them around the house like a sack of potatoes. I'm a sucker for fun with kids. The four of us also played a game of hide-and-go-seek until Brandon got home. Then I began the putting them to bed routine by reading them a story. It was about 10pm when all was said and done and I still needed to get some things done.
Loreli was also having a hard night and I felt like a real dick trying to listen intently to what she needed to talk about while rushing to get everything in order to meet up with Ang for the movie by 11. In the end it was futile and I was darting out the door apologizing for not being able to be a better listener at the time. I was then texting Ang that I was running late and that maybe we should just meet at the theatre. I caught a bus, and in the end, it all worked out.
Ang and I met up about fifteen minutes before the show started and got good seats in a sparsely filled theatre. The movie was completely amazing. It turned out to be a perfect way to wrap up my day reprieve in Denver. Afterward Ang and I walked back to her house where I stayed the night.
Being that it was Saturday it normally would have been a phone day, but I decided to shift it to Sunday and focus my visiting energy on just hanging out with Denver chums. It had also been a debate as to how long I was going to stay. At first, with the rush to Halloween growing on my head, I figured I should leave by either noon or one, evening at the latest. Waking up that morning I decided to relax, go with the "don't rush" mojo I've been feeling, and stay the full day leaving Sunday morning.
Normally Ang works on Saturdays, and for whatever reason she had this one off. When she found out she had this Saturday off she specifically had decided not to plan to do anything that day and to just enjoy it. Now with me suddenly appearing out of nowhere for the day it worked out perfectly to hang out that day. I text her I'd meet her at Dazbog, then made my way over there for a coffee and a visit with the folks there.
After a bit of a visit with Vince, Nick, Mike, and Boobs as well as some of the regulars passing through Ang showed up and we spent the day touring around Capital Hill. We stopped for another coffee at Pablos where I ran into Angie, my ex from the walking days, and got a brief visit with her. Then popped in at Kilgore Books where my friend Luke was working for a quick visit with him. We hit a few other places as well, then meandered our way down town, all the while catching up on each other's gossip.
As we neared the theatre downtown we got to talking about how we both wanted to see Where the Wild Things Are. I had just seen a preview for it at a truck stop, and she'd had plans to see it with some friends on Thursday but was held up for some reason and they went to see it with out her. She even said, normally she'd be pretty pissy about being ditched like that, but she uncharacteristically wasn't bothered and had thought then "I'd really like to see that with Chris". We decided to get midnight movie tickets as a last hurrah before I shoved off in the morning.
We found ourselves down at Tattered Cover later in the day where I picked up the English version of the Paulo Coelho book I've been barely trying to read in Spanish. From there she treated me to lunch at Illegal Petes. By the time we were done it was time to meet up with Loreli for the Zombie Crawl.
Being downtown already we had seen a few done up zombies here and there, but nothing that would really suggest a gathering of them anywhere near by. We met up with Loreli and a self-zombiefied Izzy a block over from where we ate and soon discovered the cluster gathering under the Lorimer Clock Tower. It was amazing.
There were zombie wedding couples, Tim Burton zombie doll girls, a zombie Jesus, zombie robot, zombie aliens, and even a zombie baby nursing on the spine of a severed head (pictures in the folder). As the sun waned zombie hunters also started to appear. Guys and girls in gas masks with oodles of rifles, a Storm Trooper, and more faceless armed V for Vendetta styled troops.
Loreli's friend Faith was the one who had invited her and spawned the whole of us gathering there in general, and one of her two kids was Izzy's age, both of whom started attacking me immediately on our arrival. Faith's older daughter was a bit more reserved and stuck to her mother, but the young one was a bit ferocious. She actually bit me, and continued wrestling me with Izzy for a good half hour before I figured out a way to bow out.
I also ran into my friend Tym from the earlier days of D&D gaming in Denver. He was there on his own so we hung out some for a bit and caught up. As the sun got closer to the ground the party ramped up little by little. Crazier and more out landish zombies started showing up. Faith's friend, Josh, was a pedicabber and had a make up kit in his pedicab so he did me up as a zombie as well.
Ang spotted some friends after a bit and meandered over there, Faith ran after her kids somewhere, and Izzy wanted to play on the blocks near by so Loreli and I took her over there. Somewhere in all the confusion of us wandering off every where the rest of the 1,000 people gathering broke itself up as well and Ang and I were soon texting back and forth wondering where the other was. In a moment's time the green that was littered with zombies was barren and strewn with trash. The sun was setting.
Loreli went off with Izzy and I managed to find Ang. The zombies had now all gathered in the middle of the 16th St. Mall. Dusk was creating an ominous coloring through the buildings and then suddenly everyone started running down the Mall. It was pandimonium. I have never been in such a fun, realistic depiction of what zombies taking over the world would be like than that evening.
Ang and I decided to head home, but as we walked back down the Mall zombie kids were banging their hands against the Mall bus that brings tourists up and down, scampering past us, running at top speed, and soldiered outfits in hot persuit of them. Back down by the clock tower you could hear loud moans, screams, and screeches unlike what normal loud crowd noises are like. I started taking video and one guy passing me told me I should put that away because they're jumping anyone with cameras.
Eventually we got to the end of the Mall, still hearing the chaos down the road. We agreed to meet back at her place around 11pm because I was going home to do laundry, swap some things out from my stuff at Loreli's, and just repack in general. Most of this I did get done in a timely fashion before Loreli returned home with Izzy and her best friend Jade who I knew from the summer at Julie's.
Izzy and Jade had decided they were dogs for the night, dalmations to be precise, and I think I was their Dad. I seem to always end up being their Dad oddly. I have to admit I got really caught up in playing with them, rolling them up in a big blanket and carrying them around the house like a sack of potatoes. I'm a sucker for fun with kids. The four of us also played a game of hide-and-go-seek until Brandon got home. Then I began the putting them to bed routine by reading them a story. It was about 10pm when all was said and done and I still needed to get some things done.
Loreli was also having a hard night and I felt like a real dick trying to listen intently to what she needed to talk about while rushing to get everything in order to meet up with Ang for the movie by 11. In the end it was futile and I was darting out the door apologizing for not being able to be a better listener at the time. I was then texting Ang that I was running late and that maybe we should just meet at the theatre. I caught a bus, and in the end, it all worked out.
Ang and I met up about fifteen minutes before the show started and got good seats in a sparsely filled theatre. The movie was completely amazing. It turned out to be a perfect way to wrap up my day reprieve in Denver. Afterward Ang and I walked back to her house where I stayed the night.
10/23- Wyoming
I got a pretty decent nights sleep and was fully appreciative of my new method of grabbing cardboard boxes from dumpsters on my way to finding a place to bed down when I peeked my head out of the bivy to find frost on my bag. Inside I was still quite toasty. Seeing that frost, and feeling the morning air made getting out of the bivy a little bit of a chore, but eventually I did it. I put my boots on immediately to start warming them up for the day since they were absolutely freezing.
As I proceeded to pack everything up I kept thinking I should make myself breakfast for the day ahead. Its something I have a habit of forgetting to do, then suddenly I find myself feeling really weak and hungry. Very strange phenomenon, but I think I'm narrowing down its cause. Soon enough I was back down at the J and setting up shop with a coffee a picnic table between the truckers gas station and the door to the store.
I had finally busted out all the stops on my cold weather gear and was wearing everything. My long johns and thermal undershirt that I'd picked up at Penney's, my walking t-shirt, hoodie, rain parka, and winter jacket along with my jeans and rain pants over my long johns. I also donned my hat with the hoodie up under it and my winter gloves on. It was cold outside, but I was actually a little bit hot after all that.
I roamed around that general area for a couple hours just enjoying the morning. I had woken up around 9am again and was not feeling any rush, or at least, no immediate rush for that morning. In general, I was both a little bit nervous about my timing and my cash since Salt Lake had taken quite a bit of both from me with the two day wait and bus fare. With that lingering around in the back of my mind, I was doing quite well not feeling rushed at all for the present moment and quite proud of myself for being able to trust that everything would work out one way or another. In my mind, this was all apart of a series of lessons.
After a while I went off to have my breakfast away from the Flying J. I felt it was rude enough for me to be lingering around with only a coffee purchase for so long, so I may as well not cook up my oatmeal like a true hobo in front of their 24 hour diner. It was nice sitting off on my own for a bit anyway. There was no chance of thinking about hitching, so it felt like a lunch break to fully just enjoy my meal.
When I returned and washed everything up in the rest room I sat back outside for a bit. A guy had taken notice of me when he went in the store but didn't say anything that I recall. I sat there a bit longer then decided to get another coffee. When I went in he was walking out and asked if I'd gotten a ride yet. I told him no and he waved me on to go with him.
Peter was a really interesting guy on his own, as well as an interesting study in how people react to me. When I first got in the car and we headed off down the highway we got to talking about me hitching. I'm pretty sure he offered the ride because he thought I was down on my luck and stranded. When he found out I was hitching by choice he seemed to lose respect for me as one of Todd's trust fund travelers. I've had this reaction before and pretty much ignored it.
Once it seemed as though that was his image of me he told me he was sorry he was going to bore me to death and hit play on the tape he was listening to. It couldn't have been a more perfect selection as the audio documentary of Andrew Jackson continued on from where he'd just left off. It was even right at my favorite part of his presidential career of when Jackson takes on the Central Bank through his second term. This opened many doors for Peter and I to talk about.
Normally I'm not one to talk through a tape, movie, TV show, etc., but Peter opened the door with a comment and I ran with it. I started unloading everything I learned about how The Fed works, how Jackson's fight to remove the Central Bank was the biggest achievement on his watch, and all of my theories on what's going on with this down turned crap economy now. Much to my surprise I sounded like I knew quite a bit, and Peter was quite impressed as well. Suddenly the lost respect for me he had when I got in flipped 180 and doubled. He was soon asking me what I thought of the administration, government in general, how did I know so much about banking and the monetary system. All I could say was that I saw a really good documentary and recommended it to him. Money Lenders, or Money Changers, I believe it was called. Another good for content, bad by production, film is Freedom vs. Facism talking about how income tax is completely unconstitutional and illegal.
This took about half an hour for us to start getting into these conversations, and soon we were having really lively, intense conversations while pausing and playing the Jackson tape to really figure out what the world is doing now. It was a really great ride all the way to Laramie, and when he dropped me off at the library there you could tell neither of us were really ready to part ways. Alas, I thanked him again for the ride and he went off to his lecture.
An hour later I was heading into downtown Laramie a few blocks away where 287 crosses through town. The whole way walking there I kept running a debate in my head of whether or not to head south down 287 where I'd likely pick up a ride in no time toward the Front Range sprawl and hopefully Denver, or do I head north back to an on ramp by I-80 and try to make some miles east. I had a week now to get half way across the country and was thinking any more slacking off would keep me from getting there in time.
At the same time I couldn't help but notice all the Colorado plates driving around up there as I turned north toward I-80. I also passed within 100 yards of a desperately slow moving freight train with all the right kinds of cars to jump on to heading south. I even walked toward it hesitantly before turning back. Starting over the bridge toward I-80 a kid picked me up for a short hop and dumped my right by the exit. That was it, I was hitching east.
It was about 4:30pm now and I stood right at the on ramp until sunset with my thumb out. No one. Stunning view though. I decided that once the sunset and I was little more than a creepy guy in a hat standing in the dark under a single street lamp by the on ramp in a state its illegal to hitch in that I'd head down to the truck stop and get some dinner. One lady had stopped, and again, in place of a ride she gave me $7. That $7 convinced myself that I should have a $17 dinner of an all you can eat steak buffet. You'd have done the same.
It was the best damn meal I to memory where I stuffed myself silly with three or four courses, bottomless coffee, and was sitting in the drivers section by invite chatting with all the truckers as an obvious hitcher. The waitress roaming around was completely adorable too, that didn't hurt. After a good hour or so I had eaten all I could and saw no promising leads that one of the truckers I was chatting with was even entertaining the idea of giving me a lift, so I paid my bill and left.
Once again, I did not think about drinking tons of coffee along side going to bed afterward. I decided to sit out and hitch a bit more in front of the truck stop, but it was completely dead. I crossed over the bridge back to the one on the other side and just felt creepy over there. Returning back to my original spot that I'd had in the day time I figured that I was just going up there to wait out the coffee buzz and feel productive in the meantime, but really didn't expect anyone to pick me up in the dark when nobody did in the daylight.
A half an hour later Juan pulled up next to me to my very great surprise. He told me he was heading to Greeley in just enough English for me to understand. Greeley is 50 minutes north of Denver so I hopped in and started sending out texts to Ang and Loreli.
Both were ecstatic, which of course made me feel really good. I asked Loreli if I could stay at her place if I could catch a ride from Loveland down I-25 to Denver that night and she responded with "don't be silly we're coming up to get you". I was beaming the rest of the hour ride down with Juan as we decided to work on each others linguistic skills. I spoke in my crap ass Spanish to him and he'd respond and correct me in his broken but relatively fluent English. When our brains hurt after a bit of that he turned to showing me transvestite joke gifs that his cousin texted him that day. Good times.
I bid him adieu at a gas station in Loveland right by the ramp to I-25 and he went off another ten minutes down the road to Greeley to his family. As I waited for Loreli and Brandon to drive up I started talking with the guy working the register there. He was a pretty cool guy in from Brooklyn who was another who'd been converted to being strictly a Colorado guy now. It was a good way to pass the time, and he was an interesting guy with good perspective and insights as well.
By about midnight they arrived and we were cruising back down the highway talking about the weirdness about me just suddenly popping back by again. It was odd for all of us, but no one was complaining. At that point I was up for a good dose of home before continuing on east.
As I proceeded to pack everything up I kept thinking I should make myself breakfast for the day ahead. Its something I have a habit of forgetting to do, then suddenly I find myself feeling really weak and hungry. Very strange phenomenon, but I think I'm narrowing down its cause. Soon enough I was back down at the J and setting up shop with a coffee a picnic table between the truckers gas station and the door to the store.
I had finally busted out all the stops on my cold weather gear and was wearing everything. My long johns and thermal undershirt that I'd picked up at Penney's, my walking t-shirt, hoodie, rain parka, and winter jacket along with my jeans and rain pants over my long johns. I also donned my hat with the hoodie up under it and my winter gloves on. It was cold outside, but I was actually a little bit hot after all that.
I roamed around that general area for a couple hours just enjoying the morning. I had woken up around 9am again and was not feeling any rush, or at least, no immediate rush for that morning. In general, I was both a little bit nervous about my timing and my cash since Salt Lake had taken quite a bit of both from me with the two day wait and bus fare. With that lingering around in the back of my mind, I was doing quite well not feeling rushed at all for the present moment and quite proud of myself for being able to trust that everything would work out one way or another. In my mind, this was all apart of a series of lessons.
After a while I went off to have my breakfast away from the Flying J. I felt it was rude enough for me to be lingering around with only a coffee purchase for so long, so I may as well not cook up my oatmeal like a true hobo in front of their 24 hour diner. It was nice sitting off on my own for a bit anyway. There was no chance of thinking about hitching, so it felt like a lunch break to fully just enjoy my meal.
When I returned and washed everything up in the rest room I sat back outside for a bit. A guy had taken notice of me when he went in the store but didn't say anything that I recall. I sat there a bit longer then decided to get another coffee. When I went in he was walking out and asked if I'd gotten a ride yet. I told him no and he waved me on to go with him.
Peter was a really interesting guy on his own, as well as an interesting study in how people react to me. When I first got in the car and we headed off down the highway we got to talking about me hitching. I'm pretty sure he offered the ride because he thought I was down on my luck and stranded. When he found out I was hitching by choice he seemed to lose respect for me as one of Todd's trust fund travelers. I've had this reaction before and pretty much ignored it.
Once it seemed as though that was his image of me he told me he was sorry he was going to bore me to death and hit play on the tape he was listening to. It couldn't have been a more perfect selection as the audio documentary of Andrew Jackson continued on from where he'd just left off. It was even right at my favorite part of his presidential career of when Jackson takes on the Central Bank through his second term. This opened many doors for Peter and I to talk about.
Normally I'm not one to talk through a tape, movie, TV show, etc., but Peter opened the door with a comment and I ran with it. I started unloading everything I learned about how The Fed works, how Jackson's fight to remove the Central Bank was the biggest achievement on his watch, and all of my theories on what's going on with this down turned crap economy now. Much to my surprise I sounded like I knew quite a bit, and Peter was quite impressed as well. Suddenly the lost respect for me he had when I got in flipped 180 and doubled. He was soon asking me what I thought of the administration, government in general, how did I know so much about banking and the monetary system. All I could say was that I saw a really good documentary and recommended it to him. Money Lenders, or Money Changers, I believe it was called. Another good for content, bad by production, film is Freedom vs. Facism talking about how income tax is completely unconstitutional and illegal.
This took about half an hour for us to start getting into these conversations, and soon we were having really lively, intense conversations while pausing and playing the Jackson tape to really figure out what the world is doing now. It was a really great ride all the way to Laramie, and when he dropped me off at the library there you could tell neither of us were really ready to part ways. Alas, I thanked him again for the ride and he went off to his lecture.
An hour later I was heading into downtown Laramie a few blocks away where 287 crosses through town. The whole way walking there I kept running a debate in my head of whether or not to head south down 287 where I'd likely pick up a ride in no time toward the Front Range sprawl and hopefully Denver, or do I head north back to an on ramp by I-80 and try to make some miles east. I had a week now to get half way across the country and was thinking any more slacking off would keep me from getting there in time.
At the same time I couldn't help but notice all the Colorado plates driving around up there as I turned north toward I-80. I also passed within 100 yards of a desperately slow moving freight train with all the right kinds of cars to jump on to heading south. I even walked toward it hesitantly before turning back. Starting over the bridge toward I-80 a kid picked me up for a short hop and dumped my right by the exit. That was it, I was hitching east.
It was about 4:30pm now and I stood right at the on ramp until sunset with my thumb out. No one. Stunning view though. I decided that once the sunset and I was little more than a creepy guy in a hat standing in the dark under a single street lamp by the on ramp in a state its illegal to hitch in that I'd head down to the truck stop and get some dinner. One lady had stopped, and again, in place of a ride she gave me $7. That $7 convinced myself that I should have a $17 dinner of an all you can eat steak buffet. You'd have done the same.
It was the best damn meal I to memory where I stuffed myself silly with three or four courses, bottomless coffee, and was sitting in the drivers section by invite chatting with all the truckers as an obvious hitcher. The waitress roaming around was completely adorable too, that didn't hurt. After a good hour or so I had eaten all I could and saw no promising leads that one of the truckers I was chatting with was even entertaining the idea of giving me a lift, so I paid my bill and left.
Once again, I did not think about drinking tons of coffee along side going to bed afterward. I decided to sit out and hitch a bit more in front of the truck stop, but it was completely dead. I crossed over the bridge back to the one on the other side and just felt creepy over there. Returning back to my original spot that I'd had in the day time I figured that I was just going up there to wait out the coffee buzz and feel productive in the meantime, but really didn't expect anyone to pick me up in the dark when nobody did in the daylight.
A half an hour later Juan pulled up next to me to my very great surprise. He told me he was heading to Greeley in just enough English for me to understand. Greeley is 50 minutes north of Denver so I hopped in and started sending out texts to Ang and Loreli.
Both were ecstatic, which of course made me feel really good. I asked Loreli if I could stay at her place if I could catch a ride from Loveland down I-25 to Denver that night and she responded with "don't be silly we're coming up to get you". I was beaming the rest of the hour ride down with Juan as we decided to work on each others linguistic skills. I spoke in my crap ass Spanish to him and he'd respond and correct me in his broken but relatively fluent English. When our brains hurt after a bit of that he turned to showing me transvestite joke gifs that his cousin texted him that day. Good times.
I bid him adieu at a gas station in Loveland right by the ramp to I-25 and he went off another ten minutes down the road to Greeley to his family. As I waited for Loreli and Brandon to drive up I started talking with the guy working the register there. He was a pretty cool guy in from Brooklyn who was another who'd been converted to being strictly a Colorado guy now. It was a good way to pass the time, and he was an interesting guy with good perspective and insights as well.
By about midnight they arrived and we were cruising back down the highway talking about the weirdness about me just suddenly popping back by again. It was odd for all of us, but no one was complaining. At that point I was up for a good dose of home before continuing on east.
10/21- Salt Lake City, Utah
The scenery I awoke to was stunning. One giant mountain rose up behind me and another rose up a little ways off to the west as well. I was having another one of those lazy morning feelings, when in all logical reality I should have been panicking from the get go about being stuck in the Deadzone that is Utah. I could've cared less, and was confident against rumors that things would work out.
Slowly I packed up by about 9:30am and made my way over to the Flying J for a nice liesurely breakfast. I was conscious, at the time, of a pattern Todd and I had noticed in time and liesurely mornings. Several times both of us separately have woken up around 9:30am and felt like not doing much in the morning. Sitting around writing, having breakfast, just pondering, which ever. Then around 12:30pm I feeling strikes us to get to the day finally, and when we do usually something quite phenomenal happens. Whether its picking up one really long interesting ride, or catching a serious of hops, or something else completely. Most times those inspiring or thought provoking days have happened they've had that kind of morning. So when I saw myself heading into the diner around that time I wondered if such a day was in store for me.
At my table there was one of those truck stop table phones. Between ordering and eating my food I called my Mom at work to catch up with what she was doing and tell her how my visit with her sister had gone. She was a bit busy, so couldn't talk long, but it was nice just touching base. I ate my meal and watched the news on TV completely unpressed about getting out and hitching for the day.
Sure enough, I was done and full by noon, paid my bill, brushed my teeth, and out in front of the place by 12:30pm. I was there for a bit. Maybe an hour passed before I got my first ride offer, though it was heading west. A couple of dread head hippies heading back to Northern Cal to go trimming. I liked the idea of riding with them, and thought about catching a ride with them back to the eastern edge of Nevada thinking a ride would be more likely there, but I wasn't willing to succumb to the rumors just yet.
Eventually I switched from being in front of the building to being out by the exit where more people could see me. While waiting, thinking on the principles of just being where I was, I set to writing a letter to Loreli. By 3pm I did end up with a ride. Jordan picked me up offering me a ride to the Flying J truck stop in the city. I jumped on it remembering Jorge's concern about trying to get a spot there late at night. He claimed it was always busy and never any parking after 6pm which sounded promising to me.
Jordan was another guy who went out of his way for me. He went so far as to research the address of the Flying J as well as going a little out of his way to get me there. He was going to pick up a new car he'd bought a week ago and had to return for some repairs. According to him he said if they can make him wait a week he can make them wait half an hour to get me where I need to go. He also believed he could get a ticket for picking up hitch hikers, but that he believed that law was stupid which was why he gave me the ride. Despite the reputation, Utah has some really nice people living there.
Once there, I set to finding myself a spot to nest in. There was a picnic table set perfectly by the corner of the building where the truckers all walk by to go inside, cars are all parked nearby, so they can see you, and the staff isn't staring at you from any windows. I dropped my pack so it was visible to all and got back into my letter.
A few hours of being there and I went back to wondering what I was missing. Was I doing something wrong, was there some lesson in this for me, what can I do to correct my situation? In all reality, no one was picking me up and that was that. I had moved to the center of the hive and wondering why no rides were coming. I decided to get myself moving around a little to see if that would be "stepping out the front door" of getting myself in some right spots. I sought out the Post Office for my letter to Loreli.
It was a bit of a hike, but not too bad. Along the way I could hear freight trains in the area and wondered if that would be a possibility. My aim at this point was to get anywhere clear of Utah. Victor had text me saying he was still stuck in Vegas with a broken truck, Grand Junction was seeming appealing, though a little south for my tastes, and then there was Wyoming of which all of my usual reservations for that state had oddly fallen away and it was looking quite appealing right about now.
I mailed my letter and returned to the J, this time actually spotting the train on my way back. As it turned out the track actually wrapped around the truck stop I was camping out at. This had hints of being somewhat of a sign in my mind, but at the same time I was resistant to making my first foray into train hopping just yet. I would say it had to do with fear, which is also a good indicator that something's pushing me that way, although it also didn't feel entirely right either.
I sat back down at the J for a bit then decided to explore other options. The truck stop wasn't in the best location. It was off of a sub-route and not an interstate, although not too far away were I-15 and I-80. Also I had run into a guy who gave me some tips on where to catch a train if I were to hop one. I wandered up that way toward the city to look into this hopping option, as well as scope out what the ramps looked like. I didn't find much in the way of anything helpful, and basically just found myself going for a stroll. I did, however, make a call on Amtrak and Greyhound to discover tickets to Grand Junction or Evanston were not terribly expensive. The sun was setting by now so I figured I'd get back to the Flying J. On my way a car pulled up to me.
The lady inside was specific. She said she didn't want to give me a ride but she wanted to help me out, and handed me $5. That perked me up a bit. When I got back I sat out for another hour or so, then went off for another stroll in a different direction to look over the train yards, some other ramps, and the possibility of just walking out through back roads. None of these options looked good when I saw them.
It was about 9pm now and I was ready to call it a day. Reasoning my options out I figured I would give the next day one more good solid try, and if all else failed I take the bus or the train out that night. I picked up some cardboard and found a perfect spot behind the truck stop amid some tall weeds for a good nights rest.
The morning would prove to have its new elements to my challenge. I returned to my table and began working on an actual sign, something I had yet to use on my own yet. While drawing it up some employees came to sit with me for a smoke and warned me that if management saw me flying the sign I'd be kicked out for sure. They continued on to say that management was thick that day and that every level from regional on down to local managers were inspecting the place because Pilot had just bought them out. I took this as a huge indicator that I was not to stay in Utah much longer.
I sat flying my flag from the table anyway. It was out of the view of the counter people, and I could easily hide it should any of the roaving management come out. In the meantime I'd let as many truckers and drivers get a look at it as I could to hopefully find my way out of there. Nothing took, and eventually I moved to in front of the store, then over to the truck exit, then back to in front of the store. Finally, after a day of spending an hour or so in each place I got cocky and moved to the exit of the regular car gas station part, in full view of the counter people. About ten minutes later two people came out and asked me to move across the street with my sign. I asked if I could stay where I was if I chucked the sign and they told me I was loitering and that was intolerable. Fair enough, I'm pretty sure I sabotaged myself subconsciously on that one anyway.
It was about 3pm then and plenty of day light left. I resolved to myself that this must be not only a lesson in patience, but money as well. Easily this could be seen as self conviction, but I'll portray it to myself however I like, thank you. I decided to just commit to taking either the 8:15pm bus to Evanston, WY or the 4:15am train to Grand Junction, CO and enjoy the city in the meantime without a hint of trying to hitch. There is the famous Salt Lake City library that I'd heard so much about for genealogical studies so I figured that would be my first stop.
Took me about an hour to get there, but once I did it truly was lovely. I even excited some of the locals when I asked where it was. One thing about Utah folk, they are extremely proud of their monuments. The guy at the library was hilarious too as he got into asking me if hitching life was as exciting as it was cracked up to be. I assured him I've never felt better or more alive in my life, and turned him on to the website. While online I ran into Todd for a quick chat and decided to take his suggestion of busing past Evanston, although only to Rock Springs and not Rawlings as he was suggesting.
When my time was up I made my way over to the Greyhound/Amtrak Station. This was one place in Salt Lake that I knew, as I've come through here many times. The debate was in my face then of taking the dollar difference ticket to Grand Junction and get myself on the low road and guarantee a stop over in Denver, or go straight on to Wyoming and get further west. I opted for Rock Springs.
Come midnight I was the only one getting off at the McDonalds stop over. I had debated just staying on, since the Rawlins stop was at 3:59am and the bus driver really had no clue who was getting on or off her bus at midnight or 4am. In fact she saw me with my pack on when they were reboarding and looked at me questioningly not quite believing this was my stop. It did seem like the honest thing to do though, which is important to me whether I'm caught or not.
I know the common argument that big corporations like Greyhound and such are stealing my money regularly with over charged pricing and such things, but I figure stealing is stealing regardless of whether your stealing from another thief or not. I had the same debate about the train hopping, and I'm still not sure about that answer. Am I caught up in law or morality? Not sure really with something like train hopping, or bus hopping for that matter.
Either way, I got out and found out the truck stop Sean had droppped me off at a month and a half ago was two miles down the highway. I got up on the darker edges of the interstate and walked until 1am to that Flying J and dropped in to the diner for some dinner. Back in my struggle to leave Salt Lake I'd asked Todd to post something a Craigslist under rideshares saying I was looking for a ride out of town. He embellished it to read that I was struggling to get home to Massachusetts where my sick father was and could anyone help since I was stranded. When I sat down for dinner I got a text from another Salt Laker concerned for my plight. Again, they weren't offering a ride, but I think they were offering a place to stay if I was stranded. Nice folks, they just don't want you in their car. Fair enough.
I ate, read, and wrote until 3am then crossed the road to some high rocks and made camp for the night. Regardless of what any of being stuck did or didn't mean, it felt good to be moving forward again.
Slowly I packed up by about 9:30am and made my way over to the Flying J for a nice liesurely breakfast. I was conscious, at the time, of a pattern Todd and I had noticed in time and liesurely mornings. Several times both of us separately have woken up around 9:30am and felt like not doing much in the morning. Sitting around writing, having breakfast, just pondering, which ever. Then around 12:30pm I feeling strikes us to get to the day finally, and when we do usually something quite phenomenal happens. Whether its picking up one really long interesting ride, or catching a serious of hops, or something else completely. Most times those inspiring or thought provoking days have happened they've had that kind of morning. So when I saw myself heading into the diner around that time I wondered if such a day was in store for me.
At my table there was one of those truck stop table phones. Between ordering and eating my food I called my Mom at work to catch up with what she was doing and tell her how my visit with her sister had gone. She was a bit busy, so couldn't talk long, but it was nice just touching base. I ate my meal and watched the news on TV completely unpressed about getting out and hitching for the day.
Sure enough, I was done and full by noon, paid my bill, brushed my teeth, and out in front of the place by 12:30pm. I was there for a bit. Maybe an hour passed before I got my first ride offer, though it was heading west. A couple of dread head hippies heading back to Northern Cal to go trimming. I liked the idea of riding with them, and thought about catching a ride with them back to the eastern edge of Nevada thinking a ride would be more likely there, but I wasn't willing to succumb to the rumors just yet.
Eventually I switched from being in front of the building to being out by the exit where more people could see me. While waiting, thinking on the principles of just being where I was, I set to writing a letter to Loreli. By 3pm I did end up with a ride. Jordan picked me up offering me a ride to the Flying J truck stop in the city. I jumped on it remembering Jorge's concern about trying to get a spot there late at night. He claimed it was always busy and never any parking after 6pm which sounded promising to me.
Jordan was another guy who went out of his way for me. He went so far as to research the address of the Flying J as well as going a little out of his way to get me there. He was going to pick up a new car he'd bought a week ago and had to return for some repairs. According to him he said if they can make him wait a week he can make them wait half an hour to get me where I need to go. He also believed he could get a ticket for picking up hitch hikers, but that he believed that law was stupid which was why he gave me the ride. Despite the reputation, Utah has some really nice people living there.
Once there, I set to finding myself a spot to nest in. There was a picnic table set perfectly by the corner of the building where the truckers all walk by to go inside, cars are all parked nearby, so they can see you, and the staff isn't staring at you from any windows. I dropped my pack so it was visible to all and got back into my letter.
A few hours of being there and I went back to wondering what I was missing. Was I doing something wrong, was there some lesson in this for me, what can I do to correct my situation? In all reality, no one was picking me up and that was that. I had moved to the center of the hive and wondering why no rides were coming. I decided to get myself moving around a little to see if that would be "stepping out the front door" of getting myself in some right spots. I sought out the Post Office for my letter to Loreli.
It was a bit of a hike, but not too bad. Along the way I could hear freight trains in the area and wondered if that would be a possibility. My aim at this point was to get anywhere clear of Utah. Victor had text me saying he was still stuck in Vegas with a broken truck, Grand Junction was seeming appealing, though a little south for my tastes, and then there was Wyoming of which all of my usual reservations for that state had oddly fallen away and it was looking quite appealing right about now.
I mailed my letter and returned to the J, this time actually spotting the train on my way back. As it turned out the track actually wrapped around the truck stop I was camping out at. This had hints of being somewhat of a sign in my mind, but at the same time I was resistant to making my first foray into train hopping just yet. I would say it had to do with fear, which is also a good indicator that something's pushing me that way, although it also didn't feel entirely right either.
I sat back down at the J for a bit then decided to explore other options. The truck stop wasn't in the best location. It was off of a sub-route and not an interstate, although not too far away were I-15 and I-80. Also I had run into a guy who gave me some tips on where to catch a train if I were to hop one. I wandered up that way toward the city to look into this hopping option, as well as scope out what the ramps looked like. I didn't find much in the way of anything helpful, and basically just found myself going for a stroll. I did, however, make a call on Amtrak and Greyhound to discover tickets to Grand Junction or Evanston were not terribly expensive. The sun was setting by now so I figured I'd get back to the Flying J. On my way a car pulled up to me.
The lady inside was specific. She said she didn't want to give me a ride but she wanted to help me out, and handed me $5. That perked me up a bit. When I got back I sat out for another hour or so, then went off for another stroll in a different direction to look over the train yards, some other ramps, and the possibility of just walking out through back roads. None of these options looked good when I saw them.
It was about 9pm now and I was ready to call it a day. Reasoning my options out I figured I would give the next day one more good solid try, and if all else failed I take the bus or the train out that night. I picked up some cardboard and found a perfect spot behind the truck stop amid some tall weeds for a good nights rest.
The morning would prove to have its new elements to my challenge. I returned to my table and began working on an actual sign, something I had yet to use on my own yet. While drawing it up some employees came to sit with me for a smoke and warned me that if management saw me flying the sign I'd be kicked out for sure. They continued on to say that management was thick that day and that every level from regional on down to local managers were inspecting the place because Pilot had just bought them out. I took this as a huge indicator that I was not to stay in Utah much longer.
I sat flying my flag from the table anyway. It was out of the view of the counter people, and I could easily hide it should any of the roaving management come out. In the meantime I'd let as many truckers and drivers get a look at it as I could to hopefully find my way out of there. Nothing took, and eventually I moved to in front of the store, then over to the truck exit, then back to in front of the store. Finally, after a day of spending an hour or so in each place I got cocky and moved to the exit of the regular car gas station part, in full view of the counter people. About ten minutes later two people came out and asked me to move across the street with my sign. I asked if I could stay where I was if I chucked the sign and they told me I was loitering and that was intolerable. Fair enough, I'm pretty sure I sabotaged myself subconsciously on that one anyway.
It was about 3pm then and plenty of day light left. I resolved to myself that this must be not only a lesson in patience, but money as well. Easily this could be seen as self conviction, but I'll portray it to myself however I like, thank you. I decided to just commit to taking either the 8:15pm bus to Evanston, WY or the 4:15am train to Grand Junction, CO and enjoy the city in the meantime without a hint of trying to hitch. There is the famous Salt Lake City library that I'd heard so much about for genealogical studies so I figured that would be my first stop.
Took me about an hour to get there, but once I did it truly was lovely. I even excited some of the locals when I asked where it was. One thing about Utah folk, they are extremely proud of their monuments. The guy at the library was hilarious too as he got into asking me if hitching life was as exciting as it was cracked up to be. I assured him I've never felt better or more alive in my life, and turned him on to the website. While online I ran into Todd for a quick chat and decided to take his suggestion of busing past Evanston, although only to Rock Springs and not Rawlings as he was suggesting.
When my time was up I made my way over to the Greyhound/Amtrak Station. This was one place in Salt Lake that I knew, as I've come through here many times. The debate was in my face then of taking the dollar difference ticket to Grand Junction and get myself on the low road and guarantee a stop over in Denver, or go straight on to Wyoming and get further west. I opted for Rock Springs.
Come midnight I was the only one getting off at the McDonalds stop over. I had debated just staying on, since the Rawlins stop was at 3:59am and the bus driver really had no clue who was getting on or off her bus at midnight or 4am. In fact she saw me with my pack on when they were reboarding and looked at me questioningly not quite believing this was my stop. It did seem like the honest thing to do though, which is important to me whether I'm caught or not.
I know the common argument that big corporations like Greyhound and such are stealing my money regularly with over charged pricing and such things, but I figure stealing is stealing regardless of whether your stealing from another thief or not. I had the same debate about the train hopping, and I'm still not sure about that answer. Am I caught up in law or morality? Not sure really with something like train hopping, or bus hopping for that matter.
Either way, I got out and found out the truck stop Sean had droppped me off at a month and a half ago was two miles down the highway. I got up on the darker edges of the interstate and walked until 1am to that Flying J and dropped in to the diner for some dinner. Back in my struggle to leave Salt Lake I'd asked Todd to post something a Craigslist under rideshares saying I was looking for a ride out of town. He embellished it to read that I was struggling to get home to Massachusetts where my sick father was and could anyone help since I was stranded. When I sat down for dinner I got a text from another Salt Laker concerned for my plight. Again, they weren't offering a ride, but I think they were offering a place to stay if I was stranded. Nice folks, they just don't want you in their car. Fair enough.
I ate, read, and wrote until 3am then crossed the road to some high rocks and made camp for the night. Regardless of what any of being stuck did or didn't mean, it felt good to be moving forward again.
10/19- Heading West
Now my time crunch head was back on, and I was trying to remember the lessons of the previous week to not worry and relax. I had twelve days now to get from one end of the country to the other and I was thinking it seemed quite feasible. If I could get from Denver to Boise in three days, I could certainly get from San Francisco to Springfield, Mass in twelve.
I got up early and nearly crept out of the house before Hea stopped me at the door. She left me a note to wake her that I'd missed, but it hadn't mattered anyway, she woke herself really wanting to see me off. It was really sweet. I gave her another big hug goodbye, and thanked her again for the visit. She reiterated that if I felt like staying I could for as long as I wanted. Later on, I'd get another voicemail from her, concerned I'd miss my train from the rain that day, and urging me to turn around and stay as well. I was really touched.
Alas, I did make the train I was after. Using up the last bit of Amtrak Gift Certificate I had, plus $1, I caught a train/bus combination to Auburn, CA to clear the sprawl. It also put me within 80 miles of the Nevada border. The day on a whole was fairly quiet since most of it was on that rainy train. By the afternoon I found myself in sunny Auburn and a library right down the road, so I went.
An hour later I put myself up on the ramp and stood there with my thumb out one more time. I was there for quite a while watching SUVs and mini vans come and go on to I-80. I had talked with my trucker friend, Victor, before wondering where he was at. It turned out he was in Vegas, but likely heading up Central California to Sacremento to head east. I looked to that notion as a safety net of sorts if nothing came of this on ramp. After an hour or so a truck load of yard workers pulled over and told me they were only going to Dry Creek, but they'd take me if I wanted.
Ten minutes later I was in Dry Creek, which is a completely dead, nothing there, exit. I had managed to strand myself. The brief ride was interesting though, they were a couple of Mexicans and the driver was really curious about me travels. In that brief span I told him about my thoughts on heading down to southern Mexico and what so he offered up some advice on areas to hit and areas to avoid.
At the Dry Creek stop I felt a little foolish. Maybe I was a bit too hasty in taking the first ride that came along, and maybe I should start being a little more critical of destinations. I liked the idea of just jumping in the first ride that came, but maybe that time had passed now. Either way, I was there for another hour or so before a lady brought me to the next exit, Colfax.
She was interesting, I can't remember her name, but she was going to pick up her son and other car poolers with him. He was 15 and she told me she was encouraging him to do something like what I'm doing. She actually wanted him to go out and hitch the country when he got out of high school. It somewhat reminded me of my Mom's unusual suggestion when I was 18 and talking about walking it. She thought maybe it'd be wiser to get a motorcycle and do it that way.
Anyway, ten minutes later I was standing on a new corner in Colfax by an on ramp watching cars go by again. Every place I left I'd look back on the positive elements of. Auburn had a heavy stream of traffic to pick from and places to camp if stuck. Dry Creek had ample places to camp though no traffic. Colfax had a bit more traffic but no where to camp. At least none immediately showing themselves.
After an hour there and watching the sun set I decided to get proactive again. I figured out there was a rest stop not too far ahead. If I could walk there I could have a place to bed down and the possibility of some good car flow. Finagling my way around the streets I finally worked out that there would be a road running parallel I-80 on the other side. When I made my way there, sure enough there was one, so I headed down it with my thumb out.
It didn't take long before a pick up pulled up by me. When I told him where I was trying to get to he told me I was definitely on the wrong road. Apparently the one I was on went up for about a mile or so then turned due north, rather than west. As I sat there in his door completely perplexed as to what to do next he then offered to take me to the rest stop regardless of it being out of his way.
I'm always amazed when people go out of their way for me like this. The fact that anyone's letting me in their car for a ride their going to make anyway is always fascinating to me, but when they take rides that are completely out of their way is a real kicker. He drove me about 15 miles up and wished me luck when he dumped me out. We had talked some about hitching and traveling, and if I remember right he had been a hitcher in his day as well.
As he pulled off I looked over the rest stop and it was quite different from the one in my mind's eye. It wasn't a TA, Flying J, Pilot or anything like that, it was literally just a rest stop. Bathrooms and picnic tables with parking and trash cans. Either way, people would be coming through. The sun was setting and the temperature was dropping. It turned out I was now pretty close to Donner's Pass, which I found somewhat amusing. I decided to just call it a night and wake up fresh in the morning rather than try futilely to hitch a slow rest stop on a cold, rainy night.
Around the back were some nice paths, and in there I picked out a prime camp spot. I slept well and was up and packed by 9am the next morning. Hauling my stuff back to the picnic tables by the lot where I could be seen I had a nice leisurely breakfast of oatmeal with agave. I was back in relaxed mode and in no rush at all.
Once I washed up I sat on the benches by the rest rooms so that everyone could see me as they came and went. I spent a good while there just writing in my journal and even tried calling my Mom on the pay phone that didn't work. Having chatted some with one of the workers there he became annoyed with me that I didn't have any pot for him, so a little while later I moved over to the exit ramp. I was there maybe twenty minutes before one of the truckers honked their horn and waved me over.
Jorge was only two hours from having left his house that morning on his usual three day circuit. He told me he never stops in at this rest stop that he passes twice a week, but today he'd had some indegestion from breakfast. I don't know why he picked me up, but my only guess is that he just wanted company.
He was heading to Salt Lake City before he was going to turn south to Arizona. Utah, and particularly its capital Salt Lake City, are hitching deadzones by reputation. My thoughts, however, were of the possibility of Victor coming along behind us going from Sacremento to Cleveland. Also, I just didn't want to pass up a ride that long. I was greedy for miles.
As we drove off we got into talking about his trucking life and the ways of the world through those eyes. Truckers have an interesting vantage point as the movers and shippers of all the goods the country buys. When the economy is good there's a lot of stuff being moved, when its slow, there are less loads to haul. From Jorge's tales the economy was still in the shitter, but getting slightly better.
The most interesting story, as I heard them, was about how truckers work. Every December Owner/Operators have to shell out thousands of dollars in taxes to be able to use their rigs commercially the next year. Last year, with all the business in September with the Lehman Brothers going under and everything, the economy tanked, but by December people were hopeful it'd blow over so the truckers went about business as usual. January and February are generally slow since everyone just blew their wad for Christmas, but when March hit and it was deader than ever the nerves started going. By June people were selling rigs.
Over the summer it was still pretty dead, pay was low as truckers undercut one another just to have something to haul. According to Jorge, who already sold his other two rigs, it was only in September that pay rates started getting back to something even remotely considered reasonable, though still quite low. Having met him toward the end of October with that still being the case he said many of the truckers are just not going to sell their rigs and move on to some other vocation. This will leave a shortage of trucks on the road. Not sure what that will do for the world, but I'm curious to see. If truckers can charge high again to recoup their losses from this year then I suspect the price of things will go up as well.
The other story was of the brokers. Jorge told me of how he believes they are the ones to blame for low pay rates. He told me of a time he was stuck in Denver looking for a load home to California and didn't want to take anything else. His dispatcher called saying a broker was offering $600 to haul something to Billings, and he turned him down. A bit later the dispatcher called again saying he was now offering $900. Again, he said no. A third time offer went up to $1,200. Finally Jorge told his dispatcher he really doesn't want to go to Billings, he just wants to get back to California to see his family for the weekend. He told his dispatcher to relay that he'd take nothing less than $2,000 for that load knowing there's no way the broker would take it and would finally leave him alone. The broker went for it, so Jorge did the job.
Thinking about that, if the broker is paying out of the pay he's being offered from the client and he can afford to pay $2,000 why did he first offer Jorge $600? I think its fair to assume that the broker isn't going to pay him anything out of his own pocket to get the shipment there. Jorge just lucked out on being the only truck in Denver at the time, and his resistance to wanting any load other than a California bound one. Anyway, more food for thought on the workings of the world.
Other than these topics Jorge also was telling me about coming up from Mexico when he was 15, and the mentality behind that. I hadn't realized back in WWII the US invited the Mexicans to come up to fill the war time shortage gap of workers. When the war was over, and everyone returned, the Mexicans were no longer invited, but after four years it had already become apparent that this was a good living. Since then fathers and sons have been arriving as their fathers had, and its only been relatively recently that the US has had a problem with it.
These were the sorts of things he and I talked about on the way through Nevada. We stopped in at Winnemucca for lunch which Jorge insisted on treating me to, even though I told him I'd get lunch and was trying to give the money to the cashier. Around 10:30pm we got into a Flying J 20 miles west of Salt Lake. I was now committed to Utah completely. It was time to see if the rumors were true.
I got out with many thanks for the huge lift he'd given me, the great company and the lunch then set off to a table by the truck stop. I called Todd and talked to him a little while then wandered into the sage brush for bed.
I got up early and nearly crept out of the house before Hea stopped me at the door. She left me a note to wake her that I'd missed, but it hadn't mattered anyway, she woke herself really wanting to see me off. It was really sweet. I gave her another big hug goodbye, and thanked her again for the visit. She reiterated that if I felt like staying I could for as long as I wanted. Later on, I'd get another voicemail from her, concerned I'd miss my train from the rain that day, and urging me to turn around and stay as well. I was really touched.
Alas, I did make the train I was after. Using up the last bit of Amtrak Gift Certificate I had, plus $1, I caught a train/bus combination to Auburn, CA to clear the sprawl. It also put me within 80 miles of the Nevada border. The day on a whole was fairly quiet since most of it was on that rainy train. By the afternoon I found myself in sunny Auburn and a library right down the road, so I went.
An hour later I put myself up on the ramp and stood there with my thumb out one more time. I was there for quite a while watching SUVs and mini vans come and go on to I-80. I had talked with my trucker friend, Victor, before wondering where he was at. It turned out he was in Vegas, but likely heading up Central California to Sacremento to head east. I looked to that notion as a safety net of sorts if nothing came of this on ramp. After an hour or so a truck load of yard workers pulled over and told me they were only going to Dry Creek, but they'd take me if I wanted.
Ten minutes later I was in Dry Creek, which is a completely dead, nothing there, exit. I had managed to strand myself. The brief ride was interesting though, they were a couple of Mexicans and the driver was really curious about me travels. In that brief span I told him about my thoughts on heading down to southern Mexico and what so he offered up some advice on areas to hit and areas to avoid.
At the Dry Creek stop I felt a little foolish. Maybe I was a bit too hasty in taking the first ride that came along, and maybe I should start being a little more critical of destinations. I liked the idea of just jumping in the first ride that came, but maybe that time had passed now. Either way, I was there for another hour or so before a lady brought me to the next exit, Colfax.
She was interesting, I can't remember her name, but she was going to pick up her son and other car poolers with him. He was 15 and she told me she was encouraging him to do something like what I'm doing. She actually wanted him to go out and hitch the country when he got out of high school. It somewhat reminded me of my Mom's unusual suggestion when I was 18 and talking about walking it. She thought maybe it'd be wiser to get a motorcycle and do it that way.
Anyway, ten minutes later I was standing on a new corner in Colfax by an on ramp watching cars go by again. Every place I left I'd look back on the positive elements of. Auburn had a heavy stream of traffic to pick from and places to camp if stuck. Dry Creek had ample places to camp though no traffic. Colfax had a bit more traffic but no where to camp. At least none immediately showing themselves.
After an hour there and watching the sun set I decided to get proactive again. I figured out there was a rest stop not too far ahead. If I could walk there I could have a place to bed down and the possibility of some good car flow. Finagling my way around the streets I finally worked out that there would be a road running parallel I-80 on the other side. When I made my way there, sure enough there was one, so I headed down it with my thumb out.
It didn't take long before a pick up pulled up by me. When I told him where I was trying to get to he told me I was definitely on the wrong road. Apparently the one I was on went up for about a mile or so then turned due north, rather than west. As I sat there in his door completely perplexed as to what to do next he then offered to take me to the rest stop regardless of it being out of his way.
I'm always amazed when people go out of their way for me like this. The fact that anyone's letting me in their car for a ride their going to make anyway is always fascinating to me, but when they take rides that are completely out of their way is a real kicker. He drove me about 15 miles up and wished me luck when he dumped me out. We had talked some about hitching and traveling, and if I remember right he had been a hitcher in his day as well.
As he pulled off I looked over the rest stop and it was quite different from the one in my mind's eye. It wasn't a TA, Flying J, Pilot or anything like that, it was literally just a rest stop. Bathrooms and picnic tables with parking and trash cans. Either way, people would be coming through. The sun was setting and the temperature was dropping. It turned out I was now pretty close to Donner's Pass, which I found somewhat amusing. I decided to just call it a night and wake up fresh in the morning rather than try futilely to hitch a slow rest stop on a cold, rainy night.
Around the back were some nice paths, and in there I picked out a prime camp spot. I slept well and was up and packed by 9am the next morning. Hauling my stuff back to the picnic tables by the lot where I could be seen I had a nice leisurely breakfast of oatmeal with agave. I was back in relaxed mode and in no rush at all.
Once I washed up I sat on the benches by the rest rooms so that everyone could see me as they came and went. I spent a good while there just writing in my journal and even tried calling my Mom on the pay phone that didn't work. Having chatted some with one of the workers there he became annoyed with me that I didn't have any pot for him, so a little while later I moved over to the exit ramp. I was there maybe twenty minutes before one of the truckers honked their horn and waved me over.
Jorge was only two hours from having left his house that morning on his usual three day circuit. He told me he never stops in at this rest stop that he passes twice a week, but today he'd had some indegestion from breakfast. I don't know why he picked me up, but my only guess is that he just wanted company.
He was heading to Salt Lake City before he was going to turn south to Arizona. Utah, and particularly its capital Salt Lake City, are hitching deadzones by reputation. My thoughts, however, were of the possibility of Victor coming along behind us going from Sacremento to Cleveland. Also, I just didn't want to pass up a ride that long. I was greedy for miles.
As we drove off we got into talking about his trucking life and the ways of the world through those eyes. Truckers have an interesting vantage point as the movers and shippers of all the goods the country buys. When the economy is good there's a lot of stuff being moved, when its slow, there are less loads to haul. From Jorge's tales the economy was still in the shitter, but getting slightly better.
The most interesting story, as I heard them, was about how truckers work. Every December Owner/Operators have to shell out thousands of dollars in taxes to be able to use their rigs commercially the next year. Last year, with all the business in September with the Lehman Brothers going under and everything, the economy tanked, but by December people were hopeful it'd blow over so the truckers went about business as usual. January and February are generally slow since everyone just blew their wad for Christmas, but when March hit and it was deader than ever the nerves started going. By June people were selling rigs.
Over the summer it was still pretty dead, pay was low as truckers undercut one another just to have something to haul. According to Jorge, who already sold his other two rigs, it was only in September that pay rates started getting back to something even remotely considered reasonable, though still quite low. Having met him toward the end of October with that still being the case he said many of the truckers are just not going to sell their rigs and move on to some other vocation. This will leave a shortage of trucks on the road. Not sure what that will do for the world, but I'm curious to see. If truckers can charge high again to recoup their losses from this year then I suspect the price of things will go up as well.
The other story was of the brokers. Jorge told me of how he believes they are the ones to blame for low pay rates. He told me of a time he was stuck in Denver looking for a load home to California and didn't want to take anything else. His dispatcher called saying a broker was offering $600 to haul something to Billings, and he turned him down. A bit later the dispatcher called again saying he was now offering $900. Again, he said no. A third time offer went up to $1,200. Finally Jorge told his dispatcher he really doesn't want to go to Billings, he just wants to get back to California to see his family for the weekend. He told his dispatcher to relay that he'd take nothing less than $2,000 for that load knowing there's no way the broker would take it and would finally leave him alone. The broker went for it, so Jorge did the job.
Thinking about that, if the broker is paying out of the pay he's being offered from the client and he can afford to pay $2,000 why did he first offer Jorge $600? I think its fair to assume that the broker isn't going to pay him anything out of his own pocket to get the shipment there. Jorge just lucked out on being the only truck in Denver at the time, and his resistance to wanting any load other than a California bound one. Anyway, more food for thought on the workings of the world.
Other than these topics Jorge also was telling me about coming up from Mexico when he was 15, and the mentality behind that. I hadn't realized back in WWII the US invited the Mexicans to come up to fill the war time shortage gap of workers. When the war was over, and everyone returned, the Mexicans were no longer invited, but after four years it had already become apparent that this was a good living. Since then fathers and sons have been arriving as their fathers had, and its only been relatively recently that the US has had a problem with it.
These were the sorts of things he and I talked about on the way through Nevada. We stopped in at Winnemucca for lunch which Jorge insisted on treating me to, even though I told him I'd get lunch and was trying to give the money to the cashier. Around 10:30pm we got into a Flying J 20 miles west of Salt Lake. I was now committed to Utah completely. It was time to see if the rumors were true.
I got out with many thanks for the huge lift he'd given me, the great company and the lunch then set off to a table by the truck stop. I called Todd and talked to him a little while then wandered into the sage brush for bed.
10/18- A Day of Visiting
The room Rachel had was perfect for me. It was a tiny closet side room that held all of her stuff, since she didn't quite live there officially, but had a patch in the middle where I could bed down. I slept so well I rose before anyone else in the house and set to sorting things out. The night before I'd asked if there was a buzzer I could use to straighten out my head a bit more, so I did some work on that, took a shower, and packed up some before I ran into Rachel.
She and I had decided to go out to breakfast to get a good visit in before I went off to meet my aunt again. There was a place around the corner that had big fat burritos and good coffee with back patio seating that we went to. The reason Rachel doesn't officially live in the apartment I stayed at was because she's in transition from having come back from Nicaragua recently. She was crashing with Rich until she could move into a place in November. Pretty much our entire visit was me pumping her for stories about being down there for a month and running the vague notions of a plan I have had about being there. I also ran Leann's suggestions by her to see if she'd validate them a bit more.
It was a good time, and really nice to be able to talk about current things in each other's lives, rather than crutch on the good old days of high school together. Not to mention that we were in our good old days now, and that high school was something of a faint vague memory to us both. You could see the old person in either of us, but we were clearly different people now, and actually much more similar than we had been then.
I made my way back to North Beach and to my aunt's apartment after that. I've always liked her boyfriend, David, and was happy to find him home when I eventually arrived. His apartment is completely amazing for a San Fran place. Two stories with a little tea garden in the back and an old timey feel through out the place. We sat up in the living room all three of us chatting for a good while before he had to go off and run some chores. My plan at this point was to have lunch with Hea and catch up some more, before heading out that evening either by hitch, train, or bus. As things went on that was seeming like a dumber and dumber plan. One might say... rushed.
As David was leaving he invited me to dinner and to stay, as my aunt had been all along. Later, she and I left the house to wander around the neighborhood and look for a book I'd been telling her about. Eventually we landed ourselves in a coffee shop again, after meeting some of the neighborhood characters, and I finally took them up on their offer to put me up for the night. I had tried both of my trucker contacts and neither were looking promising. To take a train out at night seemed stupid too, since I'd be getting out somewhere in the dark and most likely a city. On top of it, I did want to visit more with Hea. I rarely get to see or hear from her and I really enjoy her company and insights.
That night we all went out to a nice place around the corner for some San Francisco seafood. It was a good, long over due visit before we retired back at the house for the evening.
She and I had decided to go out to breakfast to get a good visit in before I went off to meet my aunt again. There was a place around the corner that had big fat burritos and good coffee with back patio seating that we went to. The reason Rachel doesn't officially live in the apartment I stayed at was because she's in transition from having come back from Nicaragua recently. She was crashing with Rich until she could move into a place in November. Pretty much our entire visit was me pumping her for stories about being down there for a month and running the vague notions of a plan I have had about being there. I also ran Leann's suggestions by her to see if she'd validate them a bit more.
It was a good time, and really nice to be able to talk about current things in each other's lives, rather than crutch on the good old days of high school together. Not to mention that we were in our good old days now, and that high school was something of a faint vague memory to us both. You could see the old person in either of us, but we were clearly different people now, and actually much more similar than we had been then.
I made my way back to North Beach and to my aunt's apartment after that. I've always liked her boyfriend, David, and was happy to find him home when I eventually arrived. His apartment is completely amazing for a San Fran place. Two stories with a little tea garden in the back and an old timey feel through out the place. We sat up in the living room all three of us chatting for a good while before he had to go off and run some chores. My plan at this point was to have lunch with Hea and catch up some more, before heading out that evening either by hitch, train, or bus. As things went on that was seeming like a dumber and dumber plan. One might say... rushed.
As David was leaving he invited me to dinner and to stay, as my aunt had been all along. Later, she and I left the house to wander around the neighborhood and look for a book I'd been telling her about. Eventually we landed ourselves in a coffee shop again, after meeting some of the neighborhood characters, and I finally took them up on their offer to put me up for the night. I had tried both of my trucker contacts and neither were looking promising. To take a train out at night seemed stupid too, since I'd be getting out somewhere in the dark and most likely a city. On top of it, I did want to visit more with Hea. I rarely get to see or hear from her and I really enjoy her company and insights.
That night we all went out to a nice place around the corner for some San Francisco seafood. It was a good, long over due visit before we retired back at the house for the evening.
10/17- Leann to San Fran
I met Leann just about first thing in the morning. I woke up in my little nest haven tucked in by the tree, packed up, crossed the street to the gas station and brushed my teeth inside. All of this was around 6am or so, under a very foggy, dark dawning sky. So when I crossed the road to stand with my thumb out in this spooky atmosphere at about 6:30am I was really surprised when the first truck that past me pulled over, and even more suprised to see a really cute single girl inside saying hop on in. It was to be a good day.
One thing Jay had told me when he dropped me off in the Mecca was that within minutes I would probably find myself with a ride to Ukiah, but that I likely wouldn't want to go there. The place was such a good hitching spot that if I held out I could quite likely find a ride all the way down to San Francisco, where I was trying to get to. Before Leann said hop on in, she told me she was only going to Ukiah. Sounds good, and in I went.
Leann was a really cool chick. Right away we got into talking about hitching and traveling, as she was an avid expert at both. Now at 28, she had settled back in to Cali for 5 years building her own house up in the mountains. For the five years previous to that she had been hitching all around Mexico, Central, and northern South America on and off. She stay down there for several months, then come back up to replenish her funds before heading back south again. In high school she had also been an exchange student in Ecuador for a year. Clearly a fondness for the Latin American world.
It wasn't long before we were in Ukiah and she let me out by the ramp. I was sad to see her go so soon because it seemed like we had a lot to talk about, but as I got out she said something I half caught that if I was still here when she came back she'd pick me up again. I'd missed where she said she was ultimately going, but it settled nicely as I sat by the ramp for a little under an hour with no luck at all. I even had the dirtier variety of road kids start to cluster by me which I think was not good for my hitching market.
Sure enough, Leann swung back by again and picked me up like I was an old friend waiting for a ride. We moved some plants around that she'd just bought for her mother and arranged a spot for my pack to sit comfortably before we took to the road again. The destination I'd missed was Santa Rosa, about 60 miles south, so now we did have a good long time to chat. Among one of our first topics was that dirtier variety of road kids I had just left.
Obviously I'm all for leaving your job, your house, your stuff and roaming around for long periods of time. One thing I have a major problem with, though, is the stereotype that generally is involved with this sort of lifestyle, and is my main reason as to why Kerouac and I just don't see eye to eye; although I hear I might like Ginsberg. What I don't believe in is an abandonment of responsibility and respect for others. It seems with this lifestyle comes such a level of personal freedom that there is a tendency to not give a shit about anyone elses freedom. Reading On The Road Kerouac seems to become a complete dickhead when he gets together with his buddies and starts stealing cars, using and ditching chicks, and abandoning friends when they need him. This then becomes the archetype that others want to follow.
I suppose where Todd gets all up in a tizzy about McCandless, I do about Kerouac, and for the similar reasoning of iconography. McCandless seems to have become my generations Kerouac with the subtly blaring difference that he had no desire to. That his adventures were hijacked and twisted to the beliefs of Krakauer and Penn, but Kerouac wrote the words we know him through. Anyway, Leann and I were both of the belief that there are definitely two distinct sorts of travelers. The ones who are running away and the ones who are exploring. Both can and will be lost from time to time, but I think the distinction is in the level of respect you pay your surroundings and hospitalities.
That said, we then got back on topic of her Latin American adventures and the abundance of hospitality she found down there. She was quite emphatic that people would look out for me more down there, rather than look to rob me, and gave me good tips on how to make money, where to stay, and where not to stay. When we got to Santa Rosa an hour later she told me that this was an awful place to hitch from, pulled into the bus station and gave me money for the fare. As I started to protest that I had bus money, she pushed it on me and said "take it" it makes me feel good to have helped you.
Soon enough I was heading to San Rafael by bus, just across the bay from San Francisco. The bus did go straight into the city, but my Dad's sister, my Aunt Sandy, lives around San Rafael and after a small debate figured it'd be easier to see her on the way in than on the way out. She picked me up at the station and I was among family again.
My Aunt Sandy is one of my three California aunts that I rarely see. Her husband, my Uncle Artie, is even more elusive. I realized, as I walked in their house, that I haven't seen him in 22 years. No one had known until an hour earlier that I was coming so I ended up missing my cousin Jen. She was out hiking for the day and I had resolved to get into the city by night. The stand still, don't rush mentality does have its boundaries to understand. Don't rush, but don't get fat and lazy either and expect the world will carry you where you need to go.
I had lunch with Sandy and Artie while telling tales of my adventures. When my aunt asked how I liked living this way I told her with an obvious glow that nothing has suited me better. What I love about either side of my family is in her response of "well, than that's what you should do". I recognize that's extreme good fortune on my part to have a family that supports me on these sorts of endeavors, from my parents and sister on to my grandparents (when they were alive) and aunts & uncles. Finances come and go, but belief support like that is hard to come by.
After lunch Sandy drove me down to the Golden Gate Bridge so that I could walk it at sunset. It was beautiful, and I took my time loving it. On the other side was my other Bay area aunt, Aunt Hea, my Mom's younger sister. As I walked over we coordinated to meet on the other end and go have some coffee together to catch up.
Hea is the youngest for her generation in her family, just as I am for my generation in mine, and we have a good solid bond over that. I also rarely see Hea as she and her boyfriend, David, really detest the weather of the East Coast, and I rarely make it to California. In fact, I realized this was the first time I'd been to San Fran since I came back from Hawaii at 18 and took my four day Greyhound ride home.
Through our standard fare of neither of us really being sure what the other wanted to do, and not really caring ourselves what we did, it took some time to make our way down to the neighborhood of North Beach for a coffee and some sweet treats. It was really great catching up with her. It seemed she needed some good ole fashioned family bonding as well. Around 10pm we parted ways with an arrangement to meet up the next day for lunch.
I was off to meet up with an old high school friend, Rachel. Another whom I hadn't seen in something like 13 years or so. She was living with her boyfriend, Rich, up in The Haight but were off at a party I was welcome to. It was a nice wander through the neighborhood to their apartment, of which they left the key for me, dropped off my bag and made my way to the shindig. I felt a little strange showing up with a crappy, retarded haircut and my bland walking clothes on to this very hip house warming party where at first glance I thought there was a 1920's theme going on.
Rachel and I caught up over a beer or two in the kitchen of the apartment, while others would occasionally join in, find out our connection, and reemerse into the party. Not too long after arriving, though, we all went outside for that group cigarette chatting thing that happens, then we set off for home and bed.
One thing Jay had told me when he dropped me off in the Mecca was that within minutes I would probably find myself with a ride to Ukiah, but that I likely wouldn't want to go there. The place was such a good hitching spot that if I held out I could quite likely find a ride all the way down to San Francisco, where I was trying to get to. Before Leann said hop on in, she told me she was only going to Ukiah. Sounds good, and in I went.
Leann was a really cool chick. Right away we got into talking about hitching and traveling, as she was an avid expert at both. Now at 28, she had settled back in to Cali for 5 years building her own house up in the mountains. For the five years previous to that she had been hitching all around Mexico, Central, and northern South America on and off. She stay down there for several months, then come back up to replenish her funds before heading back south again. In high school she had also been an exchange student in Ecuador for a year. Clearly a fondness for the Latin American world.
It wasn't long before we were in Ukiah and she let me out by the ramp. I was sad to see her go so soon because it seemed like we had a lot to talk about, but as I got out she said something I half caught that if I was still here when she came back she'd pick me up again. I'd missed where she said she was ultimately going, but it settled nicely as I sat by the ramp for a little under an hour with no luck at all. I even had the dirtier variety of road kids start to cluster by me which I think was not good for my hitching market.
Sure enough, Leann swung back by again and picked me up like I was an old friend waiting for a ride. We moved some plants around that she'd just bought for her mother and arranged a spot for my pack to sit comfortably before we took to the road again. The destination I'd missed was Santa Rosa, about 60 miles south, so now we did have a good long time to chat. Among one of our first topics was that dirtier variety of road kids I had just left.
Obviously I'm all for leaving your job, your house, your stuff and roaming around for long periods of time. One thing I have a major problem with, though, is the stereotype that generally is involved with this sort of lifestyle, and is my main reason as to why Kerouac and I just don't see eye to eye; although I hear I might like Ginsberg. What I don't believe in is an abandonment of responsibility and respect for others. It seems with this lifestyle comes such a level of personal freedom that there is a tendency to not give a shit about anyone elses freedom. Reading On The Road Kerouac seems to become a complete dickhead when he gets together with his buddies and starts stealing cars, using and ditching chicks, and abandoning friends when they need him. This then becomes the archetype that others want to follow.
I suppose where Todd gets all up in a tizzy about McCandless, I do about Kerouac, and for the similar reasoning of iconography. McCandless seems to have become my generations Kerouac with the subtly blaring difference that he had no desire to. That his adventures were hijacked and twisted to the beliefs of Krakauer and Penn, but Kerouac wrote the words we know him through. Anyway, Leann and I were both of the belief that there are definitely two distinct sorts of travelers. The ones who are running away and the ones who are exploring. Both can and will be lost from time to time, but I think the distinction is in the level of respect you pay your surroundings and hospitalities.
That said, we then got back on topic of her Latin American adventures and the abundance of hospitality she found down there. She was quite emphatic that people would look out for me more down there, rather than look to rob me, and gave me good tips on how to make money, where to stay, and where not to stay. When we got to Santa Rosa an hour later she told me that this was an awful place to hitch from, pulled into the bus station and gave me money for the fare. As I started to protest that I had bus money, she pushed it on me and said "take it" it makes me feel good to have helped you.
Soon enough I was heading to San Rafael by bus, just across the bay from San Francisco. The bus did go straight into the city, but my Dad's sister, my Aunt Sandy, lives around San Rafael and after a small debate figured it'd be easier to see her on the way in than on the way out. She picked me up at the station and I was among family again.
My Aunt Sandy is one of my three California aunts that I rarely see. Her husband, my Uncle Artie, is even more elusive. I realized, as I walked in their house, that I haven't seen him in 22 years. No one had known until an hour earlier that I was coming so I ended up missing my cousin Jen. She was out hiking for the day and I had resolved to get into the city by night. The stand still, don't rush mentality does have its boundaries to understand. Don't rush, but don't get fat and lazy either and expect the world will carry you where you need to go.
I had lunch with Sandy and Artie while telling tales of my adventures. When my aunt asked how I liked living this way I told her with an obvious glow that nothing has suited me better. What I love about either side of my family is in her response of "well, than that's what you should do". I recognize that's extreme good fortune on my part to have a family that supports me on these sorts of endeavors, from my parents and sister on to my grandparents (when they were alive) and aunts & uncles. Finances come and go, but belief support like that is hard to come by.
After lunch Sandy drove me down to the Golden Gate Bridge so that I could walk it at sunset. It was beautiful, and I took my time loving it. On the other side was my other Bay area aunt, Aunt Hea, my Mom's younger sister. As I walked over we coordinated to meet on the other end and go have some coffee together to catch up.
Hea is the youngest for her generation in her family, just as I am for my generation in mine, and we have a good solid bond over that. I also rarely see Hea as she and her boyfriend, David, really detest the weather of the East Coast, and I rarely make it to California. In fact, I realized this was the first time I'd been to San Fran since I came back from Hawaii at 18 and took my four day Greyhound ride home.
Through our standard fare of neither of us really being sure what the other wanted to do, and not really caring ourselves what we did, it took some time to make our way down to the neighborhood of North Beach for a coffee and some sweet treats. It was really great catching up with her. It seemed she needed some good ole fashioned family bonding as well. Around 10pm we parted ways with an arrangement to meet up the next day for lunch.
I was off to meet up with an old high school friend, Rachel. Another whom I hadn't seen in something like 13 years or so. She was living with her boyfriend, Rich, up in The Haight but were off at a party I was welcome to. It was a nice wander through the neighborhood to their apartment, of which they left the key for me, dropped off my bag and made my way to the shindig. I felt a little strange showing up with a crappy, retarded haircut and my bland walking clothes on to this very hip house warming party where at first glance I thought there was a 1920's theme going on.
Rachel and I caught up over a beer or two in the kitchen of the apartment, while others would occasionally join in, find out our connection, and reemerse into the party. Not too long after arriving, though, we all went outside for that group cigarette chatting thing that happens, then we set off for home and bed.
10/16- Entering California
I was still on my high the next day of "stand still, don't rush". I didn't feel like rushing, and I felt no need to rush. Instead, I woke up around 9 or so, meandered up to the picnic tables, and cooked breakfast while writing a few more letters. Locals started pulling in to walk their dogs, and travelers were pulling in to stretch their legs, use the bathrooms, and stare at the ocean from something other than a moving car.
About three hours passed while I lazily went about my morning. One guy, who I'd seen the evening before, returned to practice his swing by knocking a rubber ball into the dunes for his dog to chase. I found it amusing to watch then ended up chatting with him for a bit. After about two hours I decided it was time to phase my laxidazical morning into a half assed attempt to hitch by moving my things to a more prominently located table on the south end of the rest area.
By about noon I ended up talking to a lady there who had come out of a southbound camper. Lynn asked what I was up to, and after I told her we somehow got into a discussion about my walk across the country. Apparently she really wanted to do something like that, but her husband, Dom, wasn't quite there, so I think the camper was a compromise. Either way, it was a short talk and she went back to her camper and I went off to the north end of the rest area pull in, figuring it gave people time to see me then pull in and come back around.
I stood there maybe five minutes again when I saw Lynn and her husband pull out in their camper to head south. I watched them drive off about 100 yards before they pulled a U-turn about a 100 yards down on an extra wide corner designed for scenic stop ins and head back up the road again toward me. Pulling up next to me Lynn popped her head out and said they didn't think I was ready to leave yet, but seeing me head out as they headed out they spun around to see if I wanted a ride. Why, certainly.
My pack went in the camper in back, which I know is a big hitcher no-no but I've stopped caring about what the rights and wrongs of safety are and just gage by the people. Up front, in the cab, it was still a bit cramped quarters, but Lynn sat in the back giving me and my long legs the front. She and I spent the whole way down talking about travels, where they'd been, where I'd been, and got into interesting places to go. She has been fascinated by Egypt, which has been a slowly growing curiosity for me as well, so she recommended a few books to me to pick up when I can.
They're turn off was in Brookings, just north of the California border, and I really wanted to stay on the coastal road, so I got out there with an exchange of email addresses, phone numbers, and regular addresses for the possibility of post cards. I've been slacking on those this year though. Thinking of my believed lesson the day before of standing rather than walking I waved goodbye and strutted right up to the busy intersection nearby half expecting a ride to pop up within five minutes given my luck with Rodney, Russ, and Lynn.
I stood there for about 10 minutes maybe and it felt completely wrong. The uneasiness was back in me about standing there and it just didn't seem like I was doing the right thing. In my mind, I believed the lesson of yesterday was to change modes of travel and get comfortable with standing in one spot to enjoy it, rather than continually keeping myself in motion as I generally like to do. It seemed today that that was old news and now something new was building on it. Again, I do recognize that all of this is just what I'm thinking is going on, and the accuracy of it is up for interpretation, but its hard for me to explain my actions if I don't put in the reasoning behind what I'm did through out the day.
What I concluded this day was calling for was to really learn the heart of the previous days lesson; not to rush. It wasn't just about standing vs. walking, it was about not freaking out that I wouldn't make it to my Dad's birthday 2 weeks and 4,000 miles away and just trust that I would. In the meantime, the act of not freaking out is to embody the behavior of just enjoying where ever I am while I'm there. This thinking lead me to remember it had been a while since I'd checked email and I had three letters to mail, so I went to the Post Office and the Library for a bit.
It took me a little bit to find the library since everyone I asked told me it was right across the street, regardless of which street I was on at the time. It turned out to be about five blocks away and about two or three off the main road I was on. After some time there I made my way back up deciding now that I'd adequately relaxed and was now ready to move on. Todd is quite likely rolling in laughter reading this now, because he often accuses me of trying to manipulate fate to get what I want. This was a prime example of what he's talking about, because I do concede it happens on occasion. It takes a bit of practice to really let go of the wheel.
I ended up hanging around town for another 45 minutes to an hour wandering up and down a few blocks on the main street standing at one corner, then over at another. I wouldn't quite describe myself as antsy, but its not too far off either. I was liking being in that little town, and I even got to enjoy a sudden Homecoming Parade that appeared down the street. Finally, after an hour, I decided I just didn't want to be in the town anymore so I turned to see what was in the next one, and that was when I ran into Zack.
Zack, as it turned out, was one of two Zack's. He was on foot and had seen me roaming corner to corner while he cooly drifted about town in sunglasses and an iPod. I was surprised when I passed him for the third time and he asked where I was trying to get to. When I told him anywhere south he said he might be able to help me out, but needed to check with his homie. I started going with him, but noticed he was uncomfortable with that idea. I'd been warned twice now, by other roaving drifters, that the cops were none too keen on hitchers in Brookings and I would get hassled should I stay too long. With that in mind I told him I was going to head across the bridge, which was the end of town, and if his chum was up for giving me a ride just pick me up, and if not don't worry about it. He liked that plan and off he went. Not more than five minutes after I crossed the bridge the Two Zacks gathered me up.
Both Zacks were just under 18, so it was a bit of a giggle fest for the 20 mile jump to Crescent City as we bantered about what cool things we could each think of in our heads. Traveling with teenagers is always such a surreal experience for me these days, partly because it seems strange that those days are so far from me now and I only seem to recognize that when I'm among them again. Breaching the California line was another typical thing of my traveling mentality. As soon as we crossed in it was old news, though I was happy to be there, where as up until that point it seems like some forbidden fortress you may just yet cross into one day.
As we got closer to town they started asking around where I wanted to be dropped and giving me suggestions as to where I should aim for on the way out. Arcadia being top on their list of suggestions. Once I described what I tend to look for in a spot one of the Zack's then made a suggestion and I soon found myself standing on another corner at the south end of town with a pull over, and little else, behind me.
Once again I shuffled my bag over, my straps still folded in since the day before, and threw my thumb out. Another forty-five minutes passed as I watched cars head south in droves. This time my head didn't wander. It did feel right to be there this time, unlike that intersection in Brookings. Instead my head wandered around what it was I was meant to be learning then. This is where many tell me I'm over processing, that there isn't a lesson in every little thing, and every little wait. I disagree with that, but I also really like symbolism, patterns, and other such mind occupiers when standing on corners waiting for someone you don't know to get you.
Jay eventually came to get me. He was a bit funny about it, both funnies, the ha ha and the odd sort. Pulling up he had his sunglasses on and looked like he wanted nothing to do with anyone. To this day I still don't know why he picked me up. He rolled down his window, to my surprise, and leaned over to me roughly barking out "you don't have shit load of pot in there, do you?" When I told him that it was just your basic camping gear he told me to hop in.
It reminded me somewhat of the family in Kansas that took me in while I was walking. They seemed nervous to have a stranger off the road staying in their house despite having invited me in to stay. In fact, when we all were heading for bed the husband went so far as to tell me they didn't have much in their home and there was nothing to steal. I found it to be rather touching, rather than offensive, that they'd still put me up for the night as a sense of honoring hospitality despite clearly not being comfortable with the reality of doing it.
Jay was different, but similar, in that it seemed he really didn't trust hitchers since they often were just couriers for the heavy marijuana economy in Northern Cal, and generally wanted a ride plus whatever else they could get. With all of that he still offered me a ride, and a really good one, it turned out, too. He took me 220 miles south to the, in Jay's words, "hitching mecca" of Willits, CA. We spent all day speeding south raving about all the really completely outlandish government conspiricies and spiritual beliefs. So much so that I was the conservative one in the conversation.
When we eventually landed in Willits it was well into night with a heavy fog in the air. He dropped me off at the south edge of town by a gas station and wished me luck. Everything we'd talked about on the way down was still running around in my head, more as food for thought rather than revolutionizing my sense of the world. A lot of what he had to say was still on the outer limits of what I was ready to start considering reality, so imagine the topics when on here I'm already going on about money showing up when needed as a reality based theory. I went through about half an hour or so of standing by the intersection before deciding bed was a better option for the nights events.
Past the gas station the road fell into darkness and was lined with trees, so I managed to squeeze myself into some brush between a large tree and some barbed wiring. It was quite a nifty, snug little spot actually.
About three hours passed while I lazily went about my morning. One guy, who I'd seen the evening before, returned to practice his swing by knocking a rubber ball into the dunes for his dog to chase. I found it amusing to watch then ended up chatting with him for a bit. After about two hours I decided it was time to phase my laxidazical morning into a half assed attempt to hitch by moving my things to a more prominently located table on the south end of the rest area.
By about noon I ended up talking to a lady there who had come out of a southbound camper. Lynn asked what I was up to, and after I told her we somehow got into a discussion about my walk across the country. Apparently she really wanted to do something like that, but her husband, Dom, wasn't quite there, so I think the camper was a compromise. Either way, it was a short talk and she went back to her camper and I went off to the north end of the rest area pull in, figuring it gave people time to see me then pull in and come back around.
I stood there maybe five minutes again when I saw Lynn and her husband pull out in their camper to head south. I watched them drive off about 100 yards before they pulled a U-turn about a 100 yards down on an extra wide corner designed for scenic stop ins and head back up the road again toward me. Pulling up next to me Lynn popped her head out and said they didn't think I was ready to leave yet, but seeing me head out as they headed out they spun around to see if I wanted a ride. Why, certainly.
My pack went in the camper in back, which I know is a big hitcher no-no but I've stopped caring about what the rights and wrongs of safety are and just gage by the people. Up front, in the cab, it was still a bit cramped quarters, but Lynn sat in the back giving me and my long legs the front. She and I spent the whole way down talking about travels, where they'd been, where I'd been, and got into interesting places to go. She has been fascinated by Egypt, which has been a slowly growing curiosity for me as well, so she recommended a few books to me to pick up when I can.
They're turn off was in Brookings, just north of the California border, and I really wanted to stay on the coastal road, so I got out there with an exchange of email addresses, phone numbers, and regular addresses for the possibility of post cards. I've been slacking on those this year though. Thinking of my believed lesson the day before of standing rather than walking I waved goodbye and strutted right up to the busy intersection nearby half expecting a ride to pop up within five minutes given my luck with Rodney, Russ, and Lynn.
I stood there for about 10 minutes maybe and it felt completely wrong. The uneasiness was back in me about standing there and it just didn't seem like I was doing the right thing. In my mind, I believed the lesson of yesterday was to change modes of travel and get comfortable with standing in one spot to enjoy it, rather than continually keeping myself in motion as I generally like to do. It seemed today that that was old news and now something new was building on it. Again, I do recognize that all of this is just what I'm thinking is going on, and the accuracy of it is up for interpretation, but its hard for me to explain my actions if I don't put in the reasoning behind what I'm did through out the day.
What I concluded this day was calling for was to really learn the heart of the previous days lesson; not to rush. It wasn't just about standing vs. walking, it was about not freaking out that I wouldn't make it to my Dad's birthday 2 weeks and 4,000 miles away and just trust that I would. In the meantime, the act of not freaking out is to embody the behavior of just enjoying where ever I am while I'm there. This thinking lead me to remember it had been a while since I'd checked email and I had three letters to mail, so I went to the Post Office and the Library for a bit.
It took me a little bit to find the library since everyone I asked told me it was right across the street, regardless of which street I was on at the time. It turned out to be about five blocks away and about two or three off the main road I was on. After some time there I made my way back up deciding now that I'd adequately relaxed and was now ready to move on. Todd is quite likely rolling in laughter reading this now, because he often accuses me of trying to manipulate fate to get what I want. This was a prime example of what he's talking about, because I do concede it happens on occasion. It takes a bit of practice to really let go of the wheel.
I ended up hanging around town for another 45 minutes to an hour wandering up and down a few blocks on the main street standing at one corner, then over at another. I wouldn't quite describe myself as antsy, but its not too far off either. I was liking being in that little town, and I even got to enjoy a sudden Homecoming Parade that appeared down the street. Finally, after an hour, I decided I just didn't want to be in the town anymore so I turned to see what was in the next one, and that was when I ran into Zack.
Zack, as it turned out, was one of two Zack's. He was on foot and had seen me roaming corner to corner while he cooly drifted about town in sunglasses and an iPod. I was surprised when I passed him for the third time and he asked where I was trying to get to. When I told him anywhere south he said he might be able to help me out, but needed to check with his homie. I started going with him, but noticed he was uncomfortable with that idea. I'd been warned twice now, by other roaving drifters, that the cops were none too keen on hitchers in Brookings and I would get hassled should I stay too long. With that in mind I told him I was going to head across the bridge, which was the end of town, and if his chum was up for giving me a ride just pick me up, and if not don't worry about it. He liked that plan and off he went. Not more than five minutes after I crossed the bridge the Two Zacks gathered me up.
Both Zacks were just under 18, so it was a bit of a giggle fest for the 20 mile jump to Crescent City as we bantered about what cool things we could each think of in our heads. Traveling with teenagers is always such a surreal experience for me these days, partly because it seems strange that those days are so far from me now and I only seem to recognize that when I'm among them again. Breaching the California line was another typical thing of my traveling mentality. As soon as we crossed in it was old news, though I was happy to be there, where as up until that point it seems like some forbidden fortress you may just yet cross into one day.
As we got closer to town they started asking around where I wanted to be dropped and giving me suggestions as to where I should aim for on the way out. Arcadia being top on their list of suggestions. Once I described what I tend to look for in a spot one of the Zack's then made a suggestion and I soon found myself standing on another corner at the south end of town with a pull over, and little else, behind me.
Once again I shuffled my bag over, my straps still folded in since the day before, and threw my thumb out. Another forty-five minutes passed as I watched cars head south in droves. This time my head didn't wander. It did feel right to be there this time, unlike that intersection in Brookings. Instead my head wandered around what it was I was meant to be learning then. This is where many tell me I'm over processing, that there isn't a lesson in every little thing, and every little wait. I disagree with that, but I also really like symbolism, patterns, and other such mind occupiers when standing on corners waiting for someone you don't know to get you.
Jay eventually came to get me. He was a bit funny about it, both funnies, the ha ha and the odd sort. Pulling up he had his sunglasses on and looked like he wanted nothing to do with anyone. To this day I still don't know why he picked me up. He rolled down his window, to my surprise, and leaned over to me roughly barking out "you don't have shit load of pot in there, do you?" When I told him that it was just your basic camping gear he told me to hop in.
It reminded me somewhat of the family in Kansas that took me in while I was walking. They seemed nervous to have a stranger off the road staying in their house despite having invited me in to stay. In fact, when we all were heading for bed the husband went so far as to tell me they didn't have much in their home and there was nothing to steal. I found it to be rather touching, rather than offensive, that they'd still put me up for the night as a sense of honoring hospitality despite clearly not being comfortable with the reality of doing it.
Jay was different, but similar, in that it seemed he really didn't trust hitchers since they often were just couriers for the heavy marijuana economy in Northern Cal, and generally wanted a ride plus whatever else they could get. With all of that he still offered me a ride, and a really good one, it turned out, too. He took me 220 miles south to the, in Jay's words, "hitching mecca" of Willits, CA. We spent all day speeding south raving about all the really completely outlandish government conspiricies and spiritual beliefs. So much so that I was the conservative one in the conversation.
When we eventually landed in Willits it was well into night with a heavy fog in the air. He dropped me off at the south edge of town by a gas station and wished me luck. Everything we'd talked about on the way down was still running around in my head, more as food for thought rather than revolutionizing my sense of the world. A lot of what he had to say was still on the outer limits of what I was ready to start considering reality, so imagine the topics when on here I'm already going on about money showing up when needed as a reality based theory. I went through about half an hour or so of standing by the intersection before deciding bed was a better option for the nights events.
Past the gas station the road fell into darkness and was lined with trees, so I managed to squeeze myself into some brush between a large tree and some barbed wiring. It was quite a nifty, snug little spot actually.
10/15- Stand Still, Don't Rush
Matt and I had a lazy morning the next day as we chatted over his upcoming travels. He's suped up his RV for a multi-month drive around the US. We even swapped numbers when we found out some of our ideas of where we'd be might overlap in the future. Downing the last of our coffee, he broke out this behemoth tricked out mobile home and drove me to the Walton General Store.
People lately have been telling me that I'm taking my experiences a bit far. That I'm getting a little too wrapped up in the "metaphysics" of it all and ignoring the possibilities of simply having coincidences or things working out on their own. I know I also have a tendency to run with concepts a little excessively, but I do feel like that's part of my process to wanting to understand something. Once I've run that concept, theory, or philosophy to the far end of the other side to the point of ridiculous then I reel myself back in to try and figure out where the middle, and hopefully the understanding, is. That said, I'm going to try and keep myself from editorializing my experience getting from Eugene, OR to Springfield, MA.
Matt dropped me off at the little lot, that was actually the last pull over for the next 20 miles at least. He did his business there and I took up a spot by a wood carved bear and we waved goodbye to each other. I felt a little silly just standing there, staring at the curve in the road, and chucking my thumb out whenever a car or truck came around it. I've always tended to feel a little silly just standing there waiting for someone to come along and help me out when I'm doing nothing to help myself out other than waving my thumb flag to let people know I'd like a ride. It feels like a waste of time, and time was on the crunch now having only 15 days to get down to San Fran and across to Massachusetts for my Dad's birthday.
Half an hour after standing there getting, comfortable with standing there and not figeting calculating how many miles I could have walked down the road by now, a cop rolled up next to me. Todd flashed through my head quickly, but then the cop said that this was the last spot on the road to get reception for his cellphone and was just checking his messages and making some calls. Just to be sure, I asked him if I was fine hitching here and he let me know that hitching was fine, and that the only thing the police don't like are when you're walking with your back to traffic because there's no shoulder and its unsafe.
Joking around, the cop apologized for being there saying he was probably bad for advertizing for me. I told him he might actually help me out, because the last time a cop held me up I picked up a big rig trucker that took me all the way through Idaho in one go specifically because he'd watched me get IDed. Never-the-less this guy didn't ID me, and soon enough he was on his way. About fifteen minutes later I met Bill.
Bill was running deliveries down the coast out of a cube truck and was happy to have the company. It would take him all day to get down about 100 hundred miles from Florence, which was the coastal town I was aiming for at the end of this road. He was happy to take me to Florence, but figured I'd be better off getting out there and picking up a longer distance ride out of that town. We talked mostly about his days living around here, how the roads had changed completely, and how he really loved fishing. Just casual talk, and when we got to Florence half an hour later we shook hands and I was off again.
Oregon is great because there is no sales tax to be paid. There was a Dollar Store across the way from where Bill dropped me, so I strapped on my pack and resupplied myself there tax free. I also picked up a canned lunch, when I finished that I set off walking down Rt. 101, my coastal road south.
I walked for probably about an hour and a half, if not two hours. Again, cars were just wizzing past and there was just as enough shoulder for me to walk on, but not enough for cars to comfortably pull over to get me. After this stretch of 1.5 to 2 hours of throwing my thumb out a pick up finally pulled over with Idaho plates. It was a beat up, rusty old thing, and the dog inside accompanying Jim was one of those rough looking mutts you don't mess with. He was a sweet heart, though, and kept nuzzling his nose into me for the duration of the ride.
Jim had only picked me up for a 4 mile hop, however. The entire four miles he spent telling me that I shouldn't be walking on the side of the road like that. There's no place for anyone to pick me up and that I needed a pull in so folks could stop if they wanted to. He dropped me at literally just a pull in. I'm not even sure why it was there, but it was a fifteen foot deep thirty foot long pull in with nothing there opposite a road across the street coming to a T.
Dropping me there Jim told me that if I got stuck there for the day all I had to do was go down that street, take the first right and look for the yellow school bus. That was his house and he'd be happy to have me for the night. So I got out, now with a complete understanding that I should not be walking anywhere, if nothing else just due to the physicality of the roads, and here I had a safety net of refuge provided for me if nothing came. Once again I stood there and threw my thumb out.
One thing I like about the bag I swapped out in Denver is that it isn't actually meant for long range, rugged hiking. Its a touring bag, it can go on your back, or the straps can fold in and zip up to turn it into a duffle. I hadn't used that feature too much, other than when I stayed at people's places, but I figured now I might as well fold in the straps because it doesn't look like I'll be doing much hiking with it in the next few days. About forty-five minutes later a car pulled in for me.
Amy and her son were heading down to Reedsport, about 15 to 20 miles south. I was a bit surprised to be picked up by a mother and her son, but she was totally comfortable with me, especially with my pack on my lap wedging me in. She was hilarious. The whole way down she went on about some YouTube video her sister in Florence had showed her about the people of Florence and their problem solving skills when a whale lands on their beach. It was hilarious and traggic all at once and got us talking about the Darwin awards for the rest of the ride.
When she dropped me off in Reedsport it was at a perfect spot. I was on the south end of town right by the last traffic light with a pull over on the south side of the intersection. This time I wasn't about to strap on my pack and keep walking. Instead, I thanked Amy and wished her well, then carried my bag to the light and stood on the south side with my thumb out. Ten minutes passed before I got into another car.
Rodney was cool as shit. We hit it off right away as we sped down toward Bandon some 50 miles away. He was less than enthusiastic about having to leave Portland and spend his weekend on a cranberry hunt of some sort. He wasn't even sure what he was doing down there, he just knew work was making him go. Either way, we clicked immediately as we talked about my travels and his. There was a lot of connection there on my more intuitive based ideas which was the bulk of the conversation.
As we got closer to Bandon we realized his meeting spot for the next morning was somewhere between Bandon and Port Orford, the next town down. This spot turned out to be dead center between the two towns, and rather than turn around once we'd spotted it, he decided to just get a hotel down in the next town in hopes that it would look a bit more lively than Bandon did. Rodney's keen hopes were set on finding a suitable bar to spend his evenings in while there.
Port Orford was another 26 miles past Bandon, and directly on the coast. He spotted one bar in town, a hotel diagnally across the street from it, and then a beautiful rest stop diagnally the other way across from hotel again. We pulled in and said my thanks and goodbyes while admiring the sea. We even had an elderly couple take our picture together. As I started toward the roadside again he invited me to come have drinks with him if nothing came. Given that I was about an hour or so from sunset, and the setting was so nice, I figured that would be my plan for the night. It'd be good to talk more with him.
Instead, five minutes after stepping on the curb Russ pulled up and told me to hop in. Russ is a self proclaimed 65 year old hippy that he's waiting for the cops to arrest. Back in January he opened a medical marijuana store and pretty much treats is like a regular pot dealing dwelling and is surprised he's been open as long as he has. He advertizes all over the county that he has pot brownies and cookies every Tuesday and Wednesday and can't get over that what he's doing is legal. In fact, if I were to take a guess, I'd say that's the one aspect he might have any shame about.
As he drove me another 26 miles down the coast he told me he had the perfect spot for me to camp out at. Perfect, right at the end of the day. It was on the beach at a rest stop where free camping was legal. It had full facilities, picnic tables, and was a great spot to catch rides from either into the night or the next morning.
It had been threatening rain all day, and even peed a little once I got into Florence and set off walking 101. I'd also seen at Matt's, the night before, that rain was heavily predicted all week down the coast. When we pulled into the rest stop it was nothing but clear blue skies. I said something about it to Russ, as he dug out an ounce of pot from his trunk for a picture, and he said that it had something to do with a mountain just north of there that threw off the weather patterns and generally left this spot with sunny days. A perfect spot indeed.
I snapped a picture of him, thanked him again, then he was off. The whole day had been such a whirlwind of people and, to me, lessons that I felt I'd learned that I had that giddy joy Todd and I both had back in April at Cape May. I even did the same things. I snapped a bunch of pictures of me in the dunes, then ran down and played by the tide, then bedded down under the stars and just stared at them for an hour or so. The only differences this time was the inability to immediately share it with everyone. Todd wasn't there to glow in it with, and with my pre-paid phone system now I couldn't call anyone to tell them all about it. Instead I wrote a letter, then just enjoyed it quietly to myself and that was just as fine.
People lately have been telling me that I'm taking my experiences a bit far. That I'm getting a little too wrapped up in the "metaphysics" of it all and ignoring the possibilities of simply having coincidences or things working out on their own. I know I also have a tendency to run with concepts a little excessively, but I do feel like that's part of my process to wanting to understand something. Once I've run that concept, theory, or philosophy to the far end of the other side to the point of ridiculous then I reel myself back in to try and figure out where the middle, and hopefully the understanding, is. That said, I'm going to try and keep myself from editorializing my experience getting from Eugene, OR to Springfield, MA.
Matt dropped me off at the little lot, that was actually the last pull over for the next 20 miles at least. He did his business there and I took up a spot by a wood carved bear and we waved goodbye to each other. I felt a little silly just standing there, staring at the curve in the road, and chucking my thumb out whenever a car or truck came around it. I've always tended to feel a little silly just standing there waiting for someone to come along and help me out when I'm doing nothing to help myself out other than waving my thumb flag to let people know I'd like a ride. It feels like a waste of time, and time was on the crunch now having only 15 days to get down to San Fran and across to Massachusetts for my Dad's birthday.
Half an hour after standing there getting, comfortable with standing there and not figeting calculating how many miles I could have walked down the road by now, a cop rolled up next to me. Todd flashed through my head quickly, but then the cop said that this was the last spot on the road to get reception for his cellphone and was just checking his messages and making some calls. Just to be sure, I asked him if I was fine hitching here and he let me know that hitching was fine, and that the only thing the police don't like are when you're walking with your back to traffic because there's no shoulder and its unsafe.
Joking around, the cop apologized for being there saying he was probably bad for advertizing for me. I told him he might actually help me out, because the last time a cop held me up I picked up a big rig trucker that took me all the way through Idaho in one go specifically because he'd watched me get IDed. Never-the-less this guy didn't ID me, and soon enough he was on his way. About fifteen minutes later I met Bill.
Bill was running deliveries down the coast out of a cube truck and was happy to have the company. It would take him all day to get down about 100 hundred miles from Florence, which was the coastal town I was aiming for at the end of this road. He was happy to take me to Florence, but figured I'd be better off getting out there and picking up a longer distance ride out of that town. We talked mostly about his days living around here, how the roads had changed completely, and how he really loved fishing. Just casual talk, and when we got to Florence half an hour later we shook hands and I was off again.
Oregon is great because there is no sales tax to be paid. There was a Dollar Store across the way from where Bill dropped me, so I strapped on my pack and resupplied myself there tax free. I also picked up a canned lunch, when I finished that I set off walking down Rt. 101, my coastal road south.
I walked for probably about an hour and a half, if not two hours. Again, cars were just wizzing past and there was just as enough shoulder for me to walk on, but not enough for cars to comfortably pull over to get me. After this stretch of 1.5 to 2 hours of throwing my thumb out a pick up finally pulled over with Idaho plates. It was a beat up, rusty old thing, and the dog inside accompanying Jim was one of those rough looking mutts you don't mess with. He was a sweet heart, though, and kept nuzzling his nose into me for the duration of the ride.
Jim had only picked me up for a 4 mile hop, however. The entire four miles he spent telling me that I shouldn't be walking on the side of the road like that. There's no place for anyone to pick me up and that I needed a pull in so folks could stop if they wanted to. He dropped me at literally just a pull in. I'm not even sure why it was there, but it was a fifteen foot deep thirty foot long pull in with nothing there opposite a road across the street coming to a T.
Dropping me there Jim told me that if I got stuck there for the day all I had to do was go down that street, take the first right and look for the yellow school bus. That was his house and he'd be happy to have me for the night. So I got out, now with a complete understanding that I should not be walking anywhere, if nothing else just due to the physicality of the roads, and here I had a safety net of refuge provided for me if nothing came. Once again I stood there and threw my thumb out.
One thing I like about the bag I swapped out in Denver is that it isn't actually meant for long range, rugged hiking. Its a touring bag, it can go on your back, or the straps can fold in and zip up to turn it into a duffle. I hadn't used that feature too much, other than when I stayed at people's places, but I figured now I might as well fold in the straps because it doesn't look like I'll be doing much hiking with it in the next few days. About forty-five minutes later a car pulled in for me.
Amy and her son were heading down to Reedsport, about 15 to 20 miles south. I was a bit surprised to be picked up by a mother and her son, but she was totally comfortable with me, especially with my pack on my lap wedging me in. She was hilarious. The whole way down she went on about some YouTube video her sister in Florence had showed her about the people of Florence and their problem solving skills when a whale lands on their beach. It was hilarious and traggic all at once and got us talking about the Darwin awards for the rest of the ride.
When she dropped me off in Reedsport it was at a perfect spot. I was on the south end of town right by the last traffic light with a pull over on the south side of the intersection. This time I wasn't about to strap on my pack and keep walking. Instead, I thanked Amy and wished her well, then carried my bag to the light and stood on the south side with my thumb out. Ten minutes passed before I got into another car.
Rodney was cool as shit. We hit it off right away as we sped down toward Bandon some 50 miles away. He was less than enthusiastic about having to leave Portland and spend his weekend on a cranberry hunt of some sort. He wasn't even sure what he was doing down there, he just knew work was making him go. Either way, we clicked immediately as we talked about my travels and his. There was a lot of connection there on my more intuitive based ideas which was the bulk of the conversation.
As we got closer to Bandon we realized his meeting spot for the next morning was somewhere between Bandon and Port Orford, the next town down. This spot turned out to be dead center between the two towns, and rather than turn around once we'd spotted it, he decided to just get a hotel down in the next town in hopes that it would look a bit more lively than Bandon did. Rodney's keen hopes were set on finding a suitable bar to spend his evenings in while there.
Port Orford was another 26 miles past Bandon, and directly on the coast. He spotted one bar in town, a hotel diagnally across the street from it, and then a beautiful rest stop diagnally the other way across from hotel again. We pulled in and said my thanks and goodbyes while admiring the sea. We even had an elderly couple take our picture together. As I started toward the roadside again he invited me to come have drinks with him if nothing came. Given that I was about an hour or so from sunset, and the setting was so nice, I figured that would be my plan for the night. It'd be good to talk more with him.
Instead, five minutes after stepping on the curb Russ pulled up and told me to hop in. Russ is a self proclaimed 65 year old hippy that he's waiting for the cops to arrest. Back in January he opened a medical marijuana store and pretty much treats is like a regular pot dealing dwelling and is surprised he's been open as long as he has. He advertizes all over the county that he has pot brownies and cookies every Tuesday and Wednesday and can't get over that what he's doing is legal. In fact, if I were to take a guess, I'd say that's the one aspect he might have any shame about.
As he drove me another 26 miles down the coast he told me he had the perfect spot for me to camp out at. Perfect, right at the end of the day. It was on the beach at a rest stop where free camping was legal. It had full facilities, picnic tables, and was a great spot to catch rides from either into the night or the next morning.
It had been threatening rain all day, and even peed a little once I got into Florence and set off walking 101. I'd also seen at Matt's, the night before, that rain was heavily predicted all week down the coast. When we pulled into the rest stop it was nothing but clear blue skies. I said something about it to Russ, as he dug out an ounce of pot from his trunk for a picture, and he said that it had something to do with a mountain just north of there that threw off the weather patterns and generally left this spot with sunny days. A perfect spot indeed.
I snapped a picture of him, thanked him again, then he was off. The whole day had been such a whirlwind of people and, to me, lessons that I felt I'd learned that I had that giddy joy Todd and I both had back in April at Cape May. I even did the same things. I snapped a bunch of pictures of me in the dunes, then ran down and played by the tide, then bedded down under the stars and just stared at them for an hour or so. The only differences this time was the inability to immediately share it with everyone. Todd wasn't there to glow in it with, and with my pre-paid phone system now I couldn't call anyone to tell them all about it. Instead I wrote a letter, then just enjoyed it quietly to myself and that was just as fine.
Friday, October 30, 2009
10/14- Mountain or Coastal Run?
Penney left early that morning for work, so after a groggy hug of thanks and goodbye, I moved up to her bed in the loft to sleep a little longer. When I finally did get up I set to getting things in order for my departure again.
Among my pre-packed things they'd hauled for me I had put buzz clippers in my bag and had meant to see if Penney would cut my hair for me. I had forgotten about this when we got wrapped up in all the landlord talk so the task fell to me for the morning as I prepared some oatmeal for myself. This idea of cutting my own hair was not a very good one. After an hour or so buzzing away at my head I emerged looking slightly retarded. Thankfully I had my new hat and if you'll notice in the pictures I have that hat on in just about every picture until I get out toward the east coast.
By noon or so I got everything squared away, the bathroom cleaned up from the barber butchery, and headed out the door. I had looked at a map of Eugene to figure out how to get out of town but couldn't decide if I wanted to head straight west to the coast, then turn south down 101 or wander through mountain roads south of town that would eventually land me by the coast around the Northern California border where I had heard the real scenery starts anyway. I found a route that would encourage letting the rides decide. It was my theory that when indecision strikes, at the opportunity is there, just step out and The Fates will push you one way or the other. The simple trick is movement in what ever form the situation calls for.
So I made my way down to Chambers St. and from there to 11th Ave. At 11th I had marked as the deciding point. 11th was the road heading straight west and continuing down Chambers was the way to the southern routes. When I hit 11th I was inspired to turn down it, but then a block or two later was suddenly intrigued to turn south. I didn't know where those roads lead, but it was sort of a grid system so I had an idea and just walked on. Soon enough I was finding myself heading west again and had figured that it had been resolved in my head that I would be heading through the southern mountain roads. I walked for maybe another hour or so before a pick-up finally swung by and scooped me up.
Tom said he'd give me a ride about 15 miles to Veneta. I had no idea where that was but I told him that was fine. There was a little trouble in communication since I wasn't sure where I was going, only that I wanted to go either south, west, or anywhere in between. He pulled off of the road I was walking and went north onto 11th Ave. and it was then I realized I'd be heading straight to the coast first. Dropping me off just far enough out of town to not head back he wished me luck and sped off.
I spent the rest of the day walking down the side of that road. It was a busy backroad highway and a decent shoulder to walk, but not quite enough to pull over on I think. I walked until about 5pm when I decided to sit down by a bridge and take a breather. After resting for about fifteen minutes or so I black van pulled out and pulled up next to me. Matt offered me a lift just a few miles down the road, but as we drove he then offered up his 40 acres to camp on for the night if I wanted.
Matt and I hit it off quite well. He was a California guy who had moved up there with his girlfriend a few years ago only to have it not work out a week previous to meeting me. She had gone back to Hawaii where they owned a business and the distance was just not working for him. She had been gone quite a while by the time I met him and he was not liking that he was spending all this time on his own in the back woods of Oregon, so the company I offered was inviting to him. His dog was truly his best friend out there and it was apparent. We hung out in his house having dinner, watching TV, and he would continue to talk to his dog as much as me, if not more so. I thought the whole thing was adorable to watch.
As we got to talking about my travels and hitching it turned out that he had been hitching since he was 13 years old and was an avid traveler as well. In fact, he was working on an RV he had to ready it for a long road trip he was planning to set off on in a few weeks. We exchanged numbers when we found out we may be in the same areas come December if each of our plans follow the ideas we have of them now. It was a pretty laid back night of easy travel talk and it wasn't long before he offered for me to stay inside. Apparently his apple trees by the gate were very attractive to the bears in the area that were preparing for hibernation.
One of the last things he mentioned as we were readying for bed would end up being a theme I'd dwell upon often over the next three weeks. He recommended I take his suggestion and let him drive me back a mile to try hitching out of the general store parking lot. The logic being that it was the last good pull over spot down the winding logging road to the sea. If I walked it, not only would there be no room for people to pull over to pick me up, but it would be dangerous for them to do so and it would be dangerous for me to walk it due to the logging trucks careening around those sharp corners for 30 miles. I agreed to let him take me back, but it would be a long day the next day before I heard the message in it.
Among my pre-packed things they'd hauled for me I had put buzz clippers in my bag and had meant to see if Penney would cut my hair for me. I had forgotten about this when we got wrapped up in all the landlord talk so the task fell to me for the morning as I prepared some oatmeal for myself. This idea of cutting my own hair was not a very good one. After an hour or so buzzing away at my head I emerged looking slightly retarded. Thankfully I had my new hat and if you'll notice in the pictures I have that hat on in just about every picture until I get out toward the east coast.
By noon or so I got everything squared away, the bathroom cleaned up from the barber butchery, and headed out the door. I had looked at a map of Eugene to figure out how to get out of town but couldn't decide if I wanted to head straight west to the coast, then turn south down 101 or wander through mountain roads south of town that would eventually land me by the coast around the Northern California border where I had heard the real scenery starts anyway. I found a route that would encourage letting the rides decide. It was my theory that when indecision strikes, at the opportunity is there, just step out and The Fates will push you one way or the other. The simple trick is movement in what ever form the situation calls for.
So I made my way down to Chambers St. and from there to 11th Ave. At 11th I had marked as the deciding point. 11th was the road heading straight west and continuing down Chambers was the way to the southern routes. When I hit 11th I was inspired to turn down it, but then a block or two later was suddenly intrigued to turn south. I didn't know where those roads lead, but it was sort of a grid system so I had an idea and just walked on. Soon enough I was finding myself heading west again and had figured that it had been resolved in my head that I would be heading through the southern mountain roads. I walked for maybe another hour or so before a pick-up finally swung by and scooped me up.
Tom said he'd give me a ride about 15 miles to Veneta. I had no idea where that was but I told him that was fine. There was a little trouble in communication since I wasn't sure where I was going, only that I wanted to go either south, west, or anywhere in between. He pulled off of the road I was walking and went north onto 11th Ave. and it was then I realized I'd be heading straight to the coast first. Dropping me off just far enough out of town to not head back he wished me luck and sped off.
I spent the rest of the day walking down the side of that road. It was a busy backroad highway and a decent shoulder to walk, but not quite enough to pull over on I think. I walked until about 5pm when I decided to sit down by a bridge and take a breather. After resting for about fifteen minutes or so I black van pulled out and pulled up next to me. Matt offered me a lift just a few miles down the road, but as we drove he then offered up his 40 acres to camp on for the night if I wanted.
Matt and I hit it off quite well. He was a California guy who had moved up there with his girlfriend a few years ago only to have it not work out a week previous to meeting me. She had gone back to Hawaii where they owned a business and the distance was just not working for him. She had been gone quite a while by the time I met him and he was not liking that he was spending all this time on his own in the back woods of Oregon, so the company I offered was inviting to him. His dog was truly his best friend out there and it was apparent. We hung out in his house having dinner, watching TV, and he would continue to talk to his dog as much as me, if not more so. I thought the whole thing was adorable to watch.
As we got to talking about my travels and hitching it turned out that he had been hitching since he was 13 years old and was an avid traveler as well. In fact, he was working on an RV he had to ready it for a long road trip he was planning to set off on in a few weeks. We exchanged numbers when we found out we may be in the same areas come December if each of our plans follow the ideas we have of them now. It was a pretty laid back night of easy travel talk and it wasn't long before he offered for me to stay inside. Apparently his apple trees by the gate were very attractive to the bears in the area that were preparing for hibernation.
One of the last things he mentioned as we were readying for bed would end up being a theme I'd dwell upon often over the next three weeks. He recommended I take his suggestion and let him drive me back a mile to try hitching out of the general store parking lot. The logic being that it was the last good pull over spot down the winding logging road to the sea. If I walked it, not only would there be no room for people to pull over to pick me up, but it would be dangerous for them to do so and it would be dangerous for me to walk it due to the logging trucks careening around those sharp corners for 30 miles. I agreed to let him take me back, but it would be a long day the next day before I heard the message in it.
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