Another Hitchhiking Post

I am thinking it was early 80's, and the purpose of the ride was to get home from school. I was going to Phoenix College ...and finances being what they were...I had no personal transportation. It was the public transit bus, or hitchhike.

Home was my brother's house at the time. On this particular day I was thumbing it.

A middle aged lady picked me up in an aging convertible, and agreed to take me all the way home.  Fine. I did not get many of those door to door excursions.  The lady looked somewhat disheveled, and had a cough and a bit of a runny nose. But a ride is a ride.

Soon, as we traversed the city, I learned there was a catch. The lady herself was homeless, and asked if I could spot her some cash.

Fine.  I was sooooo naive at the time, and somewhat tender-hearted, so I said 'ok'.  Only, see...I mentioned finances being what they were...I had no cash. None.

I had a few bucks in checking, so I told her I would need to run in and write her a check. And she took me up on it.

So, as we pulled up in front of my brother's house, I ran in and got my checkbook. I wrote her a check for $15.00.

Only....

I soon found out that the $15.00 was sufficient funding for me to qualify for certain carnal benefits. I had accumulated sufficient credit to supplement the ride.  Or to say, there are different types of rides.

OK, so technically speaking, I had just paid for services, in advance. Unbeknownst. I mentioned to you , the reader, that I was naive. I also mentioned to you something about the runny nose and the cough.

To some degree of disappointment for my benefactor, further services were declined.

Thus ends the story of the first and only time I ever 'paid' for it.

Cheers...nca

Eres Huérfano

"He mounted up and road out down the little dusty street. Nodding to those he passed along his way. Riding like a young squire for all his rags. Carrying in his belly the gift of the meal he'd received

which both sustained him and laid claim upon him.  For the sharing of bread is not such a simple thing, nor is it's acknowledgement."  

Cormac McCarthy, The Crossing

Yes, I went back to the well and pulled a second quote, back to back:post to post, from the same book.  It's not too surprising really, because the McCarthy themes in this book parallel the brief period in my youth where I hitchhiked cross country and internationally several times. Whereas I went to that great country to the north, the hero in the book (Billy Parham) traveled thrice to the country south of here.  

Whereas Billy Parham was soon to be an orphan, I was very much like an orphan, culled out from the family herd as I was. Moving forward to the now, I truly have become an orphan. And, like Billy, I have always had the heart of a nomad.

The quote above hit me like a hammer.  I often thought a lot about the people who sustained me along the way on my journeys. Metaphor intended. 

What 'claim' did those whom picked me up, or fed me bread, lay upon me? Certainly now, 35 years later these benefactors are much more vivid in my memories than I am in theirs. For surely, now at this point in my life they can stake no other claim save that claim upon me than that which I allow.

To tell one story of my journeys my companion and I were picked up by some girls in western Canada. They drove a truck pulling an empty U-Haul. They allowed for us to ride in the U-Haul, a safer proposition then having us ride in the cab with them. They were both attractive. They took us on one of the longest single lifts we were to receive on that trip....almost 500 miles with us. When they got to their destination, their home, they allowed for us to stay in the U-Haul for the night, and they left us and went into their house. Some time later, their parents came out and asked us to come in for showers, shelter, and dinner. The girls were resting from the long drive. When the girls woke up and came down, the two of us were showered, fed, and enjoying talk and drinks with their parents. The girls were surprised to see us, maybe a little annoyed.

Nomadic strangers intruding on their lives for a brief moment in time. Providing shelter, sustenance, and washing the soil from our skin and clothes.  Our appreciation was measured by the degree of our sincerity as we thanked them when we resumed our trek.  Was our gratitude felt to be enough as we disappeared from their life? Were the warm fuzzies they received as benefactors sufficient for them to offer further sustenance to future travelers...or had we exhausted their good will. Who knows? Not me for that was the only moment here on earth in which our paths crossed.

We collected the signatures of all those who harbored us or proffered transport. Etched in our Rand McNally are all those who crossed our path with open arms. A register of good hearts, those willing to open a door and allow strangers repast. But for those two strangers, our journey would have been thwarted but not ended. If not them, someone else would have stepped in and their names would now have been entered in the atlas. For this continent is filled with good hearts, with those willing to step out of their shadows and act on inherent internal prompts toward kindness. 

My companion and I, too, were like 'young squires' for all our rags. It certainly was not our attire, nor our cleanliness that attracted acts of kindness. Even the passage of years filtering my memories  won't suppress my awareness that the two of us must have been an assault on all senses as dusty, unshaven/un-showered vagrants.  Perhaps our youth contributed to the tug at the stranger's kind hearts, or some other prompting  touched that place in the heart where acts of kindness are conceived. 

The memories of those motives are long gone. I could only guess. Or those whom provided aid to strangers could comment below if they so choose. But as for me, I am truly grateful for all who crossed my path and proffered kindness. If I could list you all here, like names on the RAND-MAC, I would. My appreciation is not a simple thing, nor simply stated.  As the charater 'Billy Parham' actually did in the book, I would write it out in flour upon the stove top for all to see. So I write it here. If sometime in 1980, or 1981 you stopped and offered a lift or a bite to eat to two wayward strangers, let it be known that we both are well, that through your help and the help of hundreds of others the two of us did safely reach our destination. And rest assured that your kindness registers, is remembered and is truly appreciated.

Cheers, nca

El Caminante

While listening to the Audio Book for "The Crossing" I came across this passage:

"You will see. It is difficult for brothers to travel together on such a voyage. The road has its own reasons and no two travelers will have the same understanding of those reasons. If indeed they come to an understanding of them at all. Listen to the corridos of the country. They will tell you. Then you will see in your own life what is the cost of things. Perhaps it is true that nothing is hidden. Yet many do not wish to see what lies before them in plain sight. You will see. The shape of the road is the road. There is not some other road that wears the shape but only one.  And every voyage begun upon it will be completed. Whether horses are found or not. "
Cormac McCarthy "The Crossing"

It made me contemplate again the hitch-hike trips in the early 80's with my friend Neville.  In the book the missing horses had been stolen by Mexican road agents, along with murdering the hero's parents. The two brothers in the story set out on a journey to recover the horses, and discover much more.

What did the two of us set out on our journey for?  I imagine, as in the quote above our understanding of the journey may have been much different from each other. I can guess Neville's reasons, but it would only be a poor guess.  And the reasons we may have had back then may not match our understandings now, 35 years later.

Our memories, when we have compared notes, are even different. Not different realities, but just different items of emphasis. Our memories supplement each other. Our vantage points allowed us to have different views of the same events, and sometimes different views all together. Our 'corridos', are like a harmony, each of us singing different parts.

So too, our growth and development, our 'take away' from our journeys too may have affected us differently. What changed me from our journeys may well not be what changed in my companion.

"The shape of the road is the road". 

Yes, the road was all things. The road was the challenge, the obstacle to overcome. The road was the vantage point, it was upon the road that our adventure was settled. Upon the road we experienced Alaska, Canada, and much of the United States.  The road was the table we set upon to break bread with strangers. The road was the gift. The road was the vision. The road was common to our understanding, our voice, our shared ideal, perhaps again not common at all.  The road changed us both, and yet we did not change the road at all, it continues on now unblemished from our passing.

I am truly grateful to have shared this journey with my friend Neville. I don't yet look back at those times as my pinnacle, my zenith. Not all journeys since then have gone down hill to demise. But for those great memories, I toast Neville, I toast the road, and I toast what roads we travel on in the future.

Cheers, nca