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.