Chapter Nine: Hitchhiking Trips, Part Two

                                                             Rachel's Dad

                Chapter Nine: Hitchhiking Trips, Part Two 

Rachel was grateful that her dad had filled in the gap created by his missing journal, the one which detailed most of 1980, and specifically the hitchhiking trip that had taken him completely across America. She wasn't sure when he wrote the three chapters about his hitchhiking trips, although it had certainly been decades later as it was all saved on his computer, the computer he only owned in the last decade of his life. 

She poured another glass of wine and settled in to read part two.

--- 

I arrived at the rim of the park that night and camped, then headed into the main park the next morning as I was running low on funds. It had been quite cold that night, and I was forced to sleep with clothes on, in my sleeping bag.

It was not a short walk from the camping areas where I had slept to the tourist area of the park as I had camped at the top of the valley while the tourist area was on the valley floor but it was beautiful. I had arranged with my mom before I left that I would contact her when I needed some cash and she would wire it to me at a bank or Western Union office. The process had worked once already so I did not expect any difficulty, but, alas, after checking at the bank numerous times with no luck, I was faced with a weekend without resources having already spent my last dollar to secure a two night stay at the walk-in campground. Yes, it was 50 cents a night!

However, this was California, and even then, California was on the forefront of environmental awareness. The park had a recycling system whereby one could turn in empty cans and bottles for a nickel each. I gathered enough to provide money for dinner, then after eating, made the acquaintance of my some of the other campers, most of whom were of similar age, which meant that many beers were consumed. I made a point of asking for any recyclables from those who were not making use of the program which turned out to be virtually all of my fellow campers. In addition, while meeting other campers, I encountered one young man who decided that he might "save" me over breakfast the next morning.

As I said, the park itself was in the valley as compared to where I had slept that first night so it was much hotter. As opposed to the night before, all my clothes on, inside the sleeping bag, I slept with very little on, on top of my sleeping bag, a process I would replicate for the rest of my stay. 

As it turned out, I was able to eat without issue the entire weekend, either by finding cans and bottles in a paper bag which I left outside my tent for donations, or through the generosity of strangers. I distinctly recall considering an extended stay there, as it seemed quite clear I could live for free, free defined as collecting and returning disposed cans and bottles for a nickel each. Or, I was told that there were always jobs to be had at the restaurants and other businesses within the park that were filled by young people for the summer tourist season. While I did stay about a week, I did not choose to go for the job option. It was another one of those decisions, like my choice to leave Coalinga, that we make during our lives that change our future, but which we don't fully comprehend when it is made. 

Of course, had I chosen to stay there all summer, all the adventures that were to come would not have happened although it is easy to imagine that they would have been replaced by other, different escapades.

While at Yosemite, I went on many hikes to see the various tourist sites, El Capitan, the Falls, etc. On on of those mini-trips, I went with three other young people, two young ladies and a young man. As it turned out, the other guy decided to hook up with one of the women, so I ended up sharing a tent with the other one. While nothing eventful transpired, we did write to each other for a while when our respective adventures out west had ended. I had forgotten about her until I was rummaging through all the letters I had received, and saved, from those years of travel, and found a few from her. It was strange as I recalled her being not very interested in being "together", yet her letters were far more personal, far more indicative of an attraction.   

Anyway, from Yosemite, I thought I might go to Las Vegas. But as happens when dependent on the kindness of others, my route was altered. The fact that Death Valley National Park lay between Yosemite and Vegas was also a major factor as I was, to be frank, scared into not trying to cross by a few of the people I had spent time with at the park.

Sometime that afternoon, having left the park, I was picked up by two young men in a pickup truck, which meant that I had to ride in the back, in the bed. Fortunately, they had a lawn chair stashed there, so, stretched out on the chair, the wind whistling all around as we zipped down the highway, I avoided the alleged danger of being stranded in Death Valley. Sadly, for the second time on the trip, I attained a very serious sunburn having, again, not applied any sunscreen for the couple hour ride through the desert. 

When we finally stopped near Barstow, California, I was, as the stereotype says, red as a lobster. And hurting. We had stopped at an ice cream establishment which presented me with a difficult choice; eat the ice cream or spread it on my face and arms. While I chose the former, I am still not sure it was the correct option to this day.

My luck at attaining a ride deserted me at this point. I ended up sleeping under a bridge that night, hurting from my sunburn, and a bit anxious that it had been the first time where I stood for multiple hours without procuring a ride. While this wasn't Death Valley, it was still hot and lacking in potential rides.

Fortunately, mid morning the next day, I was picked up by one of only two woman who were to provide transportation during, not only this trip but all three of my extended hitching trips. I thanked her as I jumped into the front seat, and she immediately greeted me with two facts. One, she was pregnant, very pregnant, and two, she had a gun at the ready. 

At first, conversation was stilted, but when she noticed my obvious sunburn, her demeanor softened. She suggested that I make use of a truck stop to shower and get some food. After determining where I was headed, she dropped me off at one that she thought might also provide me with a ride in the direction I was heading after I took care of cleaning up and eating.

I flipped a coin, eat or shower first. As it turned out, I was glad that fate told me to eat first, as the shower was more an experience of water bouncing off my reddened skin than a cleansing experience. Still, tummy full and at least smelling better, I went back to the highway in hopes that I would be more successful than the previous day. As luck would have it, my next ride not only moved me down the road but provided a night, inside, on a couch.

At this point I was traveling east of Interstate 40. When I approached Kingman, Arizona, I noticed on my trusty 3" x 5" map that Vegas was not too far away. As I had never been to Las Vegas, I thought it might be fun, but, to be honest, it wasn't at the top of my bucket list. I decided that I would go north towards Vegas or further east depending on the direction my next ride was going. 

I never made it to Sin City, instead going east via route 40 as was the direction of my next ride. 

Going across route 40, featured two memorable rides, both in New Mexico. The first notable ride began like many rides, in that when the vehicle stopped and, it being a station wagon, I tossed my bag through the open rear window, then hopped into the front seat. The driver greeted with the usual "how far are you going" as he eased back onto the highway. 

It was then that I noticed two peculiar things. First, he was wearing very large goggles, resembling those worn by Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. The second, more immediate and sensory, was that he was wearing the goggles to keep the bugs out of his eyes as the car was sans windshield. That's right, as we picked up speed, so did the wind ripping through the car right out the back window, which was also devoid of glass. 

One thing I haven't mentioned to date, is that I was wearing contact lenses at the time. Not those soft almost dish sized lenses that are in use today, but the hard contacts, like little pieces of plastic in your eyes. I had struggled a bit with them a few times during the trip, especially when removing them at night as I was not very proficient at accomplishing this task, and removing them while outside or in a tent did not improve my technique. Needless to say, while we did talk during the ride, I couldn't look up. After about an hour, I cried uncle and asked him to drop me at a rest stop, even though he was going a bit further. 

After a visit to the bathroom to remove my contacts and hydrate my eyes, I once again ventured onto the ramp to the interstate.

The next memorable ride was significant for two reasons. One, it was an experience which I have never encountered since, and two, it put me on a path to meeting relatives I did not know existed before a conversation I had with my grandmother before I had left on this trip.

I was riding in another pickup truck, although in this one I was in the cab, wedged between the driver and his buddy. At the time, there was road work being done on the interstate, and as we drove along it, one lane had been resurfaced, the other not yet, so there was a 4 inch rise between one lane and the other. 

Being young, the driver had been passing cars by going "down" to the left hand lane, then back up to the right hand lane. We had probably executed this maneuver half a dozen times when I noticed that the driver was both slowing down and looking in his side mirror. Suddenly, he applies a bit more pressure to the brake until we are going maybe ten MPH, then he opens his door and leaps out of the truck! At the time, I don't believe the short version WTF existed, but that is what I was thinking, and what the other passenger said. Just as I see the driver gain his balance as he recovers from jumping from a moving vehicle, our driver side wheel passes the truck. Not the tire, the entire wheel, rim and all. As I finished slowing the truck while steering it onto the shoulder, the driver's buddy also exited the vehicle to assist his friend in running down the wheel and return it to its home.

As it turned out, we were not able to fix the problem, had to wait for a tow truck, then were towed to a nearby gas station. I decided not to hang around for the repair when told it would be hours, and headed back to the interstate.

I mentioned a few paragraphs back that my grandmother, upon hearing that I would be traveling west, gave me the phone number of her pen pal, a woman who shared her first name, Elvira. The western Elvira lived in Colorado, was related to my paternal grandfather, her father being his brother. I was not all that interested in genealogy at the time, and couldn't imagine seeking out a woman of the age of my grandmother, but I loved my Nonna and graciously accepted the slip of paper with the contact info. 

At this point, I was in a town, off I-40. Not a big town, so I began walking to its end, with my thumb out. Hitching in a town can be fruitful in that some drivers are more likely to stop because they can see you more clearly, can evaluate, so to speak, but also because they are going slower so it is less inconvenient to stop. 

The down side is that I can see them also, can put on my best "please stop I am not a psychopath" look, so when dozens of cars pass without stopping, their drivers doing their best not to meet my gaze, it can get frustrating. 

At some point, a bit concerned that I might get to the highway outside of town without a ride, I noticed a car pulling into a fast food outlet with Colorado plates. Yes, in the back of my mind I was beginning to consider making use of my Nonna's cousin, but also my starting point, Vale, was in Colorado so it was a win-win to head in that direction. 

As it turned out, the driver pulling through the drive through was a young lady. So, I did what I very rarely did while hitchhiking, I approached her and asked for a ride in as non-threatening way as I could muster. While she didn't call the police, she did not invite me into her car. Chagrined, I continued walking through the town.

About 45 minutes later, having now reached the edge of town and finding myself once again on I-40, I debated how far to walk. Again, the psychology of having one's thumb out on a major highway (as opposed to an on ramp or interchange area) can result in a good Samaritan stopping because he believes you are stranded, perhaps with a vehicle broken down somewhere nearby. Of course, since you can't walk to where you are going, it can also mean that you could wind up actually stranded, without food, water or shelter. I was hedging my bets, in that I had only walked half a mile or so, close enough to return, but still possibly qualifying for the "stranded" scenario. 

Suddenly, I noticed that there was a car, stopped at the side of the road in the near distance. I decided to walk to it. 

I have mentioned fate a time or two during these reminiscences. What happened next was easily the most outrageous and fortunate example of fate, for the car stopped on the shoulder was the very same car driven by the young woman who had spurred my request for a ride not an hour earlier.

I can't say who was more surprised. If there is anyone who has heard a story from a woman about this event, perhaps one of those "I can't believe this happened to me" stories, or if for some even further fate driven reason that very woman should read this story, only she can answer that question. But be assured, I thought it the most unlikely event of my trip, nay, my life, to date.

It was quickly determined that she had a flat, and that the spare was useless. I expressed a willingness to take the offending tire back to town to have it fixed. She acknowledged that that would be wonderful, and so, off I went, tire in hand, across the highway to hitch back to town. 

Thumbing with an actual tire made for easy pickings so I was soon back to the stranded young lady and her car, and, having accepted that she should give me a ride now, soon we were heading north, towards Colorado. As it turned out, she was not going as far into the state as I required, but she believed that it was her duty to take me a few towns past her destination, to Aguilar, Colorado.

At this point, with evening approaching, I had decided that a visit to my cousin's might be a good idea. Upon entering the town, I was dropped at the first grocery store we encountered, and we parted, the damsel and the knight, both having rescued each other.

Note here. I am sure we exchanged names, although not contact info. I wish that I could remember her name, these decades later, or could find my journal. It is one of those details that I regret not being able to share, to both give credit where credit is due, and to more personally acknowledge a person who brought me to Aguilar, and Elvira and her family with whom I would have a pleasant experience in the short run, and then a many decades long correspondence and Christmas cards. 

I dug out the phone number my Nonna had provided, and used a pay phone inside the store. Elvira answered upon the second ring, and after explaining who I was, and hearing, "Oh yes, your grandmother said you would stop by", she told me to wait where I was and that she and her husband would come for me.

Not knowing how big Aguilar was, or where I was in reference to her, I settled down to wait. About three minutes later, a car pulled into the driveway, and into the store stepped Elvira. She immediately hugged me. We went outside to the car, and up the street we went, about 500 feet, to their home. I could have walked there, they lived so close to the store!

I spent about a week in Aguilar with my newly discovered relatives. Coincidentally, I arrived just a few days before the yearly celebration of Aguilar's founding. As a result, many out of town Aguilarians, if you will, were returning, and among them were even more relatives. All in all, I was introduced to a variety of cousins by name, and even more cousins by marriage. I was the talk of the weekend, taken to a number of houses, fed constantly, even handed $20 bills on occasion to help fund the rest of my trip. And yes, it was true that I was related to these generous people, but it was also true that I sported hair to the middle of my back and looked like an out of time hippy, which didn't seem to matter one iota.

After about a week, I was informed that an older couple that had visited for the yearly party, and was related in some fashion to me, had traveled from a town not far from Vail, and, might be willing to take me there if I was ready to leave. 

At our introduction, I was asked if I had a knife, a question I deemed originating from a concern about my well being considering the nature of the mode by which I had been traveling. When I confirmed that I did have one, I quickly realized the question was borne out of concern that I would murder the couple and steal their car. Upon seeing that I was referring to a Swiss army knife, their relief was palpable.

We left the next day, and, of course, they paid for lunch when we stopped along the way. 

They dropped me at Alan's door in Vale.

At this point, I was thinking about returning home. I stayed a few days, ruminating, while also using some of the money I had been given while in Aguilar, to send a plant to Elvira and her husband for treating me so kindly. 

I have mentioned more than once that there were a few times when I felt that the fickle finger of fate was at work during my extended trip. I had procured two separate rides over a thousand miles each on my way west, had avoided being stranded in the desert, and had met a host of people who treated me like family, and not just the ones who actually were family.

But there was one more amazing coincidence to come. As it turned out, one of the other young men who was staying at Alan's had decided to return home and was waiting for his girl friend and brother to arrive, so when he offered me a ride with them, I thought that perhaps that was the universe's way of telling me that it was time to go home as well.

Three days later, they were dropping me off at my door in Willow Grove, as they were from Elkins Park, only 6 miles from my house.

Well, actually, from Mary Ellen's house. 

In the spring of 1980, I had finally moved from my parent's home after answering a newspaper ad (yes, that is how we found places to live back then) to share a home in Willow Grove.

I didn't have a car at that time, so Willow Grove was a good locale given its proximity to my employer at the time. I was one of two borders in a three bedroom home, sharing it with Mary Ellen, Randy the other border, her two dogs and two cats, and her semi-live-in boyfriend. My room was towards the front of the house, just off the living room.

Before leaving for my trip, I had arranged with Mary Ellen that I would return, although not sure when, and she allowed me to pay a month's rent in advance, with the stipulation that if I was away for up to four weeks longer, that would be a wash, in that I wouldn't owe her any more money. 

Since I was gone about six weeks, I assumed I was safe, as I believed that we had established a pleasant relationship in those four months or so that I lived there, even though I hadn't actually told her that I was coming home on that particular day. 

So, you can imagine my surprise when I walked through the door into the living room only to find that my room was gone! Mary Ellen had knocked down the wall separating my room from the living room, thereby expanding it greatly. And it did look much better, I had to admit. Still, the lingering questions, was I still living here, where was my stuff, where would I sleep if I was still living here, dominated my reaction to her pleasant greetings.

Upon reflection, I think she had decided to wait for my reaction before explaining the change in the home's logistics. Perhaps to tease me a bit, perhaps just because she was fun to be around and wanted me to be surprised, and hopefully, pleased with the alterations.

After a brief moment during which she was smiling the entire time, I asked about my room, knowing the possessive my was a stretch since it was her house.

Mary Ellen took me by the hand and led me to the back bedrooms, opened the door to Randy's room then semi pushed me inside as she laughed. 

Being a late 50's baby, I grew up on the really good cartoons of the 60's, especially the Looney Tunes featuring Bugs, Daffy, Elmer, the Road Runner, Tweety Bird, etc. 

If you also watched them, you might recall that there many a "tune" that included a vacuum used to remove things en masse, then regurgitate them in a new location, identical to how they looked when first sucked up, so to speak.

Well, that was my exact impression as everything from my old room was now placed exactly as they had existed, but in this new location. I turned to her, visibly amazed, which, again, was the point and part of the surprise, for her.

We went back to the now expanded living room and she told me about kicking out Randy, moving my things into his room, then demolishing the wall that separated my old room from the living room. I can't recall her telling me her methodology which resulted in my possessions being placed so exactly as they had been, whether via a camera, or sketch or vacuum, but regardless of the method, it was astonishing to me as we sat chatting about my trip. 

I lived there for almost two years, with and without Mary Ellen as she moved in with her boyfriend at some point, leaving me with her pets. While she eventually made me get a housemate to improve income flow, for first living arrangements after leaving one's parents, I can't imagine having had a better situation, or landlady.

As I noted above, I was gone for about six weeks. I had traveled across our great country, visited a couple of national parks, met a host of people who helped me along the way. While I can't say I "found" myself, a reason some might offer for the reason for my trip in the first place, I did return with a belief that most people were nice, that most people will help others, related to them or not, if presented with the option. 

While this opinion was challenged a bit during my next two extended hitchhiking trips, and while my faith in humanity has been reduced by some of the events of the 2020's, I still feel that those times were instrumental in creating the foundation of who the future me would be.