Sky-High checkpoints and lots of Burritos

Baton Rouge, LA March 1, 2011



So, when I left off a little over a week ago, I was in Phoenix, AZ, planning on heading for Mexico. On the last two days of my stay with Kevin, he tried very persistently to convince me not to go to Mexico. Getting robbed, killed, left for dead, etc, were among his arguments. Don’t get me wrong, many, many people have tried to convince me not to go to Mexico. But, none of those people were Kevin, probably very few had traveled as much as him, and probably very few knew as much as him. I know, his arguments may or may not have been unreasonable, but regardless, they got to my head. As I walked out of his door, I decided that I would instead change plans and cross the country again and head for Florida. Maybe there, I could catch a ferry or something to Puerto Rico or the Dominican Republic. Either way, I planned seriously on doing it. So, rather than heading to Gila Bend and then to Yuma like I was planning, I made my way to the southern side of Phoenix so I could catch a ride to Tucson and work my way back across the country to Florida on the 22^nd.

As I made my way walking along the street parallel to the interstate 10 as it cut through the city, a guy in his 20s driving a white truck pulled over. “Hop in the back man, I can take you as far as Sky Harbor,” he told me. I didn’t know where that was, but after confirming with him that that was in the direction I wanted to go (I had a sign that read “south” so he already knew it was in the direction I was going, but I didn’t) I headed out. He dropped me off just a few meters from the nearest on-ramp going in my direction, and was off.

After waiting for nearly an hour to no avail at that spot, I decided it was in my best interests to walk farther south to the next on-ramp. There, there might be a bigger focus of traffic, and I might have better odds of getting a ride out of the city. This was indeed the case, and after finally making my way to the ramp and waiting for just a few minutes, a green Toyota Prius “Discount Taxicab” pulled over. As soon as I opened the door, I told the driver that I didn’t have any money. “Yes yes, das okay, I onry take you tree mile,” the driver told me. Excellent! He apparently didn’t want to talk much, and acted a bit strange, just driving silently (this isn’t the first time an asian driver has acted as such upon picking me up, and I’m not sure why). He dropped me off where he said I would, and I made my way to the on-ramp leading back onto I-10. I waited there for quite a while, more than an hour I think, wishing for a ride, baking in the sun, counting cop cars, fast cars, and cars I thought would pick me up (these are usually the things I do/think about when I’m waiting for a ride) when finally a lady in a big black Toyota Tundra yelled from the stoplight, “Hop in the back, hurry!” I did just that, and hopped in the bed of the truck.

I was pretty cramped, and she actually had lots of stuff in there, something covered with a tarp and bungied down, leaving only a little hole for my pack and food bag; I had to sit on top of the tarp. As she started to accelerate, I thought to myself, “is this legal? It’s certainly not safe…” She went down the on-ramp a little bit, and then pulled over and stopped, getting out of the truck. “Sorry I had you stuffed in the back like that, I just didn’t want to hold up traffic. I can take you up to where I-10 meets I-20,” she told me as I sat in the front seat, everything finally situated. She said it as though it were only a few stops away, but the point she mentioned was east of El Paso, TX, nearly 600 miles away! Nice! Tina, the driver, was actually on her way to visit her husband in Huntsville, ALA, and in the cab of her truck she had 3 cats (caged), and two dogs (one of which was caged), so it was fun, fun. Tina had worked for Boeing before, but now was unable to work because of a car injury that had left her disabled, needing a cane to walk.

A little while after we had passed Tucson, my thoughts began returning to Mexico. Glancing at my map, seeing the country and Central America beneath it, beconing me, I thought “Damn, this is just too big to miss…” I had Tina drop my off on Hwy 191, that led straight to the border at Douglas, AZ. The road was pretty desolate, going straight in the horizon, with little traffic. Just me, the mountains in the distance, and the desert, with all of its spiky brush. I was happy.

After walking for maybe a half hour or so, a truck finally pulled over. Ralph, the driver, was heading to Sunsite, a town about 20 miles down the road. I was a little perturbed by the fact that Sunsite wasn’t on my map, leading me to wander how many more small towns like this stood between me and the border. Ralph was a pretty cool guy, and told me that Agua Prieta, the Mexican town that was on the other side of the border, was actually a city of about 300,000 people. This also irritated me; on my map, Agua Prieta was shown as just a dot with the smallest of print, just the same as numerous other small towns stateside that I had passed through that didn’t have more than a thousand inhabitants. Whatever, I thought, I’ll just try and book it through there. He dropped me off around dusk, at a small convenience store, and I continued making my way, walking down 191. After it was good and dark and I had long since made my way out of the city, an old chevy pickup pulled over. Terry, the driver, told me he could take me a few miles down the road, about 15 miles north of Elfrida. I didn’t get any more rides for a little while, and after walking a few more miles down the road, I decided that going to sleep was an excellent idea. I set up mini-camp (my sleeping mat, sleeping bag, pack, and food bag, with my shoes lying somewhere close by) beside a big bush, so that at least something was separating me from the road, in case I woke up after dawn. The sky was so big in that desert, and the stars were brilliant, giving me a clear view of the milky way stretching across the heavens. It was beautiful.

I’m not sure what the temperature was that night, but it was cold. When I woke up that night, all my stuff was covered in frost, and my bottles of water were half-frozen. I quickly packed up, shivering like a madman, and set out walking down the road.

Like most mornings, it was slow, and I walked at least 5 miles (there were markers to tell me this) before I got a ride. Rob, the driver, was heading to Elfrida. He was a pretty cool guy who looked like your typical modern-day cowboy, with his hat, boots, denim shirt and jeans, driving a muddy Dodge Ram. He dropped me off at the local convenience store/gas station, and after brushing my teeth, I was walking down the road again.

I walked just to the end of town (about 50 feet away) when a white VW pulled over. Inside were Adam and Mary, and they agreed to take me all the way to Douglas. Adam worked for Vision Quest, a company that worked helping wayward youths by doing several-week programs involving things like wagon trains, trail hikes, and other outdoor activities of the type. They were pretty interesting people to talk to, and when they dropped me off at the Wal-Mart in Douglas, Mary even gave me two chocolate-chip cookies! After I left, I went into the Wal-Mart and bought some bread with the change I had, since it wouldn’t be of much use to me in Mexico. After that, I walked across the border. As I was crossing through the american side, the Customs and Border Patrol agents told me how dangerous it was (the guy I was talking to had never actually been to Mexico) and how crazy I was to be going. Hearing this coming from them, I walked across the border with an even bigger smile on my face.



Mexico was pretty much how I imagined it to be. Dry and dusty as hell, a lot of kids and old guys just chillin’ in the street, guys trying to sell candy, lots of stores, and the usual border tourism. Still, I didn’t really feel comfortable hanging around in the border town, given all the advice I’d gotten from others, the news, the US department of state, etc. After confirming with some kids in which direction the highway leading out of town was, I headed in that direction, and stuck out my thumb. Once I actually got to the road and walked a few feet, a beat pickup truck with two guys pulled over. After telling them where I was going, they agreed to take me out of town, to a gas station where they figured it would be easy for me to hitchhike. Once we were there, I talked with them about each of the roads (I had two choices, Hwy 2 and 17) and which one they thought I would like the best. After deciding upon Highway 17, a two-lane road that passed through several small towns, I was on my way, and began walking in that direction. After walking for a few miles, a beat-looking Ford Bronco pulled over. Reynaldo, the driver, told me that he could only take me a little bit down the road, because he didn’t have enough gas. That was fine by me, I was getting pretty hot walking in that sun. While we were driving, Reynaldo said that if I liked, we could go to his house for a glass of water. Although it took some thought (I really wanted to just jet south, and get as far from the border as I could in a day) I decided that I would take Reynaldo up on his offer. Reynaldo had a ranch that he lived in by himself, and he worked training horses to do tricks for shows for a living.
Inside, Reynaldo’s house was pretty clean, and bare. Apart from a table and some chairs, the only other things that I saw in the small house was food. “Are you hungry? Do you want to eat anything?” Reynaldo asked, probably noticing me eying up the tortillas that were lying on the table. “Yeah, some food would be great” I told him. Although I wasn’t really too hungry, the fact that I didn’t have a single Mexican peso, and receiving some of the Mexican hospitality that I had read about made me say yes to the offer for food. Also, on the road, I can pretty much always eat, and a LOT. He whipped me up some tortillas with eggs and hot dog bits to go with them. I ate until I was full, and after talking with Reynaldo a bit more, I told him I figured I’d head on my way. He escorted me to where the road started, and after many good-byes and thank-you’s, I was off. After walking down the road for a half hour or so (the road didn’t have very much traffic at all, I think maybe 10 cars passed me in all that time) a white pickup pulled over. I jogged up to the truck, tossed my pack in the bed, and we were off.

Inside were Hector and Alexandro. They were both really cool, enthusiastic guys, and were very interested in my trip. “I tell you what man,” Hector said to Alexandro, “an American, traveling around the world like that, and even speaks Spanish….that’s pretty badass…” They were both really cool, and I enjoyed the ride a lot. They told me about the towns I would pass through on that road, all the cool places to see in Mexico. On the way to where they were going (I didn’t know) we stopped at what seemeed to be a convenience store. Inside was lots of groceries, some trinkets, cowboy boots, belts, and in the back a room where there were some ladies cooking. We went there, and Alexandro ordered some food, and gave me lots of burritos and tamales. What great people! After talking some more, Alexandro and Hector drove me down the road a decent ways more before dropping me off where they were going to turn (they were going to see some dinosaur fossils at a mine, they invited me to come with them, but I wanted to get as far as I could before dusk). I walked a little ways up the road, just a few feet, when another truck stopped for me. The driver, David, said he could take me as far as Nacozari (another town not on my map, which does Mexico no justice at all). He didn’t talk much, but he offered me some of the food he had. (so how about that? I enter Mexico with no money at all, and my stomach has been good and full for all of my time here!

As I was walking through the small town, a guy at a car mechanic beckoned me over. I walked over, and he offered me some water, and even gave me another empty bottle (500mL) to hold more water in! I thanked him profusely, and was on my way. The road was becoming extremely windy, dropping off a few hundred feet on one side and with towering peaks on the other. It was hilly, and the sun was hot, but it was beautiful. I walked for a few minutes, when what do you know, a white pickup pulls over! I don’t know the driver’s name, or even where he was going, but he took me pretty far down the road. He told me to be really careful in Mexico, that it was easy to have fun, but to watch my back. Duly noted. We stopped at a restaurant in the middle of nowhere, and he suggested that I might be able to find a ride inside (there was a parked semi outside). Usually, or at least in the U.S., although this would seem logical and many people think truckers give lots of rides, it’s actually not at all the case. Anyway, I went in to the restaurant, which felt more like a home. Inside were maybe 3 ladies, all cooking, and a guy sitting at a large table, the only one in the place. After finding out that he was the driver, I asked him if he’d be able to give me a ride south, towards Hermosillo. Sure enough, he said it would be fine. So, I sat down and relaxed for a bit while he ate. Lots of drivers came in and out of the little restaurant, and were curious as to what a white kid with an enormous backpack was doing there (“Does he speak Spanish?” “Can he understand us?”)

About 45 minutes later, we were off. The driver, Miguel, was a pretty quiet guy. He was very nice, and asked me about my family, if I kept in touch with them, and what my plans for my “adventure” were. I didn’t realize how far Hermosillo actually was from where we were (again, thanks a lot map) and we didn’t get there until around 9pm (we left the restaurant at around 4). Also, although getting a ride with a truck that was going so far seemed like a good idea at first, I realized my folly: we were going SO slow. The truck, which was hauling two huge tanks of corrosive material, crawled its way through the mountains, sometimes going as slow as 10 mph. Even on straight roads, we never went faster than 45 or 50 mph. Would I have stuck to cars, I probably would have made much better time. Still, I felt easy with Miguel’s company, which was important. That’s the only thing with Mexico: although the people were really nice and the hitchhiking was good, I never really had peace of mind, which is a damned important thing.

We stopped about 60 miles before Hermosillo so that Miguel could sleep some, and he arranged for another trucker to take me all the way to Hermosillo (again, this has literally never happened to me anywhere else). Once the truck arrived, I said my goodbyes to Miguel, and continued on my path south. My next driver, whose name I can’t recall, wasn’t quite as nice as Miguel, but I was okay with that, he had agreed to take me all the way to Hermosillo. This guy was a lot harder to understand than Miguel, and he didn’t seem terribly fond of repeating himself. He also made it clear that he was going out of his way to give me a ride, and although he was going farther (in the same direction I was going), he would only take me to Hermosillo. After driving for a bit, I noticed some movement from the back of the cab. I looked behind me, only to discover that there was a man sleeping there! All this time, and I hadn’t even noticed that there was another person in the truck! We stopped at a small town a few kilometers down the road so that they could switch places.

Luis, the second driver, was a bit warmer than his co-worker. He asked a lot about my trip, and seemed pretty cool. He told me that if I wanted, I was welcome to ride with him all the way to Guaymas, a ways farther down the coast. I would have loved to, but I was exhausted by that time, it wouldn’t be till around 11 that we would arrive in Hermosillo. So I told him that I’d be fine getting off at Hermosillo. We decided that he would let me off at a restaurant about 20 kilometers south of Hermosillo, out in the countryside, since I had zero desire to be dropped in the middle of a big city (Alexandro had told me Hermosillo was about half the size of Phoenix) in the middle of the night, especially in this country. After he dropped me off, I found a good place to sleep under a nearby bridge.

The next morning, I woke up thinking “I need to leave. Now.” I had to either jet south, or turn around and head back across the border. I can’t fully explain why I felt this way, though I really don’t need to. Although Mexico treated me excellently, I just didn’t feel comfortable, especially in cities. Something was telling me, urging me to leave, maybe it was God, maybe it was my instincts, who knows. Either way, I listened. I decided that I would head back north, and make a mad dash for the border. It was set.

I didn’t have to wait long on the pull-off opposite to the restaurant before a truck pulled over, a red Ford Ranger. Inside were two older guys, who were heading to Hermosillo. They were really cool, another set of guys enthused about seeing an American who spoke Spanish in Mexico. The driver had a son who loved traveling like I do, hitchhiking everywhere, and the passenger had a son who was living in Ottawa, studying and working. They dropped me off at the corner where they were turning off, and I headed into the city.

I hadn’t forgot what Alexandro had told me about the size of Hermosillo, but I suppose I just didn’t take a lot of thought to it when I was actually in the middle of the city. There were several signs that gave directions to Nogales (the border town south of Tucson), which is where I decided I would cross the border, since it was a straight shot on Highway 2 from Hermosillo to Nogales, albeit a far one. I walked, and walked, and walked. After walking for maybe an hour, a truck finally pulled over. I never caught the man’s name, but he was really quite nice. “Hey man, are you in a hurry?” he asked me. I told him no, I guess out of habit, although as soon as the word came out of my mouth I realized that I actually was in a hurry. “Well, if you’d like, I have some work I’d really like a hand with back at the house, if you helped me for an hour or two, I could pay you 100 pesos, breakfast, too.” This was an excellent offer, and under different circumstances, I definitely would have taken him up on it. But, due to my rush to get back stateside, I had to decline, and had him drop me off at his turnoff. I walked for several more hours, and the city seemed to stretch on forever. The trouble was, the way the road was built, hitchhiking was really difficult. There wasn’t really any shoulder at all, but rather sidewalk right alongside the road, that was raised up with the curb. This meant that it would be extremely difficult for anybody to stop and pull over, especially with all the fast-moving traffic. At somewhere around noon, a kid coming out of the University pulled over, thankfully. “Hey man, I saw you as I was on my way to the school, but I didn’t want to pick you up if I was just going to drop you off right after.” Sergio, just a year older than me, was on his way to a conference. Then came the question: “hey man do you like to smoke weed?” Ahh, the infamous question. I do, in fact, although seldom, almost never. I’m well aware of the legalities of this, but I’ll go out on that limb to give you readers a good story, and the fullest truth I’m willing to tell. As far as substances go, I’m generally not big on marijuana, how much it clouds up my mind, destroys my awareness to what’s outside of my direct attention, and makes any deeper though process more complicated. Generally, I find being sober to be much more rewarding than the effects of any drug or substance, and am quite against dependence on ANY substance. But that day, I was feeling very stressed and a little down, so I answered Sergio’s question. “Yeah man, for sure.” “Nice!” he exclaimed, “you wanna go back to my place and smoke? I can drop you off afterwards.” “Sure, sounds good man,” I told him.

Sergio lived in what appeared to be a pretty nice apartment complex. It was gated, and the buildings were all nice and clean. Inside, Sergio’s apartment was pretty bare. Apart from a couch and the table, the only other thing that I noticed was the bong sitting on the table. We sat down, and I guzzled several glasses of water as we talked. Sergio was a really cool kid, pretty enthusiastic, open minded, and like most of the people I meet, curious about my trip. “So what do you do for food, man? Where do you sleep?” he asked me as he prepared the bong. We each took a hit, and a few minutes later, boom. I immediately regretted the decision. I felt lethargic as hell, and just wanted to rest for awhile on Sergio’s couch. This wasn’t possible, since he had to leave soon for his conference, and I needed to get across the border as soon as I could. Whatever, the deed was done. Sergio and I had some fun laughs, and then he dropped me off about 20 kms outside of town, which was great. As I was walking, my head still deep in a cloud, I thought to myself “Hell, this isn’t bad at all…” The weed definitely helped take the edge off of the sun’s heat, and my pack didn’t feel quite as heavy. Plus, I wasn’t fretting out so much about leaving. Well there you go, medical marijuana at its finest!

I walked for a ways until I came to a gas station/mini fair/motel, where I walked through the parking lot. A few meters away, a vender yelled to me asking if I was hungry. “Yeah, but I don’t have any money!” I told him. “No problem man, for you, it’s free!” he yelled back. Excellent! I walked up, panting perhaps unnecessarily. “Thank you so much! It’s so hot out…” I told him, trying my best to sound like a weary traveler who needed the food. “No problem, it’s free!” he said, and handed me 5 burritos, wrapped in cellophane. Hell yeah! I thanked him some more, and was off. After walking a ways, I realized that it would be more advantageous to just stand at the exit of the place. There, cars were coming out of the place, driving slowly, and they could see me clearly.

In probably less than a minute, a white van pulled over to pick me up. The driver’s name was Francisco, and his van was full of cell phones. Because of this, I had to fit all of my stuff up front. He was a really fun guy, and I enjoyed talking and joking with him. The ride seemed to last for quite a long time, either from the weed or from the actual distance, or both. On the way we came across a checkpoint. Here, the Policia Federal asked Francisco what was in the back, looked through it, and after some small talk (apparently Francisco made this run so often that he knew the guards by name) we were back on our way. Francisco told me that there would be six (!) more checkpoints until he reached his destination in Puerto Penasco.

At the second checkpoint, I was asked to get out, and put my backs through an x-ray scanner. Although I had nothing to hide, I was a bit nervous, still being completely blazed from Sergio. After scanning my belongings closely, the guard let me off, wishing me a “buen viaje!” So, I got back in Sergio’s van, and we were off. We zipped through the next check point, and before long we were in Santa Ana, where Sergio would let me off. “Common man, come with me to Puerto Penasco! You’ll love it!” Sergio offered. A few days in the little town on the coast of the Baja Peninsula, surely couldn’t be a bad idea….Still, something in me made me refuse the offer, I just had to get across the border. Another time, another day. Mexico would always be there. I walked through the small town of Santa Ana, trying unsuccessfully to hitchhike straight out of the town. So, I just kept walking, out of the town, and into the mountains. Before long, another big white van pulled over. When the van pulled over, I could see at least 4 people inside, and wandered how much room there could be. Once I got inside, I saw that there were already 7 people inside! Still, it was a pretty big van, and there was room for me. The people inside were from the Hermosillo Church of God, and after preaching to me a bit (most Christians do, but I enjoy seeing the presence of God on the road, I find it comforting) they offered me some food, more burritos! What a country, Mexico. It turned out that they were going to Agua Prieta, which was perfect, because I could cross the border there. They took me all the way to the border fence, and after many thank-you’s and God-blesses, I was off, and eagerly made my way toward the border.

The customs agent seemed pretty amused that I come all the way from Hermosillo, hitchhiking. I enjoy talking to the Law about my trip, maybe because so few of them would ever do anything of the type, and I guess their different opinions add some color to the whole thing. After telling him that I had just clothes and food in my bag, I was out! Success!!!!

It was a great relief to be back across the border, especially before dusk. I felt like I could relax and really breathe again. I got a ride in just a few minutes, from a white-haired man driving a minibus. When I went to get in the passenger seat, the front door was locked. “You can just get in the back,” he told me. Fair enough. So I sat in the incredibly spacious back of the van. “I hope you have time to stop by the little town of Bisbee,” he told me. I’d never heard of the place, and didn’t really have much of a schedule, so, off to Bisbee!

“It’s a really neat little arts town,” Michael began, telling me a little about the town. “It started out as a mining town, in the 1970’s and ‘80’s, a lot of hippies moved in from California. Now, a lot of traveling people come through here. I think you’ll really like it.” Michael continued, “So do you speak Spanish?” I told him I did, and he lit up. “Oh, how interesting! I tell you what Ben, I’ll give you my card.” Michael also ran a non-profit education organization teaching impoverished kids and the poor, many of which were Mexican, how to use the internet, among other things. “If you ever want something to do, just give me a call,” he told me. Good offer, I like things like that. As we were cruising through the town, I noticed some tents set up, perched up on a hill right in the middle of town. “See, there’s a little camping spot you could use up there,” Michael told me. “Is it free?” I asked. “Oh, yeah, nobody will mind,” he said. I was beginning to like this town already! He left me on the main street of Bisbee, and went on his way. The town looked pretty interesting, with very old, old-west looking buildings built on a hill, with all sorts of posters all over the place, advertising music, art shows, political opinions, and things of the like. I sat down on a bench to eat the burritos I still had from Mexico for dinner.

After I finished eating, I took a look around the small town of about 5,000 people (just my size!). As I was walking past, I saw a little restaurant with a “HELP WANTED” sign on the window. I went inside, and asked who I could talk to about the sign. The waitress directed me to David, who was apparently the manager. He should my hand and introduced himself. “David, nice to meet you. I saw your sign outside, and was wandering if I might be able to do some dishes or something for a cup of coffee?” I asked. “Well, I’ll tell you what, Ben,” he continued. “I think I can spare you a cup of coffee.” Excellent! I took a seat and relaxed, taking in the atmosphere of the restaurant and studying my road atlas, deciding where I would head to next. As I was sitting, absentmindedly listening to a guy at the bar talking to a couple with a baby. “So do you have a baby?” He asked jokingly, turning to me. “Nope, just my house,” I told him. “Excellent,” he said, chuckling, “I’ll be over to talk with you in a minute.” He went back to his conversation, and I looked back to my map. As the waitress brought over my coffee, I thanked her, and sipped it for a few minutes, now having moved on to reading some out of my Bible. “Excuse me sir, how old are you?” The guy with the baby asked me, and I turned to him. “21,” I said, “for all intents and purposes.” “For all intents and purposes?” he asked, continuing: “Well, if you have ID to prove it, I’d love to buy you a beer.” I obviously didn’t, and we talked for a little bit. I told him about my trip, and that I had just come from Mexico less than an hour ago. “Well, are you hungry?” he asked. I told him sure I was, that I always was. “Well, pick yourself out something from the menu, it’s on me.” I thanked him profusely. “No, no, it’s no problem. I saw you sitting with your pack, and figured you could use something to eat.” Well I’ll be damned, this was turning out to be quite the nice little town! I talked with him for a few more minutes, until he, his wife and child eventually left.

Once I was the only customer in the restaurant, the waitress asked me, “Do you still want to do some dishes?” I told her I did. “We’re really short-staffed,” she continued, “and the cook and I have to do all the dishes. If you do tonight’s dishes, I could pay you.” Hell yeah! I finished eating my sandwich that the guy and bought me. “Take your time,” she told me. “Drink some more coffee, relax. Whenever you’re ready, you can start on the dishes, Mike will show you what to do.” So I did just that. Bursting full of food from my two dinners and the cups of coffee, I followed Mike, the cook, into the back. There wasn’t too much dishes, and in an hour or two, I had them finished. Mike gave me $10 for my work, and after that, I hung out beside the bar for awhile, talking with the manager. “Listen, man,” David told me, “I want you to pick out something from the menu. Anything you’d like.” I told him I had just eaten quite a bit. “No, you so you can pack it up, for later.” Fair enough. A half hour or so later, I walked out of the restaurant, chicken-bacon sandwich and Caesar salad in hand, happy as could be.

I talked for a little bit with a guy outside of a bar who saw my pack. He said he knew some people in the “little Mexican town of Nacozari” (where I had just passed through the day before) who could hook me up with a place to stay. I wasn’t really interested in the offer, good though it was, having just high-tailed it out of there a few hours ago. We talked for a little while more, and I decided that I would go check out those tents that I had seen on the way into town, they were just a few buildings away.

There, I found a guy who was apparently staying there. After talking with him, he told me it would be perfectly fine if I camped out there. As it turned out, the tents were there for an “Occupy” movement. This humored me quite a bit, as Bisbee seemed to be pretty much the most liberal, far-out small town in the state of Arizona. Either way, I’m all for the Occupy movements, and in this case, it suited my purposes (free camping) perfectly. There was even a fire to warm up by! The guy, who after giving up selling drugs couldn’t find a way to pay off his house mortgage, was now living out of a tent. Personally, I think this might have been the reason he set up this “Occupy chapter.” Either way, it was fine by me, and apparently the Bisbee town council as well. I talked with him for quite a while, until almost midnight, when we both decided we would hit the sack.

I woke up with the sun the following morning. Not really feeling like waiting for him (he said he would show me around the town, where I could get some meals and clean up if I liked) I decided that I was going to leave the town of Bisbee for another day, and walked out of the town. As I was making my way towards Hwy 80, I saw a sign that read “NO HITCH HIKING” at the end of town. Huh. This lightened my mood up a bit, and I continued walking towards the highway where I planned on hitching a ride out of town.

One thing that I hadn’t taken much thought to upon leaving was the fact that I was quite low on water, having only about half a quart remaining. This wasn’t a dire problem, but it could be 10 miles down the road, and I decided that if I didn’t get a ride in 2 hours, I would turn around, and refill back in Bisbee. This wasn’t the case, and after walking maybe a mile or two down the road, a yellow pickup pulled over. When I walked up to it, I saw that there was a family of 4 inside, so I sat in the bed. After a minute or so, we stopped, and the mother got out of the passenger seat. “Honey, you don’t have to sit back there if you don’t want to. I’d be glad to sit with the kids in the back so that you can sit up front.” I told her that she didn’t have to, that I was alright in the back, but she insisted, so I sat up front. The couple’s names were Larry and Tracy, and they were heading to Sierra Vista, where they could drop me off at near the gas station, on the corner with Hwy 90, where I would continue making my way towards the interstate.

After brushing my teeth and filling my water bottles, I headed out along Hwy 90. In just a few minutes, a white Chevy avalanche pulled over. “We’re headed for Tucson,” Theresa, sitting in the passenger seat beside her mother, Judy, who was driving, told me. I told them that I’d just get off at the interstate, since I was headed in the other direction. They left me at a Love’s right near the intersection where I was going to try and get a ride. After saying their goodbyes, I headed out. As I was walking down the parking lot towards the road, I heard, “Where are you going?” I turned to see a girl who was maybe in her early 20’s, sitting next to a beat pickup with a cardboard sign on it that said “OUT OF GAS.” “Towards Florida,” I told her. “Oh yeah? We’re going the other way, we’re from Mobile [Alabama].” She continued, “We’re doing the same thing you are, but we have a truck. Well, good luck!” I wished her the same, and walked out to the on-ramp. I always enjoy seeing kids traveling, and it reminds me that there’s plenty more like me across the country.

I waited for nearly an hour at the on-ramp before a Buick Riviera pulled over. The driver got out to open the trunk for me to put my pack in. “Where are you headed?” he asked me. “Florida,” I answered. “Well you’re in luck, my friend,” he continued, “take a look at the plates.” I did just that, seeing that they read “NORTH CAROLINA.” Fuck yeah! I got in, and we were off. Bill, the driver, was a really cool guy. Now in his 50’s, he had been in the military for most of his life, and traveled much of Europe and the far east through it. Now, he worked for IBM. We were cruising down the highway at 85 mph, and sharing travel stories, when I told him about Mexico, about high-tailing out, hitchhiking and going through all those checkpoints blazed the day before. “Check it out, man,” he told me, “I have a joint in the back for us before we cross the Texas border. You in?” Hmm….Long ride through the boring, stretching desert of southern New Mexico and Texas….why not make things a little more interesting? I accepted the offer. We stopped at a rest stop in New Mexico for lunch (I finished the salad that I had gotten the day before) and continued on our way. Bill was a really fun guy to talk to, and I think I couldn’t have had much better company for the ride. He would stop in Bryan, TX for the night at a friend’s place for the night, and then leave for North Carolina in the morning. He agreed that he would drop me off there, in Bryan.

As we were driving, we began to discuss the border patrol checkpoints in Texas. “Yeah man, I was originally going to bring a serious chunk of grass for my friend in Bryan,” he told me. “I was talking about it with a buddy of mine on the phone when he told me, ‘don’t do it dude! There’s some rough checkpoints in Texas, you’d be better off just to bring a joint and smoke it in New Mexico, so it’ll last you through like half the state of Texas.’ So, I did just that. I mean, worst case scenario, we have a little weed left as we come up to the checkpoint. I’ll just swallow the joint, and wash it down with some Pepsi. ‘Hello officer, how are you today?’” He said, impersonating the border patrol agent. I found this to be INCREDIBLY funny, and was laughing for a solid 20 minutes. We go back to talking again about other things, and sure enough, a few miles after we pass the New Mexico/Texas border, here comes the checkpoint, and we still have a little roach left. I can’t stop laughing. As we get closer, just as he said he would, Bill takes a swig of Pepsi, pops the roach in his mouth, and washes it down with some more soda. I just couldn’t stop laughing, this was by far the funniest thing I’d seen in ages! I did my best to stop laughing as we approached the officer, and after answering some routine questions (where are you going, why, where are you coming from, can I look in the back?) we were on our way. The whole thing was just too much. I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe, for a steady 10 minutes, at least. We continued on our merry way through the state of Texas. I dozed off a few times, and didn’t even notice it, waking up quite a few times with an hour or two missing from the time.

At around 2am, we arrived in Bryan. “Here we are, my friend,” he told me. He took me a ways out of town so I could find a good spot to crash. “Hey, thank you so much Bill, I really appreciate it!” I told him, and I meant every word. “My pleasure, Ben!” We said our goodbyes, and after he left I found a nice dark spot out of the wind behind a church. It was Sunday morning, so I hoped that I would still get up with the sun so that I would be up and out long before people started coming for the 10am service.

That was indeed the case, and as I got up, I was reminded that I was no longer in the dry southwest: All of my stuff that had been on the ground (I slept on a cement outcropping) was covered in grass clippings. Hell, at least I was back in green country. I packed up, and made my way down the highway. There wasn’t much traffic, but after maybe 30 minutes or so, a big dump truck pulled over(!). I saw that it already had two occupants, so I wasn’t sure how it would work out. When I climbed up, I found that there was quite a bit of space between the two people, and used my pack as a seat. The driver, Sergio, and passenger, Henrique, were on their way to a job in Madisonville. Sergio was pretty interested in my travels in Europe, and wanted to know how the girls were. A pretty funny question, I recommended eastern Europe. They dropped me off at the corner in Madisonville, and were off.

I had some of my summer sausage and bread for breakfast, and after I finished eating, hit the road. After walking a little bit out of town, a grey pickup pulled over. “You can jist toss yer pack in the back, Charlie, the driver, told me in a Texas twang. I did just that, and after getting situated, we were off. Charlie and Mitchell, the passenger, were really nice guys, and definitely great examples of southern hospitality. I’m not sure exactly what line of work they were in, but I’m guessing it involved construction, because there was tons of stuff all through the truck for everything from yard work to painting. Charlie and Mitchel were both conservatives (of which, according to them there aren’t enough of in this country) and were big opposers of the Occupy movements (“If you want something, you’ve gotta work for it, not just stand around with signs and wait for something to happen”) and had lots to say about the government, God, the outdoors, and lots of questions about my trip. They were really kind, and gave me a burrito as we were talking. I enjoyed hearing what they had to say, it was just so different than most of the opinions of the people I met in New Mexico and Arizona. They dropped me off in Crocket, and as I was getting out of the car, Charlie gave me a $20 bill. Now that’s what I call southern hospitality! I thanked them, and continued on my way. I walked a few hundred meters with my thumb out, when a car that was coming out of a nearby church pulled off to the side.

“I can take you to the end of town, if you’d like,” the driver told me. Donita, the driver, was a woman who appeared to be in her late 60’s or 70s. “I saw you walking when I was dropping off my husband, he teaches Sunday school,” she told me, “and I thought to myself, I think I’ll give this young man a ride.” The town of Crockett has a circuit road that runs a loop around the town. Donita took me to a spot just outside this road, and dropped me off on Hwy 7, where I would continue south. I thanked her, and went on my way.

The day was beautiful. It was sunny, with a clear sky. I passed by green fields that turned into forest, and enjoyed the walk, which lasted for a little over an hour, when a truck pulled over. Ron, the driver, said “I’m headed to Rusk.” He was a pretty quiet guy, who appeared to be in his late 50s. When I told him about my trip, he said, “Well…I think it’s pretty dangerous. There‘s a lot of crazy people out there.” I hear this from probably at least 40% of the people I meet, outside of hitchhiking (the people who pick me up obviously usually feel different about hitchhiking, if they’re picking up one). I like hearing things like that, and although I take no mind to it at all, it does add some color to the big picture. It just wouldn’t be nearly as fun if everybody though it was ok. The occasional scorn of the law, the long walks and waits, the freezing nights, the rains, they all add some very necessary spice to the trip.

Ron dropped me off at a convenience store on the corner of his turn off. “Be safe!” he told me as he was leaving. At the convenience store, I decided to buy a cinnamon roll. Although its nutritional value is nil, I do enjoy my sweet foods on the road. Also, the thing had like 460 calories, so I suppose that’s good. I sat in some high grass beside the road to eat some lunch, consisting of my burrito from Charlie and Mitchell and the cinnamon roll. Almost directly after I stood up, a big gray pickup pulled over. The driver was a black guy with a big smile. “I can a few miles off your walk,” he told me. “You mind if I hop in the back?” I asked him. The weather was just beautiful, and there’s no better way to enjoy a sunny day than cruising in the bed of a pickup truck. “Sure, whatever you’d like,” he told me, “Hop in!” And we were off. Sure enough, he took me a few miles down the road, and let me off at an intersection. I walked just a few feet down the road when a Latino couple in a small pickup pulled over. The guy said something that I didn’t hear, and I hopped in. He took me a couple miles down the road, and dropped me off.

I walked for probably around an hour before another car pulled over. The road was so sparsely trafficked, though, that I had more or less expected this to happen. Eventually, a yellow and black Scion tC pulled over. I had remembered seeing the car because I like the model, and the driver had actually passed me by, and then turned around to come back and pick me up. Ryan, the driver, was a kid in his mid 20s who was in the Air Force. He was headed to Shreveport, which was great for me because it would mean that I crossed the state of Texas in less than 24 hours! He was a pretty cool guy, mellow, and really liked what I was doing. I asked him what he thought of the Service (because I would never even consider joining myself, I’m always interested in hearing the other side of the story). “It’s treated me pretty nice, man,” he told me. “I never have to worry about food or money, so I guess it’s pretty cool. I like it.” I had him drop me off on a side road where I could make my way in a straighter path to Mannsfield, where I would head east across the Red River(?) to highway 1, where I would cut through the state. This ended up being a shitty idea, and after walking down the road for about 20 minutes and being getting the finger not once, but twice, I decided it was a good idea to turn around. A few minutes later, I got a ride from Bill, a nice guy driving a pickup. Bill took me to I-20, where I decided I would try to get a ride to Shreveport.

After waiting for almost an hour at the on-ramp with no luck, I couldn’t help but think with frustration that I could’ve just taken the ride from Ryan all the way to Shreveport, and been there by this time. Still, regretting serves no purpose, and I was where I was, nothing would change that (except a ride!). After waiting a little longer, I decided that I would go down to the Sonic down the road, get a milkshake, and call my family. I did just that, and devoured my large strawberry milkshake and Oreo blast (I saw that one on the menu and couldn’t resist. It was nice to talk to my family, it always warms me up a bit if I’m feeling down to know there’s lots of love on the other end of the line. Around dusk, I headed out. As I was walking, not even sticking my thumb out, a bit white van pulled up. “Hey man, where you headed?” asked the driver. I told him I was headed to the southeast. “Well, we’re headed to downtown Shreveport, we’d be happy to take you. I took him up on the offer, and off we went. Inside the van were 3 guys covered in tattoos and scars, who belonged to a church mission whose name I don’t recall. They really recommended that I go to the Shreveport mission, where I could get a hot shower, meal, and rest for the night, but I really wasn’t feeling it. I just wanted to get out of the city and into good hitchhiking territory. They dropped me off on Hwy 171 just off of the interstate, and after asking around for highway 1 (which no f**king person could tell me the whereabouts of, not the guys in the van, not the clerk at the gas station, and not the bystander. What the hell, people?) I saw where I was on my map, and realized that I could just take that road to walk straight out of town. I walked for 2 or 3 hours, and was still in town, but away from most of the residences. By this time it was dark, and my thoughts were directed towards finding a place to sleep. I found a badass spot, a piece of land that was for sale which had been cleared but was unoccupied, and covered on all sides by trees. I laid down with the peace of mind that no one would find me, plugged in the earphones of my iPod, and drifted peacefully to sleep….

The next morning, I walked for a couple hours before I got a ride. I was still well in town, and after walking for a good ways, a red Dodge ram pulled over. The driver’s name was Paul, and he took me to Grand Cane, about 10 miles north of Mannsfield. “Hey man, if I was you, I wouldn’t go anywhere south of Mansfield.” He continued, “I don’t even like to go there…those back-ass country folks, they just drink so damn much, and then you never know what the hell’s gonna happen.” Duly noted. I kept that in mind as walked down Hwy 171 in Grand Cane, where he had let me off. As I was walking down the road, A guy that pulled up to the highway motioned to me, saying that he had water if I wanted it. So I went up to him, and we started talking. His name was Sam, and he worked as a paramedic (he didn’t tell me, but he was wearing the uniform) My travels interested him so much (he had always yearned to do something of the type himself, but having a wife, was never really able) that he decided he would take me all the way to Highway 1, just so that he could talk to me a bit, find out about my trip. He asked me all sorts of questions, what I did for money, what kind of time I made, what inspired me to start traveling, the interesting places I had been to, what my plans for the future were, everything. I’m glad to answer questions like this, and I love meeting people who are really curious, because I myself am one of those people. He had always wanted to do a really long biking trip across the country, having been inspired by meeting several people doing that very thing. Sam bought me some McDonald’s, and as we were nearing my stop, I wrote down my name and email so that he could check out my stories, and he gave me $3. After saying our goodbyes, I continued down the road, and Sam went back to his home.

It was another beautiful day outside, and I was happy to walk along the beautiful road. The sky was blue, having cleared up from the gray overcast of the morning, and the sun was shining. The road ran parallel to the railroad tracks, and had a watery canal on the other, followed by fields of green. Off in the distance, there was the hum of machinery digging up the earth for some reason or another. I was glad to be where I was. I walked for a few miles down the road, when a gray van with a young lady driving it pulled over. Her name was April, and she seemed a bit stressed. “I don’t usually do things like this, and I hope you know that I’m not a bad person,” she told me hurriedly as I sat in the car. I was all smiles, and told her sure, thanked her for picking me up, that it was pretty hot out. She seemed relieved, and told me that it had been a rough day. April was very nice, although she definitely had a different view on humanity than myself. Sheasked me if I was ever scared, because of all the bad people. When I told her I thought that most of the people in the world were good, she said “But…it seems like for every 1 good person, theres 10 bad ones…” I think that these kind of views come from watching the news, honestly. If you don’t get out much because of fear, then you’re seriously mislead, and are missing out on SO much. It was good talking to April, and she insisted on buying me some food before she dropped me off. “It’s the least I can do, I’ll feel better knowing I could do something for you,” she told me. Not being one to turn down food, I told her sure, Sonic sounded great. After we ate and talked some more, she dropped me off on Highway 1 about a mile north of Cloutiersville, a tiny town that looked like it had a population of less than 500.

After she dropped me off, I walked down the road quite a ways, around 6 or 7 miles I think. Either way, I walked for several hours before a gray Chevy silverado with a trailer full of construction equipment finally pulled over. When I walked up to the truck, which already had 4 guys in it, the driver said “I can’t take you far, but I’ll take a few miles out of your trip.” He knew exactly where I was coming from, and I happily got in. The guys seemed pretty amused by the fact that I had come all the way from Pennsylvania. “Well, what the hell brought you down here?” one of them asked, laughing. I told him I was visiting a friend in Baton Rouge, and then heading further east to florida. They dropped me off at a convenience store seemingly in the middle of nowhere. “I-49 is right over there, and if you walk down the road a few miles, you’ll reach Boyce,” the guy told me. Fair enough.

As I was walking away, I saw two kids just across the intersection, who looked like they lived on the road. It was a couple, both with packs on their backs, the guy carrying an instrument and walking a dog in front of him. “Where are you coming from?” I yelled to them, making my way over. “New Orleans, we were there for Mardi Gras,” the girl told me. “It’s gonna rain in an hour, so we’re gonna go set up our tarp in the woods,” the guy told me. “Alright, I think I’m gonna go try and catch a ride south,” I told them. “Well, just in case, you know where to find us!” the guy told me, and we parted ways.

I didn’t have much luck on the on-ramp, traffic was just too sparse. After 20 minutes or so, A police cruiser came rolling down, and stopped in front of me. These days, when cops pass, I keep my thumb out anyway, because hell, there’s nothing wrong with getting a ride (although it’s incredibly unlikely) from a cop. The guy rolled down his window. “So where’s the rest of your party?” He asked me. “What?” I replied. “Your friends, that you were talking to earlier.” Apparently he had saw me talking to the couple a few minutes ago. “I’m not sure, I’m not with them. They headed in the other direction when I left,” I told him, pointing in the general direction to where there was an intersection leading in 3 different directions, trying to be of little help as possible.” “Well, I didn’t see them, they must have hid in the woods,” he told me. After he ran my ID and asked A) why I had a junior’s license B) what I was doing and C) not once, not twice, but three times if I was wanted for anything, to all of which I responded “No sir,” with a huge grin on my face, he finally drove off, after making sure that I knew that I wasn’t permitted to go on the interstate. Ahh, cops. They make me smile.

After waiting for another half hour or so, I was sick of the bugs, and decided to go in search of my new friends. I walked a little ways down Highway one, when finally I saw what I hoped to be a blue tarp a ways into the woods. I walked in a little ways, and sure enough, there there stuff was, but not them. I figured they went to go get stuff from the store or something, so I hung out there for a little bit. After a few minutes, I saw them approaching from a distance. “Mind if I hang out here?” I asked. “Feel free,” Stephen told me. “Do you play magic?” Lauren asked me. Did I play Magic? Alas, the question I’ve been subconsciously waiting to hear since I hit the road! Magic the Gathering is a card game that I got really into when I was in high school, but had stopped pursuing the game when I started playing electric guitar and travelling. Still, I loved the game. I told them I LOVED to play magic, although I didn’t have a deck on me. “Oh, it’s cool, we have some extra decks,” she told me. How insanely lucky was this!! Here I am, chillin with some traveling kids I met in passing, and they play magic! We get to playing and talking, and they offer me some of the beer they just bought (Milwalkee’s Best Ice in 32 oz. cans). Both of them have been on the road for years, and they use freight trains as their method of transportation. This has always interested me, and someday soon I’d really love to try it. They’re really great to talk to, they have lots of stories and advice on living on the road. Stephen plays the banjo and Lauren paints, and they both use that to make money on the street, sometimes earning hundreds of dollars a day. Another thing that they recommend is food stamps. With no income and very little money in the bank, it turns out that I could get like $200 a month for food money! Now that’s what I call living! We play magic and talk well into the night, munching on some cookies and crackers that they have, and the summer sausage that I still have at least two pounds of from Tucson. Probably around midnight, we go to sleep. It never did end up raining.

In the morning, we share contact information, and they plan on visiting me in Charleston in the fall. After packing up, we head our separate ways. While I was with them, I couldn’t help but notice how damned light their packs were. They couldn’t have been carrying more than 50 pounds between the two of them, and I carried the same amount by myself, between my food and map bag (15 lbs) and my pack (about 35 lbs) This gave me serious food for thought, and as I made my way towards Boyce, I told myself that I had to get the amount of weight that I carried down.

I walked about 2 miles before a silver VW bug pulled over. The driver, Bob, was an older guy who offered to take me to the end of town, where he was going to drop off some mail. He was really cool, and had recently come back from a trip to Haiti. He had also been to Peru and ecuador, which I thought was pretty cool, to be travelling like that at his age. After he dropped me off, I walked for several weary miles before the next ride. As I was walking down the almost dead road, I finally got a ride from an old GMC pickup that pulled over. Red, the driver, had done his fair of hitchhiking back in the day, having gone all across the eastern seaboard. “But you just don’t get rides anymore,” he told me, telling tales of averaging 50 miles per hour on his trip from georgia to Oklahoma. We made several stops before he dropped me off at the on ramp, and on one of those he gave me $10. “Here, go get yourself some food,” he told me. How kind! I went to McDonalds, and got myself a bag full of 3 chicken sandwiches and a cookie, with $6 to spare. Afterwards he dropped me off on an on-ramp at the end of town, between Hwy 71 south and I-49. I waited at the on-ramp for about15 minutes, and after deciding that a ride would be a long time in coming, I made the choice to walk down 71 south.

I walked for maybe a mile or two, when a big black SUV finally pulled over. As soon as I got in the car, the driver reached out his hand and introduced himself. “That’s AJ, he said, pointing to a sleeping boy in the seat behind us, “and I’m Tony. Tony Groove.” Tony, as it turns out, is a radio DJ. He was a really nice guy, and had a lot to say about the church of Christ, and seemed to enjoy talking to me; I was always questioning the things he said. Tony was headed to Bunkie, where he was taking his son to social therapy sessions. I generally like talking to people that like talking to me, and it was no different in Tony’s case. Also, the fact that he was a successful radio DJ added a nice touch to things, I think it’s always valuable to talk to people who don’t have any problems in the financial department.

As we were driving out of town after dropping off AJ, there was a black guy in ragged clothes on the side of the road who flagged us down. He didn’t have his thumb out, but rather just waived one arm up and down, with his hat in his hand. “Where are you headed?” Tony asked the man.” Lebeau,” he said hurriedly, “Yessuh, I’m goin ta Lebeau, in by far the thickest, fastest, Louisiana accent I’d ever heard. “Wus yo name?” the man asked Tony, “I’m Arthur.” “Tony Groove,” Tony told the man. “Tony Groove? Like da radio host?” Arthur asked. “That’s me,” replied Tony. “Izzat right??” he said, asking Tony, and then turning to me, asking the same question. “Who is dis guy?” “That’s Tony Groove,” I told him. “And whoozzis? Arthur asked Tony, motioning to me. “That’s my friend, Ben,” he said. Now, I don’t know what all they talked about for the rest of the ride, I understood everything Tony said, of course, but I don’t know how in the hell he could understand this crazy man sitting behind us. Because of this, I can’t write down all the conversation, because I didn’t understand most of rushed jibberish that came out of that man‘s mouth, but I’m pretty sure they mostly just talked about people they both knew from the town of Lebeau. “Well, I tell you wut, Tony,” Arthur said, “I’m tryinna git me twiiny dolla, so I can go up to du sto and buy me some beer anna pack uh cigarettes. Canya gimme twinny dolla, Tony?” He asked, speaking at 90 mph. “No, I’m afraid I can’t, Arthur, you’ll have to get that 20 dollars yourself.” For the rest of the ride, Arthur was trying to haggle the $20 out of Tony, but to no avail. Tony dropped him off near a bar in the beginning of town, and drove me a few more miles down the road. As I got out of the car, Tony gave me his card. “Listen man,” he told me, “Give me a call sometime. Wherever you are, just to say, ‘hey Tony, what’s happenin?’ I’d love to hear from you somewhere else down the line.” And with that, he was off, and I continued my walk down the road. In the next hour and a half or so, I got 2 rides in the backs of pickups, each just a few miles down the road.

Just as I was walking through a tiny little town about 10 miles north of Hwy 190, I turned around just quick enough not to miss a guy, quick to stick out my thumb. Usually this almost never works, but in this case, it did the trick. Shane, who was driving his company car, was on his way to Baton Rouge. This was just great for me, because that’s just where I was headed, to visit my friend Katrina to wash my clothes (and my body, I hadn’t had a shower in 6 days, since Phoenix), and work on lightening up my pack. During the summers, Shane worked at Yellowstone National Park, a job which he absolutely loved. In fact, it had taken him 7 years to finish college, because he kept going back and forth, to visit Yellowstone. Now, he worked as a car salesman, a job which confined him a lot more than he had wanted. “I just can’t stand doing the same thing, every day,” he told me. I totally understood, that was one of the bigger reasons why I was on the road. Me being me, I told him he should ditch his job, and hit the road as fast as he could. “Dude, you gotta get out there,” I told him. “The world is a huge, beautiful place!” “I know, but I have a house, and a lease now…” He said, with a sigh. Regardless, I don’t thing it’ll be long before Shane gets to traveling. Someone who was so much curiosity and interest in the outdoors, and who has seen already what it’s like, I’m sure it won’t be long before the temptation becomes too strong. He had lots of stories about all the cool, crazy, and interesting hitchhikers he had picked up in the West, and he told them with a deeply conveyed interest. I could tell the force was strong in this one. Shane ended up taking me all the way to Katrina’s apartment, which saved me lots of time and walking, and reminded me why I love hitchhiking so much. I gave him my name and email, and told him to let me know if he ever hit the road. While I’ve been here at Katrina’s, I’ve taken off at least 10 lbs from my pack, and while this may be meaningless to some of you, those who have had a backpack for a house will know that a lighter pack is a bigger freedom. For the near future, I’m planning on heading to southern florida to meet up with some friends I met in Tucson who are traveling in a converted van. After that, maybe the Florida keys, maybe Puerto Rico, maybe the Dominican Republic, who knows? I sure as hell don’t.