21 April

 

 

Hello again:

 

Have you been well?  Sometimes I find myself thinking about what your face will look like in this time; what color your hair will be.  Will it be brown . . . red . . . blonde?  And what will be the color of your eyes?

 

Do I already know you?  Have we already met, and just didn’t recognize each other when we did?  I suppose that question has many answers.  For one thing, I have been looking for you ever since I can remember — since I was at least five.  And when I was 10, I remember sitting on stage, while my father presented the educational part of our show, scanning the faces of the girls in the audience.  Looking.  Hoping.  Dreaming.  Imagining what it would be like to see that smile, that sparkle in the eyes that told me I had found you again.  For now, I can only wait.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

From the Raton entrance ramp on I-25, I watched Linda and Earl drive across the overpass and turn north.  In moments, they were gone.  I stood there, alone, a gentle breeze blowing through my hair, watching the cars enter the freeway.  To the north were the mountains of Raton Pass and Colorado.  To the east where mesas and buttes and then prairies, and somewhere, finally, the Atlantic Ocean.  South, a few rolling hills, and beyond the horizon, Mexico.  West was a line of pine covered mesas, then mountains and winter.

 

I watched more cars go by, and then stuck my thumb out.

 

Up until I began this trip, I had never hitched before.  I had read about it.  I had listened to people talk about it, and I had picked up a hitcher or two.  In the last couple of years I had picked up a few more trying to build up some good karma.  Now I was the hitcher.

 

When you are standing along side of the road with your thumb out, you have a lot of time to think.  For instance, you begin to wonder what the people are thinking as they drive by, pretending not to see you, or simply staring at you, but not stopping to pick you up.  Am I standing funny?  What if I held my mouth like this?  Should I smile and wave more?  Should I smile and wave less? 

 

Should I scowl and make festive single digit nautical gestures at everyone who doesn’t stop?

 

What if I sat down and propped my thumb up on my knee, would I look like I had been here a long time because everyone else was afraid to pick me up?  If I did a little happy dance beside the road, would it help?  Would they realize that, even though I was big and tall, I was harmless and funny.  Would they pick me up then?  Or would they dial 911 on their cell phone?  What if I picked up a rock and put it through their windshield, would that get their attention?

 

Dang!  I wish I’d scratched that itch before I walked out here!  

 

It was late — only two hours or so till sunset.  There was a Motel 6 on the other side of the road. A sign that said I could spend the night there for only $27 — "plus applicable tax."  Heck, I had an extra $100 in my pocket.  Why shouldn’t I celebrate and spend some of it.  It was cold out.  A nice warm bed and a warm dinner consisting of something other than dehydrate noodles and powdered cheese mixed with water sounded really good!

 

I picked up my pack and walked over to the office.  When I filled out the registration form, I paused when I came to the address part.  I didn’t have an address.  I didn’t have a need for one.  I had paid off my bills and closed my bank account.  I was headed “out there” somewhere, and I didn’t know where I would wind up.  I was paying cash and I wasn’t planning on stealing any towels.  I smiled and decided to have fun with it.  The street address was a combination of places I had lived, and I put down, Nowhere, New Mexico as the town.  The desk clerk didn’t see anything amiss and gave me my room key with a smile.

 

I settled in and soon headed around the corner to the restaurant.  They didn’t have my favorite, a Reuben, so I ordered a steak — rare, yeah, that would do it, with some mashed potatoes and gravy and green beans.  Yum!

 

And there was the service.  Yum, YUM!  Her warm smile and repeated stolen glances made me forget that my over-tenderized steak could have gotten up and started eating my over-cooked green beans, then sniffed at my obviously powdered mashed potatoes and canned gravy on its way off the table.

 

I finished and headed back to my room.  My pack hadn’t felt right when I had tried to adjust it earlier, so I examined the straps and found that one of the main “lifters” had torn away from the shoulder pad.  I can handle this, I thought, as I got out my special repair kit Linda had made for me and began to fix it.  It was a nice feeling.  I was back on the road and I had just encountered my first obstacle, and was handling it just fine. 

 

When you are walking across the country alone, you soon realize that there are a lot of things you had taken for granted.  In “normal” life, there is always help nearby; a phone call or a short drive away.  Why fix it yourself when you can get someone else to do it.

 

That’s one of the things that had drawn me to taking this trip.  There was only one person to rely on when obstacles presented themselves, because so much of the time you were in places where there wasn’t anyone else to turn to.  It didn’t mean you didn’t ask someone for help when you could, but the process often had to start with yourself.  You had to think your way out first.

 

It was not unlike being in the fire department.  My first day in the fire academy was a perfect example.  “GENTLEMEN, WELCOME!” our instructor had bellowed.  “If you make it through the next two and a half months, you will join a unique brotherhood!  When the situation goes beyond the abilities of mere mortals, they will call you — the fire department!”  He let that settle on our ears, then added quietly, "Just remember, it's all about saving lives and property."  And then he proceeded to show us eyewitness film footage of all the different and terrifying ways firefighters could get injured and killed — proving, to me at least, that even firefighters were mortal.

 

A little dramatic?  Maybe.  But it was the truth, just the same.  At role call the next morning, one quarter of our class didn’t show up.

 

As I sat on my bed, repairing my pack, that sense of self-sufficiency began to seep back into me.  Although I really had no idea what lie ahead, I knew everything was going to be fine.

 

My plan was to get up when I felt like it the next morning and start hitching south.  It was supposed to be in the teens for the next couple of days, so heading further south sounded like a nice idea.  I went to sleep about 10, imagining what fun and adventure awaited me.

 

Just after midnight I was awakened by discomfort in my stomach.  I tried to sleep through it, but I soon headed for the bathroom with waves of nausea washing over me — the harsh fluorescent light flickering on not helping matters.  Ten minutes later I was back in bed, feeling much better. 

 

About 30 minutes after that, I stumbled into the bathroom again.  This time, though, was different.  I couldn’t remember the last time I had such a hard time deciding whether to sit 

down . . . or kneel.  I had never felt like this before, except for maybe with the flu a couple of times — but the rest of my body didn’t feel like I had the bug.  By 4 a.m. I began to realize that I just might have food poisoning.

 

As nothing happens for a reason, the next question was, Why?

 

Till later, my Lady, I remain, halfway to nowhere . . . .

 

Robert