Rocks, hot springs, and a tin full of cookies

The next part of my story will be a bit more vague than its counterparts; at the requests of many of the people I’m about to write about, most of the names and many of the details will be omitted.  All of the names with a “*” in them are fabricated. 

                  After lugging my pack into the backseat and sitting down in the passenger seat, Melanie*, the driver, asked, “so where are you headed?”  “I don’t know,” I told her honestly.  “Well, I’m going to some hot springs and then to Tuscon for a gem show,” she told me, “want to come?”  “Sure.”  And we were off.  A ride like this couldn’t have come at a better time, because after my brief encounter with LA, I really didn’t know where I wanted to go.  So there I was, cruising in this enormous converted van to some hot springs south of Flagstaff.  I had suggested to Melanie that we hit up Red Rock country in Sedona, it being right on the way, and she agreed that it would be a great idea.  So, after reaching flagstaff, we headed on scenic route 89A to check out the Red Rocks. 

                  Melanie is a member of the Rainbow Clan/tribe, a group who, along with loving the Grateful Dead and faithfully going to most shows that the remaining members hold around the nation, are synonymous with peace, love, sharing, kindness, equality, eco-friendliness, and things of the type.  This is good for me, because not only does she have pure cane sugar and good coffee (two things I haven’t seen since I was in Italy) but it exposes me to a scene that I’ve wanted to see pretty much since I started listening to the Grateful Dead (what is it with them, right?)  I love talking with her, about her views, experiences, musical tastes, most everything.  We stopped at several spots along the way through Red Rock country to take some pictures and let her dog out for a walk, and she pointed out a cave up in the canyon.  “Wow, look at that, I’m sure the natives used to live up there, I can just feel their energy.”  For most of the ride up, Melanie had talked a lot about Native culture (to which she felt very connected to, apparently due to some Native American lineage that was in her heritage), the “Great Spirit,” “One love,” and a lot of discussion on reincarnation, and several religions, in fact most religions, except for Christianity and Islam. 

                  We eventually make our way to the Camp Verde hot springs, sometime in the night.  To get there, we had to ask at least 3 locals, and wind our way up and down more than 20 miles of bumpy dirt road.  To get to the hot springs themselves, according to the book that Melanie carries with her (a guide to hot springs in the southwest) we still have to hike a little over a mile and cross the river, so we decide to wait until the morning to see them.  

                  In the morning, we made friends with our neighbor Tracy, a girl also doing the Van thing, who was visiting the hotsprings to relax from her job in Las Vegas.  With tracy’s help, we make some hot coffee and have some delicious breakfast.  After eating, and some good conversation, we decided it was high time to head up to the springs.   The trail up was beautiful, a well-trodden dirt trail that led across scraggly rocks and some weeds along the river.  The sky was clear and blue, and the sun shined kindly on us we walked along the narrow trail admiring the prickly pairs and other desert foliage, which was plentiful along the way.  We hadn’t noticed it on the way in because of the darkness, but now that we walked along the river, we had a clear view of the mountains and canyons in the distance, and it was beautiful.  We crossed the frigid (but fortunately small) river and walked another few hundred yards before finally reaching the hot springs. 

                  The pools now used at camp verde were shaped in 1922 when a hotel was built, and cement foundations built to shape the hotsprings.  In 1962 (at least that’s what I remember being painted on the walls) the hotel burned down, leaving only the foundation.  The springs now are now well colored, mostly art and messages, covering the inner walls of the hotter pool and on the pylons remaining from the foundation.   As we laid down our things preparing to get into the water, a hiker walked through, with an enormous pack on his back and a guitar in his hand.  He had sunbleached blonde hair and beard, and was wearing aviator-style sunglasses.  David, our new friend’s name, had already spent a lot of time at the springs earlier in his stay, and was walking back to camp, thirsty from hours of hiking in the hot sun (by now it was well into the afternoon).  David, like Melanie and Tracy, was the owner of a van that he had converted into his home.  David sat and talked with us for awhile, and was kind enough to let another visitor to the springs and myself play his guitar for a bit, which was wonderful, considering that I hadn’t had a chance to play one since Phoenix.  After about an hour or so of conversation, David went back to camp, and we decided to soak in the hot springs. 

                  It was absolutely delightful.  Relaxing in the hot water, sitting in the shade, admiring the beautiful views.  What an afternoon.  After a little while, a group of three ladies came.  Sharon, Kelsey, and Reina were Flagstaff natives who had come to camp verde for a day trip, get out and take it easy before returning to the humdrum of the working/studying life the following day.  They were really cool, and happened to bring food with them!   We (mostly me) happily munched on munchies and shared travel stories, lounging in the hot water for awhile, when one of the girls decided that they would jump off of the cement platform.  Initially, I wanted no part in this.  The fall down looked to be around 12 feet, and I had almost no confidence in the river’s depth.  Not wanting to die, I let them jump in first (you know, so I could rescue them if anything happened).  Shortly after the shouts of thrill upon falling into the water, came yells of how cold the water was: “WOOOOHOOOOOO….splash, 2 seconds later….SHIT, this is SO COLD!!!! AHHH!!!!”  The cries didn’t help much on my decision to jump in, but eventually I decided to say fuck it.  We only live once, might as well do it freezing our asses off jumping into rivers.  I made the plunge, and after the fall (which was just as long as it looked from above) was immediately shocked by the water temperature.  My body was simply telling me, “ok, playtime’s up, now GET OUT!!! Hurry!” and I scrambled up the rocks lining the river as fast as I could, and slipped back in the warming pools.  My friends repeated the act, but I decided I was just fine where I was.  Their continued shrieks told me that I had made the right decision. 

                  Eventually, our friends made their way back to camp so that they could get back to Flagstaff in time, and we decided to head back as well.  At camp, we met back up with David, and cooked some food (Tracy had a nice camp stove with two burners).  We pass the evening hanging out at different vans, eating and drinking, and at maybe around midnight, the others decide that it’s a good idea to go back to the hot springs, and see the view from under the moonlight.  I’m quite tired at this point, starting to doze off in fact, but I go with them anyway.  What a good idea it was.

                  Once we were out of range of electronic light sources, the moon brilliantly lit up the landscape, putting a blue glow on everything.  It was magical.  If the night air and the walk didn’t wake me up, crossing the frigid river again definitely did the trick.  Something about making the hike in the middle of the moonlit night, and relaxing in the water under the wide desert sky brilliantly full of stars, it was just enchanting, and gave the whole experience a deeper, almost sacred tone to it.  Sometimes we’d talk, and other’s we would just quietly admire the mountains, the sky and the moon.  What a night.  We started our walk back just as the early signs of dawn were showing in the far-off mountains. 

                  By the time we reached camp, the sun had already risen, and although the others were considering staying up (Tracy had gotten a flat tire on the way down when she first arrived to the campsite, and they were discussing making a trip into town to get a real tire to replace the spare she was now using) I was quite tired, and decided to lay down. 

                  I awoke a seemingly short time later, with the sun in my face.  I was still a bit groggy, and didn’t want to wake up fully yet, but decided I might as well.  Thinking I had only slept for 30 minutes or so, I walked over to Tracy’s van to find the others seated and drinking coffee (that always seemed to be happening).  I asked for the time, and found that it was almost 3 o’clock!  Thinking I had taken a short nap, I had actually slept for over 6 hours!  I was also fortunate enough to discover that Tracy was making banana nut pancakes, and in a few minutes was happily filling my stomach.  At around 5, just before the tire store in town closed, we ran Tracy up to town to get a new tire, and dropped her off at the beginning of the dirt road that lead back to camp, and Melanie and I continued on towards Tucson. 

                  We reached Tucson late that night, and Melanie found a place for free camping outside city limits that she had remembered from her last stay in the city.  In just a few minutes, we were both fast asleep.  The morning after was frigid (as they usually are in the desert) and after waking up, we drove into town so Melanie could get some coffee and we could check out the gem show. 

                  The Gem Show in itself, to my eyes, was a boring, uninteresting thing.  Everyone there is talking about the energy that these rocks have, marveling at rutillations, amethyst geodes, huge quartz crystals, and other things of the type, and all day I hear things like “what better way to spend a day than looking at rocks?”  I trail behind Melanie, gazing mindlessly at rocks that I don’t give about, smile, pretend I understand what these people are saying.  As far as I’m concerned, all this is a useless bunch of garbage.  Shiny garbage, perhaps, but still garbage that doesn’t serve me in any imaginable way.  I guess that’s my biggest beef with all this, is that for me to like something, it has to do something for me.  A guitar I can play, evoke feelings, make vibrations, music, create a very alive energy.  A rock is something that you can look at, maybe wear, and for what? What does it do?  Anyway, the interesting part of the show for me was the people.  The whole place was crawling with wingnuts, hippies, and generally eccentric beings, and I made a lot of very interesting friends.  Some of these included Khalila, whom I met while sitting on a curb making a bracelet, a girl who did (incredibly beautiful and creative) paintings and crafts, and had come to the gem show after spending some time in Sedona, Micah, a kid a bit older than me with a head full of dreadlocks who was headed to Florida (he offered me a ride there), Rob, a friend of Melanie’s, and many, many others.  On Sunday night, the night after the last day of the gem show, Melanie and I went to a house where some other members of the rainbow clan were staying; there was supposed to be a fire/gathering, and Melanie and I were planning on spending the night there. 

                  The fire ended up being a really good time, I met a lot of really cool people, and I think it gave me a lot of insight on the whole “Rainbow clan” thing, something which I’ve wanted to see pretty much since I started listening to the Grateful Dead (not specifically rainbow, but that scene).  The following morning, we left to head toward Silver City;  there were some hot springs there that we wanted to hit up before the group (the van now had two more passengers, friends of Melanie that were going to the Phil Esh show in Denver) went to Denver, and I went south.  By this time I was starting to feel a little cramped in melanie’s van.  She had an awful lot of rules to play by, and the fact that the other’s didn’t know those rules, pissing her off infinitely, definitely didn’t make things any better.  The morning after we arrived at the Gila hot springs campsite was one of the worst outbreaks;  Melanie thought that she had left her coffee maker at the house where we stayed the night before, was ranting about the kids from the night before using lots of her sugar (which she had also set out the night before for people to make coffee), our friend Tim*’s “negativity” (he had said it was cold out when we woke up) and an apparently somewhat large sum of money that was accounted for.  While the others went to go get some coffee from a store they had found near the camp, I stayed and finished reading a book my aunt had given me back in Georgia, glad to be by myself. 

                  An hour or so later, they came back in much better spirits (having now had their daily doses of coffee)  That day we mostly just lounged around, going in and out of the springs, enjoying the view, and relaxing, which was nice, as I hadn’t had quality, laid back outdoor time in quite awhile.  Not having to worry about where you’ll sleep, where you’ll get the next ride from, and what you’ll eat really makes a difference. 

                  We spent one more day at the springs and met our neighbors Violet and Theo, a very nice couple who was also living out of a converted van.  Theo and I hit it off really well.  Theo had been two quite a few places, and knew his way around the block when it came to outdoor resourcefulness.  In our discussion, we discovered that each of us had what the other needed:  Theo was a sandal fanatic, and had long since worn through his pair of Merrell’s (my friend Kevin from phoenix had given me a nearly brand new pair of Teva Sandals).  He had a quite nice pair of Merrell’s shoes, but really didn’t like wearing shoes at all.  I was looking for a good serve-all pair of shoes, one that I could use in any situation, be it walking for miles on the road, or tramping through muddy fields and trails.  Before my trip, I had bought a pair of (what I thought to be) standard issue jungle boots.  The turned out to be complete shit, and after just two days of solid use, the rubber sole was starting to peel off the leather.  I had my Nike’s, which had served me quite well both in Europe and here, but I was looking something of a little higher quality, that would allow me to walk 10 miles in a stretch comfortably (I could do this in the nike’s, but it kicked my ass in doing so).  Could we make a trade, my sandals for Theo’s Merrell’s?  I tried on his Merrell’s, but they were too small.  Damn.  Still, seeing that the sandals would be put to much better use on Theo’s feet, I decided that we could work something out.  For the cost that it would take to send back a package home (I was planning on going to phoenix to buy a good pair of shoes, mail back the other two as well as some extra stuff) I would sell Theo my sandals.  Later that day we left, and headed for silver city, so the group could get some more groceries before Denver.  It was here that I decided that my ride with them was done, and it was time to go my own way again.  After saying goodbyes, I walked out, and began the walk through town.

                  AT LAST!! I was free again, just the road and I!  Such a wonderful feeling, one that will definitely keep me traveling for a long time.  I began making my way towards the university, as Theo had said that there there were computers that the public could use for free, from opening to closing, and I needed to catch up my blog; a lot had happened in the past 9 days.  After walking for a few hundred meters with my thumb out, a girl with dreadlocks approached me from a nearby gas station.  “Hey, do you need a ride?”  I sure did, I told her.  “Cool.  I’m a hitchhiker too, but I have a van now.”  Excellent!  Those were pretty much the best words any hitchhiker could hear.  As we were walking to the van, I met her partner, David.  Katie and David had been passing in and out of Silver City (where we were) for years, so they had a lot of helpful information (where to sleep, where the mission was, good places to hang out, etc.)  They dropped me off at the college library, and gave me their number before they left.  “Hit us up if you’re still in town in the morning, we can play some music or something!” they told me, and off they were.  After catching up what I could (it was a lot of writing to do) the library closed at 8:45, and I decided that rather than leave town then, I would stay, and hang out with David and Katie in the morning.  I found a place to sleep in an unlit corner behind a gas station that was out of view, and went to sleep.  The night was cold (26 degrees, according to the All-state insurance sign).  My sleeping bag being rated down to 40 degrees, I was quite cold.  I had remembered a conversation I had with a gentleman back in Tucson about using a garbage bag instead of a sleeping bag.  I didn’t have a garbage bag big enough to cover my whole body, but did have one that could cover my feet up to my shins.  I figured this was better than nothing, and tried it out.  It did seem to help, and just to add extra insulation, I sacrificed my pillow (my rain coat) and stuffed it between my feet.  This seemed to do the trick and I slept comfortably. 

                  I awoke before dawn, and after finishing up the last of my writing at the library, found David and Katie outside of the Javalina coffee shop, where they had said they usually hung out in the mornings.  After an hour or so of sitting and talking, I foresaw the exact same thing happening (sitting and talking) for the rest of the day.  Not interested in this, as I wanted to reach Phoenix by the end of the day or the following morning, I said my goodbyes and was on the road. 

                  I walked for a mile or so along Hwy 90W when a burgundy Volkswagon pulled up.  Inside the backseat (the front was full of tanks of propane) were two crazy dogs, and a puddle of piss.  I told the driver that I’d just go around and sit on the other side.  Scott took me about 10 miles down the road, and I was glad to be Out There (away from towns or people, and out on the open road) again.  As I was walking, I noticed a pretty large, dark storm forming a few miles in front of me.  Shit.  It was pretty chilly out, maybe in the 40s and quite windy, and I really hoped that I wouldn’t get rained on.  The storm didn’t seem to be directly approaching me, but rather sort of alongside me.  I walked for several more miles before a pickup truck picked me up.  Off in the distance, I saw the darkness in the sky growing nearer.  As I looked closer into the sky, I noticed something that I remembered seeing online (thank you stumbleupon.com).  The clouds seemed to be forming into sort of little balls, protruding from the dark cover directly above them.  Could this be the rare Mammatus cloud formation I had seen on the internet?  I’d like to think so, but I’ll leave that up to you professionals (I took several pictures that I’ll post for you to see).  They dropped me off near Lordsburg, where Highway 70 veered west in a straighter path towards Phoenix; this was the route that I wanted to take rather than go by the interstate and have to go through Tucson again.  After walking a decent ways down 70 with no luck, I remembered what David had told me (“I dunno man, I’ve heard a lot of horror stories [meaning no rides for days] about 70…) and turned around, deciding that it was, in fact, a better decision to go by the interstate, as I had no interest in walking for days, especially in this weather and altitude. 

                  After walking for a mile or so back towards lordsburg, a big white chevy pickup truck finally pulled over.  When I told the driver I was headed towards phoenix, he replied, “well, I can take you as far as Tucson.”  Excellent!  Frank, the driver, was a really cool guy, and had lots of questions about my trip (where did you sleep last night?” “What do you do for food?”).   After telling him that my breakfast this morning had been a handful of trail mix, Frank said, “Hey man, look in the back for the box under than big one right there (motioning towards the backseat)” I looked, and pulled out a cookie tin.  “No, no that’s not what I’m talking about, but you can have that.”  I looked a little more, and found an enormous summer sausage (3 Lbs, to be exact).  “Yeah!  That’s it.  I want you to have that, man.”  I thanked him profusely, a tin full of sugar cookies and a giant summer sausage, this had to be some of the most interesting food-bag food yet!  After telling him that I was going to Phoenix to visit a friend so I could get some new shoes and take a shower (It was the 16^th, and I hadn’t bathed since the 5^th) Frank said, “Well, I tell you what man.  You’re welcome to spend tonight at my house, take a shower and wash some of your clothes.  You might even get a free dinner out of it!”  It was about 4:30, and I knew that if I had him drop me off, I would probably be able to get a ride to phoenix before dark.  Still, the offer was too tempting, and I had to accept it. 

                  Frank’s house was beautiful, and his family was very nice.  I played some harmonica for them, and we had Chinese for dinner.  As much as hanging out with my Rainbow friends was nice, it was great to see the “straight” side of society again, and have a clean body and clothes again.  Frank still didn’t understand how I could sleep on the ground most nights (“I dunno man, I like knowing I have a bed to sleep in every night”) but overall, I think he enjoyed my company.  Early the next morning, he woke me up to and dropped me off on the way to taking his son to school.  I waited at the on-ramp for a half hour or so, and after having no luck, I decided I would walk a mile or so on down to the next one; seeing some restaurants and gas stations in that direction, I decided I would have a better chance of getting a ride there.  Also, I hadn’t had time to eat or take my morning piss, so I figured I could work that out before hitchhiking out.  After using Waffle House’s facilities and waiting just 20 minutes or so, a blue corvette hauling a trailer pulled off to the shoulder.  “I’m not sure how you’ll be able to fit,” the driver told me, but I explained to him that I could sit with my pack, if he could find room for all the stuff in the front seat.  We shoved all of the other stuff into the trunk of the car, and I squeezed myself into the ‘vette’s tiny front seat, with my pack on my lap.  Mark, the driver, was a very eccentric man who was on his way to San Francisco.  He seemed to be on top of life, having a positive, pushing energy about him, and I enjoyed his company.  Also, it was just marvelous to hear that big V-8 engine pur when we passed cars (which happened a lot, Mark had a small case of road rage, which only amused me more).  It’s times like these when I’m glad to be a hitchhiker, squeezed into the front seat of a corvette, listening to the driver yell “Common lady, GiddyUP!  Gotta MOVE!” to the car in front of him.  Mark asked me, “Hey man, you sure you don’t want to go to San Francisco? I could really use the company!”  Tempting though it was, I was on a mission for new shoes, and was looking forward to seeing my friend Kevin again, and I had to decline.  He dropped me off in Avondale, the neighborhood where Kevin lives, and was off. 

                  After several calls to Kevin to confirm where I could meet up with him and a solid bit of walking, he finally picked me up on Thomas road, several city blocks from where Mark had dropped me off.  We shook hands and greeted each other, and it was good to see a friend again.  We went to Chinese for lunch (which was delicious, I still hadn’t eaten anything yet that day) and after meeting up with Kevin’s friend Steve, we went to Cabela’s so that I could find a good, new pair of shoes.  I ended up getting a pair of Keen’s (Kevin was a big Keen’s fan, and convinced me that it was a pair of shoes I wouldn’t regret buying).  That night, we went to dinner at an Italian restaurant where Kevin’s son worked.  That was the 17^th of February, and today is the afternoon of the 20^th, the last few days I have been relaxing, playing guitar, walking in my new shoes, and writing this very piece.  On Tuesday, after mailing home some extra weight I’ve been carrying around, I’ll head south towards Yuma to cross the border into Mexico, a destination that I have long awaited.  So, until next time, readers.  

Sickness in the American Southwest

 So, I believe I left off on the afternoon of Feb 4^th, walking along Hwy 180 towards Arizona.  I walked a good 4 miles or so with traffic few and far between (which suited me just fine, as the view was just breathtaking) when finally a big white F-250 pulled up.  As I was jogging up to meet them, the lady who was in the front seat moved out and sat in the back.  I told her she didn’t need to do this, that I would be fine in the back seat, but she insisted. 

                Upon stepping up into the truck, the first thing that I noticed were two large rifles lying on the seat right beside the gearshift.  After introducing myself to Gary and Sammy, we began talking about my trip, and I told them about my plans to head west.  “Well I hope you’re not going to that Occupy bullshit,” Gary told me.  I couldn’t help but smile; although I agree with everything the Occupy movement stands for and would definitely get involved in it were I not on this trip, I just enjoy hearing the opinions of others, the more different and strong, the better.   “Oh yeah?”  I implored, hoping to get a piece of his mind, “Why is that?”  “They’ve all turned into a bunch of thugs, if you ask me,” Gary answered, “Shitting and pissing on public property, vandalizing, disrupting the peace…the thing’s just gotten out of hand.”  Well then, there I had it.  Not really having any strong feelings on the matter, or enough information to argue with, I decided to take the conversation in another direction.  “So did you come back from hunting?”  I just couldn’t help but to keep glancing down at the two rifles sitting by my leg.  “Naw, I just keep them around,” Gary told me.  Cool.  Only in the US of A do you see a thing like that, somebody just carrying two huge rifles with them, just to have them. 

                Gary dropped me off about 3 miles from the town of Springerville, AZ.  I walked all the way through town, and stopped at a convenience store to buy a candy bar.  Another thing that I just love about traveling independently is that I can do more or less whatever I like.  Not that I can’t buy candy cars back home, but usually people think that that if given a limited amount of money, or money designated for food, one would get something of substance, maybe bread, fruits, rice, or something else of that nature.  But nope, that ain’t me.  It wasn’t the case in Europe (where I spent most of my busking money on ice cream) and it’s not the case here.  And let me tell you, that snickers and whatchamacallit(?) were just delicious.  I was walking through town, when two cute girls (for once) in a silver sedan pulled up and asked if I needed a ride.   I told them I most certainly did, and that I was headed towards St. Johns (the next town up in the direction I was headed).  They seemed a bit let down.  “Oh…well, we thought you were going to Show Low, that’s where we’re headed…”  They agreed that they could take me up to the point a few miles west where the road forked.  Katie and Clarissa, both in their early 20s (I think) seemed pretty amused by my trip, and Clarissa told me about the fun she had had in Mexico when I mentioned that I was planning on going there, eventually.  They left me in at the fork and drove off with smiles, giving me a bottle of water as they left.  Just as I was standing there, putting the water in my food bag and eating a candy bar, a truck with a trailer stopped and asked, “Hey, you need a ride?”  Excellent.  I didn’t even have my thumb out.  “Yeah, I’m headed towards St. Johns” I told him.  “And then where?”  “Uh…well, probably the petrified forest, and then Painted Desert,” I replied.  “Well, you know petrified forest is almost 30 miles from St. Johns, right?”  “Yeah, I know, but I’m just saying St. John’s, cause that’s where I’m headed.”  “Cool, that’s where we’re going, hop in the back if you can find the space.”   There I was, cruising through the beautiful Arizona desert, eating a delicious snicker’s.  Life is good.  As I got out, the driver gave me directions on how to get to St. John’s. 

                As I was walking through town, I saw a police cruiser slow down and pull up beside me in the gas station parking lot that I was walking near.  He motioned for me to come over.  “How are you doing?” He asked, stepping out of the car, while talking quietly into his radio at the same time.  Just fine, I answered, a bit toasty from the sun.  “How old are you?” He continued, “you look pretty young.”  Ah, the statement that only cops, cougars, and gays tell me, “You look pretty young.”  “19,” I tell him, grinning as I usually do when cops talk to me as if I’m committing a crime.  “I suppose you’d like to see my ID?” I’m usually pretty compliant with cops, rather than rebellious;  Despite the fact that I know I’m doing nothing wrong and that they’re wasting precious time I could be using getting a ride, I’m always sort of amused when cops stop me.  Plus, it could get me a ride out of town.   “Yeah, if you don’t mind,” he replied.   After confirming that I wasn’t a runaway or have any outstanding warrants, Officer Rodriguez told me he could give me a ride out of town.  As I was opening up the back door, he said “you can sit up front, if you want.”  Indeed I did.  This was a first, and a quite pleasant one at that.  

                He left me off a few miles past city limits, on another lone desert road leading into the horizon, wishing me luck.  I walked for at least 30 minutes with just 2 cars passing by, wandering whether or not I would be walking all of the 30 miles up to Petrified Forest.   After about 45 minutes of walking, an older woman in a dodge neon pulled off to the side.  Her name was Frances, and she was heading to Holbrook, the town where she lived.  Frances was a Navajo, and warned me not to go on the Reservation, that there were too many drunks, crime, and danger not only for outsiders, but for those living there.  This stuck in my head pretty well, and I made a note not to go exploring there.  There’s a lot of warnings that I get as far as dangerous places go, and most of the time I ignore them and do what I was planning on doing anyway, but this one seemed pretty sincere.  We drove past the Petrified Forest, which (from what I saw) was nothing but a tourist shop with some cut petrified wood inside it.  Being thoroughly disappointed, I decided that I would instead go to Holbrook, Frances said that there was another store there where she would drop me off that had the very same things inside as the last one.  I checked out the store for a few minutes, and after deciding how boring all those rocks were, left towards town to look for the truck stop Frances had mentioned. 

                The truck stop ended being about 4 miles away, and the last 3 of them involved trekking through the desert, avoiding prickly, snagging plants and crossing several barbed-wire fences.  By the time I finally reached the truck stop, I was exhausted, not only in body, but my mind as well.  I just wanted to sit down, relax with a cup of decaf, charge my phone, and find a place to sleep. 

                I walked in, and after sitting down and ordering a soda (they didn’t have decaf) the server asked if I wanted anything to eat.  I told him no, that I didn’t have the money(I actually did, and usually do, but I’m cheap as hell, and usually refuse to spend money on food at an establishment when I could get it much cheaper at a supermarket, or better yet, just not spend money at all).  “Are you a hitchhiker?” he asked.  Leary about how I answered, as I hadn’t been received well in the past in saying what I was doing, I decided to say yes anyway.  “Well hey man, I tell you what,” he told me, “if you don’t mind doing some dishes or something, you can eat anything you want off the menu.”  Now THAT’S what I call good people!  I readily agreed to this, and after a conversation with my mother on the phone, I filled my stomach with ribs, soup, bread, and salad. 

Luis, the server, and Paul, the manager, were really friendly.  “When I was a kid, I hitched from Holbrook to Michigan,” Paul told me, “I know what it’s like.”  Fair enough.  I talked to them while I did dishes for 3 hours or so, and around 10, after leaving for a few minutes, Paul came back.  “Listen, I talked with the night manager, and if you want, you can crash in the lounge.  It’s always dim in there, there’s comfy couches and chairs, and a big screen TV, that way you don’t have to sleep out in the desert.”  Great!  A damn good end to the night.  Paul even packed me a bag of food for the next 2 days!  I went to sleep warm and peacefully.

I woke up to “Hey guy.  You need to get up, and move out of the area.”  Apparently this was the boss, the man Paul and Luis had said to be careful enough.  After brushing my teeth, I decided that it would be a stretch to use one of the showers, and left.  I had developed a blister from walking in the desert the day before, so again my spirits were a bit down, and I decided that I would bide by the interstate highways for a while so that I wouldn’t have to walk so much.  As I was walking 20 feet or so away from the interstate heading towards town, a truck stopped and backed up to where I was.  How fortunate I am indeed, yet another ride without even using my thumb!  David, an older native American man, was a quiet and kind.  “My greatest joys in life are working, and helping others,” he told me.  He was on his way to Denny’s to pick up some pancakes for his daughter, and while we waited for the order, drank some coffee.  See that hill over there?” David asked, pointing to a small plateau maybe 10 miles in the distance, just away from the horizon.  “I live just behind there.  It’s nice and quiet, miles from anyone else.  No electricity, just the sounds of the desert.”  “I tell you what, Ben,” he continued.  “If you’re ever passing through here again, you’re welcome to stay and rest for a few days.”  This was an offer that I’ll certainly take David up on in the future.  As we were leaving, I noticed that he used a draw-string satchel.  “I’ve always been looking for one like that, to keep change in,” I told him.  “You can have this, if you’d like,” he answered.  Not wanting to just be given something like that, I traded him my old change bag, which I hadn’t used much up to that point.  Cool!  I love trades, especially those not involving money.   I had him drop me off at the exit in Joseph City.  David had offered to take me all the way to Winslow, but had told me that it was an easy town to get stuck in, so I opted for Joseph city.  “I’ll come back here in an hour, and if you’re still here, I can give you a ride,” David told me upon leaving, “But you should already be gone by then anyways.”  After waiting damn near an hour, a pickup that already had six passengers pulled up.  “We’re going to Winslow,” the lady in the driver’s seat told me, with a serene smile on her face, all of the fairly young passengers looking at me curiously.  “Do you think I could hop in the back, then?” I asked.  “Sure!”  And off I was, cruising down the road, happy to be moving again.  They dropped me off at the exit in Winslow, which turned out to have much more traffic than Joseph City, by a long shot.  In 15 minutes or so, a big blue Buick pulled off, and Bob and Theresa, a friendly older middle-aged couple, gave me a ride to Flagstaff.  Bob told lots of stories of hitchhiking as a kid all through the US as a young man, working an awful job on an offshore oil rig in the winters, and traveling with the money for the rest of the year.  I really enjoyed there company, and along with David they really helped me to cheer up;  I had been feeling pretty down that morning, after painfully opening up the blister on my foot only to find out that it was done unnecessarily, and still carrying some of the mental burden that had been holding me down the night before. 

It turned out that I had left my cardboard sign in David’s truck, and at the gas station in Flagstaff, Bob helped me to find another one, and I ended up using an old pizza box.  The whole morning I had had the Eagles’ “Take it easy” stuck in my head, and it hadn’t even crossed my mind that I was just in Winslow, Arizona, just like in the song!  This made my morning mood even better, and I set of with my thumb out in good spirits.

I found a good corner to hitchhike from, and in just a few minutes I got a ride from a man named Kevin, who was going all the way to Phoenix.  Kevin was quite interesting to talk to;  He had travelled much of the world through the navy, had an Italian passport, had lived for several years as a Franciscan monk, etc.  What interested me the most out of Kevin was that he always seemed to take advantage of things, all of the situations he told me about, and just life in general.  I noticed it at first when he told me how, when at a port in Italy in the Navy, he had conned one of his commanding officers into letting him get a bus to tour the nation for 3 days, expenses paid for by the navy.  I was caught by his use of the word “con”, and in listening to him talk, it seemed that Kevin had indeed conned/hacked life, always working an angle, and not only taking advantage of every opportunity, but creating opportunities.  This was something that I’ve never been able to do, or even really thought about doing.  When I told him about my blister, Kevin agreed to let me stay overnight at his house in Phoenix, where we could fix up my blister, and set me off the next morning so I could get back on the road.  Just excellent.  It’s days like these when I’m sure that there is indeed a God, and he’s looking out for me.  Every single one of my rides, complete strangers, were very nice, kind people who had cheered me up, and in the end, taken care of me.  Praise the Lord. 

The next morning, I woke up feeling a bit nauseous, but I paid no mind to it.  “Hey ben, I’d like you to have these,” Kevin told me, handing me a pair of nearly unused Teva sandals.  “I haven’t used them much, and I figure you’ll put them to good use.”  Wow!  The sandals, light, sturdy, and with support, were excellent.  A better gift to a traveler would be hard to come by.  Kevin took me out to breakfast, at a bagel place.  Again, I didn’t pay much mind to it, but I barely finished the whole bagel, despite it being so delicious, because usually I can devour more food than most grown men, especially on the road.  Kevin blessed me as I left, and gave me some mementos to keep with me on the road.  We hugged, and I walked towards the on-ramp that would lead me west towards Los Angeles.  After just 20 minutes or so, a white ford sedan pulled over.  Tom and Carla, the occupants, were going all the way to LA!  I had such a strange feeling…the journey certainly wasn’t finished, but if it was, this is what it would feel like.  After weeks of travelling, with the solid direction of south and west engrained into my mind and thousands of miles of ground between myself and the coast, the destination I told people I was heading towards, I had always had a constant and simple sense of where I wanted to go.  Now, with a ride that would carry me straight there, I felt very strange, not lost, but….open? Confused? Free?  Almost like an empty canvas or something.  It’s hard to explain, but I hope you get the idea.  I called my friend Miguel, an LA resident who I met in Argentina, who had offered me a place to stay a few weeks before, on the phone.  After confirming that I could stay there, it was decided, I was going to Los Angeles!  Hooray!

On the trip there, I had been feeling sharp pains in my stomach, terribly hot, and wasn’t sure if I was going to vomit or not.  This was a problem, given that we were on a 4-hour stretch of nothing but desert between Phoenix and Quartzsite.  After the grueling ride to quartzsite, I asked them if they would be able to pull off at a rest stop, as I was feeling completely terrible.  At the rest stop, I got painfully sick, and after leaning over a toilet for probably 10 minutes or more, I left feeling completely drained, and terribly cold.  The whole ride there I was uncharacteristically quiet, feeling feverish, nauseous, and generally like complete shit.  I think Tom had heard me in the bathroom, and told me I was welcome to take a nap in the car if I wanted.  Normally I would never do this;  being given a ride for free, I feel that the least I can do is keep the driver company.  I slept most of the way there, and Tom and Carla dropped me off in Pasadena, where my friend Miguel lived.  I needed badly to rest and recuperate, and was looking forward to seeing Miguel.  He got off work at 8, and it was around noon, so I decided to pass the time reading in the park.  I still felt terrible, and the water I got from phoenix was awful, tasting like chlorine, and I only felt worse in drinking it, so I decided to walk to a convenience store to get some water and Gatorade.  I knew that the dehydration was probably the worst of my problems at the moment, causing my current fatigue. 

On my way back from the grocery store, I got a call from Miguel.  “Hey Ben, uhh, I have really bad news for you, my friend.”  I was interested, what could he have to say?  “Listen, I just got a call from my work, and I don’t think I’ll be home tonight.  I have to go work in Ventura for a couple of days.”  NOOOOO!!!!!! My stomach dropped with dread; here I was, in the middle of one of the biggest urban areas in the US, and I no longer had a place to stay!  I talked with some homeless people in the park, and they told me where both the mission and the shelter were.  I was getting a really bad vibe from the one guy, he kept telling me how I would probably end up dead here or in the desert, how many blacks and Hispanics would be happy to knife me, etc.  I decided then that I was going to leave the city before nightfall.  I took the Metro to Union Station, the main train station of LA.  On the metro, I got sick again, puking into one of my plastic bags the guys at the truck stop in Holbrook had given me.  I felt so terrible, throwing up on a Metro with a bunch of people around me.  Just one of those days, I guess. 

At Union Station, after discussing it with the very cool ticket agent, I decided that I would take a train to Needles, CA, a smaller town on the Arizona border.  The ticket was $69, by far the greatest expense of the trip (which had cost me about $10 total, up to that point).  It was expensive, but I was glad to pay it (I shouldn’t say that, I hated paying it, but I was glad to get out of the city).  On the train, I slept a lot, ate what little I could, and drank all the water I could. 

Once I had finally arrived in Needles, at almost 1am, I immediately began looking for a place to sleep.  I had originally thought to look for a place out in the desert, but the town stretched much farther than I had expected, and after an hour of walking, on top of the fatigue from my earlier bout of sickness, I was tired and frustrated.  I eventually asked a police cruiser where a good place to sleep was, and that I didn’t have the money for a motel (again, I did actually have the money, but there’s no way in hell I was going to pay for a place to sleep).  He was surprisingly kind, and told me that near the railroad tracks I could probably find a grassy spot to lay down.  I found the railroad tracks, but no grassy spot, and spent the night in the sheltered enclave of an abandoned building near the tracks. 

I woke up feeling great.  Hungry, which was good, but great.  I was glad that whatever bug had got me only lasted for 24 hours.  That morning, I headed to a Denny’s, wanting to treat myself to a cup of coffee.   I talked with some old timer’s about spots to see in the southwest, and left to go hitchhike out.  After waiting for maybe 30 minutes, a younger girl in a huge van pulled over, pushing her dog out of the front seat.  As I opened the door to put my pack in the backseat, I got a strong whiff of a certain green plant.  I knew this ride was going to be a good one.

The American Road trip, Part II

So, on the 31^st (of January), I left Katrina’s house in Baton Rouge, now prepared with clean clothes.  She dropped me off on Hwy 190 west, so I could keep a more or less linear path across Louisiana.  I had heard from one of my previous rides that Hwy 1, which cuts across Louisiana diagonally, from Grand Isle just south of new Orleans all the way to the northwest corner of the state was a really nice road to take, going along the river with many plantations and scenic views along the way.  After walking for a few miles, a big black SUV pulled alongside, and I hopped in.  The driver, Eric, was a Louisiana native who spoke with that southern drawl/Louisiana twang that I’d grown fond of in my time in New Orleans.  He was very friendly, and as we were listening to Bob Marley, told me about how beautiful the route along the false river was, and dropped me off in Livonia.  We had actually passed the intersection that lead to Hwy 1, it turned out he and I were talking about the same places, and I just hadn’t connected the dots.  I continued walking, and decided that I would cut upward at the next intersection that lead to it, so as to get to this road.  I walked quite a bit more, at least 3 miles, when a car finally pulled up.  It was a younger kid, and as I opened the door, he said:  Hey man, I’m going to Dallas…wanna go to Dallas?  The offer was just too good to refuse.  I decided to postpone my plan (for the return trip, maybe?) and catch this ride all the way to Dallas, TX.  His name was Jonathon, and he, like myself, had traveled Europe quite a bit, and hitchhiked for a decent bit of it, which caused him to pick me up.  He had lived in Prague, teaching English, and did some traveling across the continent while he was there.  It was really cool talking with another traveler, especially one close to my age.  “Damnit man, now I really want to go on a roadtrip, talking to you,” he said.  I could understand his envy; while I was working before this trip I was constantly thinking about travel.  Along the way, we passed through some storms that I was glad I missed, and we stopped at subway for lunch, giving me a chance to use one of the many gift cards I keep in my wallet ($10 subway, in this case.  I also have starbucks, AMC theaters, pizza hut, and TGI Friday)  I had him drop me off in Canton, Texas, so that I could cut around the Dallas/Ft. Worth area, as I wanted nothing to do with this massive clusterfuck of urban sprawl.  Not only do cities slow me down, but catch me in something of a bind if I get stuck in them at night.  Because of this, I usually choose to avoid them. 

I walked a mile or two out of the town, when a big black van pulled up.  It turned out to be a family of 9, the Daniels family, and were very kind.  They invited me to spend the night at their place, an offer which I gladly took up; I had lost my flashlight in New Orleans, so I didn’t much feel like hassling with setting up in the dark.  The parents, Dan and Vicky, homeschooled their kids, and had traveled quite a bit with them, having lived in southern France for 3 years, and gone to numerous places across the U.S. with them.  They fed me quite well, and later in the evening, I showed their older sons (whose room I was staying in) the realm of electronic dance music, and told them tales of the epic raves I went to in Europe.  I hope that won’t cause any damage in the future.  In the morning, I ate the best breakfast I’ve had in a long time:  oats, fruits, and honey in a bowl with cold milk, with a good cup of coffee to go with it.  Excellent.  Right after that, before they started their lessons, an young man who was staying at their house, Johnathon, dropped me off on Hwy 19, so I could cut my way around Dallas.  After walking for just a few minutes, a Gray Jeep Cherokee pulled up, with and older woman and what looked to be her daughter beside her.  The older one asked me, honestly and with a straight face, “you’re not going to kill us or anything, right?”  “No ma’am,” I answered, smiling because of how funny I found her question.  If I was, in fact, a cold-blooded killer, did she think that I would tell her?  Either way, it was funny.  She told me they were going to pick up her mother, and then would come back and pick me up, go to the bank, and then could drop me off in Athens.  When I got in, they asked, again with completely straight faces, “Do you have any guns or lethal weapons with you?”  What were they, cops?  After answering, the grandma announced, “I always carry a gun in my purse, just so you know.”  Ahh, Texans.  What a bunch.  They dropped me off in Athens, TX, and I walked maybe 2 or 3 miles when a kid in a white coupe stopped.  “Hey man, I can take you as far as Malakoff,” (the next town over) he told me.  This would work, I told him, and as I tell everyone who offers shorter rides, anything helps.  Leeroy, the driver, was quite interested in my trip, and asked lots of questions.  At the end of the ride, he asked, “Do you read much?” I told him yes, and he offered me his Bible.  I already had a bible, but took him up on his offer, trading mine for his, just for the spirit of the trade.  Just a minute or two later, a white pickup pulling out of a gas station offered to take me up to Trinidad, a quite small town that wasn’t listed on my map.  After dropping me off there and wishing me luck, the fellows left.  I walked on down a ways, maybe 3 miles or so, when a car finally pulled up.  The driver, Justin, was a really nice guy, who had traveled much in his youth, done his fair share of partying and roughhousing, but in the last decade or so had calmed down since marrying and having his daughter.  He was really nice, and bought me a really big lunch at a restaurant in Corsicana, the town where he dropped me off at.  We talked quite a bit, and he recommended several cities that were among his favorites (Austin, San Francisco, Eureka, LA) as well as telling me stories of some of the parties he had been to (back when bars sold ecstasy and LSD, legally).  He dropped me off about 6 miles out of town, for which I was grateful for, and as I was leaving, gave me a $20 bill!  After he left, as I was left out in the middle of the Texan plains, with the sun shining and the sky blue and clear, I felt as good as ever.  It’s times like that that I absolutely love what I’m doing, walking by myself on a beautiful day, in the middle of nowhere, on a long, stretching road before me, and nothing for miles.  Although it starts to lose its novelty after about 8 miles or so, I do love it. 

Anyway, after a few miles, a white truck pulled up.  The driver, a middle-aged black woman, said “I’d let you sit in the front, but I just have so much garbage up here!”  This was perfectly alright with me; sitting in the bed of a pickup in that weather sounded excellent.  After about 20 miles, I decided that from all the pickup rides from there on out, I would sit facing the rear, with my back to the back window.  The wind was just two much after more than a few miles.  I had apparently gotten some sun on the walk, and all that wind didn’t help.  When I stepped out of the truck, my face felt really tired.  I stopped at a rest stop to use the bathroom, and then continued walking.  She had left me in Hillsboro, a small town with an almost city feel because of all the businesses that had been built there because of the highway that crossed it.  I walked through the town, and as I walked passed the police station, a trooper in an SUV pulled up.  “You just passing through town?” he asked.  “Yeah,” I told him.  “Well you better not stop anywhere, or they’ll call us.”  What the hell was that?  I almost felt inclined to stop somewhere and loiter after he left, just to see.  Ass.  After walking just a few more blocks, I saw a cruiser pull up about 10 feet behind me.  I turned around, and he didn’t say anything to me, just talked into his walkie-talkie.   “Is there a problem, officer?” I asked.  “Where are you headed?” he said, responding to my question with a question.  I told him the usual deal, that I was going towards the west coast, but with no real destination.  “Well, I can take you out of town,” he told me.  I knew that he was probably telling me this just so that I would be out of his town, and since it helped me anyway, I took him up on the offer.  Being my first ride on a trip in the back of a cop car, I was pretty amused.  Although it might seem like all these encounters with the police might be a drag, it’s actually pretty amusing to me; I’m not breaking any laws, and when an officer treats me like that it sort of adds an exhilarating edge to things, knowing that I’m doing something he things is wrong, or at least not right. 

Right as officer C. Vaughn dropped me off, there was a truck pulled off to the side of the road in front of us.  As I got out of the cruiser, the driver signaled me.  Awesome!  This was officially the quickest ride of the trip, walking out of one “ride” and right into the next, just 10 feet later.  Todd, the driver, took me to a junction in the middle of nowhere where a road lead off of Rt. 22 (my road) into Clifton.  I was yet again dropped off in the middle of nowhere, this time REALLY out there, with about 13 miles between me and any town.  This time, I walked quite a bit, for several hours, before the next ride stopped, a big white Yukon with chrome rims.  I was really glad that someone had finally stopped, because the sun was REALLY starting to wear me out, and my feet were getting pretty tired.  The driver and her boyfriend asked, this time a with a little more jest than the last, if I was a “serial killer or anything” and were pretty shocked that I had come all the way from northwest PA.  They dropped me off in Meridian, and as I was walking away, the boyfriend said “It’s a damn steep hill ahead, real long, but I’m sure you can do it, if you’ve walked this far.”  The hill was really big, as it turned out, and after walking at least a mile uphill, I was pretty out of breath.  I was hungry, so I decided to eat the Snickers bar Jonathon had bought me back in Canton.  I walked for another several hours, until around dusk, when to my relief a little pickup stopped.  By this point my right shin was hurting, and my thoughts had been leaning towards setting up camp.  The driver, Tim, took me to Hamilton, a town about 30 minutes away by car.  Once in Hamilton, Tim told me there was a pretty good burger joint I could eat at.  Being frugal as I am, I had no plans of doing any such thing, but as I was leaving he gave me $7, saying “here, get yourself something good.”  What a wonderful day, such kind people!  I went in, and happily ate me a good burger.  I wasn’t actually too hungry, and didn’t want to eat too much because of the knots my stomach was in from walking hungry for so long, but hell, you only live once, I figured.  As I was leaving, a the father of a family leaving a minivan asked me, “Didi you get enough to eat?”  I told him yes, and although I could have probably eaten two more burgers, I was planning on looking for a place to sleep soon and turn down the offer.  I just love it so much when people are so generous.  After wearily walking for another mile or so, the same family pulled up and asked if there was anything they could do, or if I wanted anything.  I told them that it would be just lovely if they took me a few miles out of town so I could find a good place to sleep, and they did just that.  Good people.  That night, with the big Texas sky over my head, with a bright moon and an infinity of stars, I went to sleep at peace, happy with where I was.  The night was cold, and although I wasn’t freezing, it was just at the point of uncomfort, and I woke up at around 5:00, and decided I should pack up and leave.  I think I was sleeping on ranch property, and could hear the sounds of a farm waking up in the not-too-far distance.  Once the sun came up, the morning was thick with fog, and there was only about 50 feet of visibility in any direction.  At around 8:30, after walking for 3 hours in the fog, a car finally pulled up, a silver Toyota sedan.  Mark, an older man in his mid 50s, was heading all the way to Breckenridge, Colorado, to visit his daughter for a skiing trip.  He was a really nice man, and a newfound Christian, who was listening to bible talks on tape on his way there.  We had quite a few good talks, and around 11 he bought me lunch at McDonalds, as well as buying himself a pillow and blanket set (there was apparently no more beds at his daughter’s house).  We decided that he would drop me off in Tahoka, TX, as I didn’t want to go any further north so that I wouldn’t get caught in any cold weather (there was so in Santa Fe, where he was planning on stopping for the night). 

Tahoka was a tiny town, in the middle of endlessly flat, windy plains.  I walked out of it, along Hwy 87 south.  The weather was surprisingly cold, in the mid fifties, with a pretty solid amount of constant wind.  As I was walking, I notice something blowing by, along the road.  It was a tumbleweed!  How badass was that!  After walking for maybe 20 minutes, a white chevy jimmy pulled off to the side.  Joey, a pretty obese younger guy with Hispanic descent (I saw the tattoos along his arm and neck and asked him about it) took me to Lamesa, another small town in the middle of nowhere, this one even more so than the last one.  While walking through town with my thumb out, I noticed a guy with an ENORMOUS cowboy hat, thinking to myself, “damn, that’s a 10-gallon hat if I ever saw one.”  As it turned out, he pulled over to give me a ride.  His name was Pete, and he was a farmer who grew up in Lamesa and lived there his entire life.  What I really liked about Pete was his love for the land, and his very open, understanding personality.  I really enjoy meeting people who take pride in where they’re from.  Pete gave me a little tour of his farm, driving me through 144-acre fields of red, dusty, cultivated dirt and huge farm equipment, owned by him, his brother, and father.  When I asked him if he’d ever thought about travel, he replied:  “I just wouldn’t feel right leaving here.  I feel like I belong to this land, but the land doesn’t belong to me.”  I found that really interesting.  Pete dropped me off at another middle-of-nowhere junction, between Lamesa and Seminole.  As I was walking along, with the 30-mph wind blowing dust in my face, I couldn’t help but recall Johnny cash’s words:  “he asked me if I’d seen a road with such dust and sand and I said, listen, I’ve traveled every road in this here land…”  and thinking, here I am in western Texas, so fucking cool!  One of the things that I love about the west, is that there are such long stretches between places, and when walking in the middle of those stretches, you just feel such a profoundness, with such a big sky and huge, beautiful, pure spaces around you.  Definitely good road trip material.  In about a half hour of walking, only about 4 cars had passed me.  The fifth one, as it happened, gave me a ride.  Darrell, driving a black rental Pontiac G6, was a very fast driver.  When I glanced over at the speedometer and noticed that we were going just under 100mph, he said, “I’m in a hurry.”  Hey, whatever floats his boat; I liked the speed, it’s probably exactly what I would do if I were driving on a completely flat, straight, 12-mile stretch of road.

He dropped me off in Seminole, and while walking through the town, a lady pulled beside me and asked if I would like a ride out of town.  Almost always wanting that very thing, I gladly accepted the offer.  Casey, an attractive, younger lady who looked like a teacher and was on her way home from work, was very concerned for my safety.  “You just look so young…I just don’t want anything to happen to you…I’m sorry I couldn’t help anymore,” she said, giving me a $10 bill.  Such a nice lady!! It really surprises me sometimes how generous and good the people I meet are.  Whatever anyone says, I’m firmly convinced that the majority of people in this world are good.  I’ve met my fair share of them, and seldom see a bad person.  Don’t get me wrong, they’re certainly out there, but it’s just unreasonable for people to live in fear of others.  A few minutes later, I got a ride from some Mexican construction workers to Hobbs, New Mexico.  Yes!  I had crossed the great state of Texas, almost 1000 miles, in just 2 and a half days! 

In Hobbs, the place where they dropped me off, I was getting kind of a bad vibe about the place.  The people passing me by looked at me in a way I hadn’t seen in awhile, a kind of targeting glare that made me want to get out of the city as quickly as I could.  After maybe 2 or 3 minutes of walking, a big SUV with 3 guys in it picked me up.  Inside were Raymond, Alfredo, and Alex, and the 3 of them spoke straight “spanglish”, intermingling the two languages at least once per sentence.  “Hey man, you wanna party with us tonight?” Raymond asked me.  Not being one two turn down offers like this, even though I really didn’t feel up to it at that very moment, I accepted the offer.  The rest of the day, we spent with Alfredo filling out forms to rent a computer to do online school, Alex picking up some “cute girls” to party with (they turned out to be pretty fat and ugly, every one of them, which pissed off Ray pretty well, he ended up telling Alex that he didn’t want them in his house) and going to the grocery store to get food and drinks.  The night was spent drinking, talking, and watching TV, with different guys coming in and out of the house every hour, pretty relaxed all in all.  I didn’t drink very much though, because I planned on leaving the next morning, despite Ray’s offers to let me stay for the next couple days.  He was a really nice guy, but I just wanted to move too much.  “Common man, just stay for a few days and relax.  I’m going to my place in Juarez in a couple of days, you should come, it’ll be fun, man!” But I had to refuse.  I just get that itch to move, especially out here in the west, where there’s so much to see.

 In the morning, Ray bought me breakfast, and dropped me off at the end of town on Hwy 82 west.  I walked down the road for maybe 15 or 20 minutes, when a truck full of construction workers stopped on the side of the road.  I told them where I was headed, and although they weren’t going in the same direction, they dropped me off at the 82w/529w junction in the middle of the desert.  I walked for maybe 2 or 3 miles, when a clean silver sedan pulled over.  “How’s it going man?” Ronnie, the driver, asked.  Ronnie, 30 and balding, was a firefighter on his way to Albuquerque for a company meeting.  He was a really cool guy who had lots of questions about my trip, and we talked for quite a while on the drive.  I had him drop me off in Artesia, just 60 miles up the road, because yet again, I didn’t want to get caught in the snow that hit the northern half of the state.  While walking through town, a kid in a green car pulled up, seeing my sign that said “west,” asked “how far west you going, man?”  I told him that I was headed to the west coast.  “Well…I can take you to 26^th street, if you want” Joey, a darker skinned boy of mixed heritage, ended up taking me about 2 miles outside of Artesia, which turned out to be much bigger than I had expected it to be. 

Yet again, there I was, on a desolate damn road, in the middle of the desert (high desert, to be exact, because of the altitude) with cars coming only once every 10 minutes or so.  After maybe 30 or 40 minutes of walking, a big Suburban stopped.  Inside were Robert and Robert Junior, both who had grown up on the open, rolling desert hills of this part of New Mexico.  They were going all the way to Alamogordo, which was just great, it being all the way past the large mountain range that I wasn’t looking forward to having the possibility of getting caught in the middle of.  I really enjoyed listening to them talk about the land, having been there more or less their entire lives.  The ride to Alamogordo was stunning.  We passed by enormous, beautiful landscapes of rolling hills, flat plains, cliffs and canyons, and the mountains, which were full of pine forests, snow, cold winds, and beautiful views.  They dropped me off in Alamogordo, A small city that stretches on for several miles, visible from far up in the mountains.  After walking down the road for a few minutes, an old yellow pickup with two older guys, hippies by the sound and looks of them.  They offered to take me to Tularosa, the next town along the road. 

They dropped me off past a rail bridge outside of town, and I walked there for quite awhile, enjoying the heat and the beautiful view.  The dirt here had a kind of orangish hue, and the train tracks running alongside it, along with the mountains far off to both the North and South, made for a beautiful view.  After several miles of walking, someone finally stopped, this time an older ford ranger. 

Jay, a middle-aged man with graying long hair and sunglasses, and his dog Chance, were just riding around, looking for a good place for Chance to run around for a little while in the desert.  We finally found a good place, on a dirt road a few miles off of the main road, Hwy 54N.  As Chance was stretching his legs, Jay and I each had a beer, and he told me about his travels in the navy, around the world, and his various trips around the country.  Ray was a really cool guy, very informational, who sort of reminded me of my Uncle Bill in the way he talked and what he had to say.  Jay offered to take me all the way to Socorro, which was great for me; this would mean that I wouldn’t have to mess with the interstate that cut from San Antonio to Socorro.  We stopped several times along the way for scenic views and piss breaks, each time Ray offering me another beer, and drinking one himself.  After the first beer, I declined the rest, because I was in no need for a buzz, and the beer would only dehydrate me and make me have to piss lots on down the road.  On down the road, on the way from Carrizoso to San Antonio, awhile after dusk we saw police lights down the road. “There’re my brothers” Ray said, about 5 beers in.  As we got closer, the dread set in, and was confirmed only after it was too late.  We saw a sign saying “DWI ENFORCEMENT CHECKPOINT.”  “Shit!” Jay muttered, “I’m fucked…”  It turned out that that was indeed the case.  As soon as he rolled down his window, the police officer that asked him for his documents asked him to pull off the road.  He was taken out of the car and tested for at least 20 minutes, while I waited.  Next thing I knew, I saw Jay driving away in the back seat of a police cruiser with its lights flashing.  I felt really bad, he had gone out of his way to get me this far, only to get a DWI, something devastating for one’s record.  The policemen were pretty nice to me, and accommodating, after I had given them my ID and confirmed that I had not, in fact, drank anything while I was with Jay (ha ha, yeah I know).  They had a heater where I could warm up my hands, and I talked with them for a bit until the tow truck came to take away Jay’s truck.  I ended up getting a ride with the tow truck driver to Socorro (oh, the irony!), and he helped me find a spot near the highway where I could sleep.  I ended up sleeping between a big pile of dirt laid down by NMDOT and a big ridge, protected from the wind coming from the east and north. 

I was still very cold that night, and didn’t sleep very well.  I ended up waking up at about 3:45 in the morning, and although I was still kind of tired, I got up because I was so cold and just wanted to warm up.  I walked to the town of Socorro (obviously dead at that hour) and looked around, trying to find a place to warm up and charge my phone, which had gone dead in the night.  I ended up plugging it into an outlet on the outside wall of a convenience store, and sat there in the dark for 45 minutes or so while it charged.  When police cruisers started to patrol the town, I decided it was high time to leave, and make my way to Hwy 60 west, where I wanted to get to so I could get all the way to Arizona. 

On my way a few miles outside of town, I decided to go underneath a highway bridge out of the wind and finally try out the camp stove I had made at home out of two soda cans; I could sure use some hot food to warm my bones on that cold morning.  I heated up a can of spaghetti-Oh’s that my mother had packed me when I left home.  The stove worked great, albeit a bit more fiery than when I had tested it at home.  Regardless, it heated the can of spaghetti-oh’s excellently, and I enjoyed the meal very much.  I finished up around 6:30, just as the sun was beginning to shine its light on the land, and began walking again.  The road had almost no traffic, and luckily after just 3 or 4 cars one stopped, a small black Honda civic packed full of stuff.  Josephine, a middle-aged woman with dark, frizzy hair, was headed to visit her daughters after leaving her boyfriend with whom she had been having some troubles.  Josephine was good conversation company, very interesting and kind to talk with on the long drive.  She was headed to Reserve, a tiny town about 170 miles from Socorro.  On the way, we passed VLA, a field of radar-looking dishes that turned to follow the sun, featured in many a Sci-Fi movie (Contact, encounters of the third kind, etc.)  Once we got to her daughter’s house, we sat for awhile and watched TV, talking.  After about 30 minutes or so, Josephine took me back on the road, and dropped me off at a “Y” between Hwy 12W and 180N, about 7 miles out of town.  I walked for a few miles up the mountain road, which was a positively beautiful road, winding, with pines, reddish-tan dirt, and a beautiful view of the snowy mountains ahead.  Although that was on Feb. 4 and today is the 5^th, I simply must end this piece here for now, I’m simply too tired to write more and I have to get up early (5am) tomorrow to get dropped off by the man whose house I’m staying at right now.  So, readers, until next time.