Hitchhiking Home from Alberta: Day Two
Posted: Friday, January 13, 2012
by Jack H. Schick
When I woke up, the passing cars still had their headlights on. The sun had not yet risen, but the sky was growing light. A pale yellow glow silhouetted the mountains off to the east. A brisk, westerly breeze had picked up. There was a slight chill to the June air. The stony railroad grade had afforded me only a few hours sleep. I was sore, felt grumpy and dirty. My first night in Idaho had not been a good one and I wasn’t optimistic about the day ahead.
Traffic on the ‘old road’ picked up as commuters headed off to work, but none were inclined to pick up a hitchhiker. I walked for an hour, sticking out my thumb to every passing car, with no luck. I had no energy and no enthusiasm. I had well over 2,000 miles to go. It was at least six miles to the next Interstate exit. I could see the highway a few miles to the west. There was plenty of traffic on it. I considered crossing the open country over to it, but knew there was always a chance one of the cars passing me might pick me up, so I stuck to the road.
I was within sight of the Blackfoot exit ramp when a car finally did stop. He was headed to work in Pocatello. We didn’t talk much. Neither of us seemed in the mood for it. It was only a 25 or 30 mile ride, but I was finally back on the highway and on my way. He gave me some valuable advice, though. When I told him I was headed for Salt Lake City, he warned me that the police were cracking down on hitchhiking in Utah and I was liable to wind up in jail. Before he dropped me off, we looked over a map and I decided to take an alternate route that cut diagonally southeastward into Wyoming. That way, I’d avoid Utah and could catch Interstate 80 at Little America. It was actually substantially shorter, too.
After a couple more short rides, I got off the Interstate to take the alternate route. There was a café about a half mile down the two lane road. I decided to stop to get something to eat and had one of the most memorable breakfasts of my life. I was famished; the cold canned potatoes had not stuck with me. I got their ‘Grand Slam:’ eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, pancakes, toast, orange juice and coffee. The entire meal with tip, cost $2.87 (1971). I felt like a new man. I was totally refreshed and ready to go.
I stood at the cross road just down from the restaurant. The late morning was warm and bright. The wind had died down. I was feeling confident and better than I had since I’d left Picture Butte almost exactly one day before. I could see there was quite a bit of traffic on the Interstate maybe a mile to the west, but there were very few cars taking my ‘short cut.’ I stood there with my thumb out for hours. A couple of times I got excited when a car slowed down, but each time they were just turning into the café.
When I saw my waitress come out and drive away, her shift finished, the lunch crowd long gone, I finally decided to start walking. I considered getting back on the Interstate and taking my chances in Utah. I actually started walking that way, but had second thoughts. The next town on the short-cut was Lava Springs. The name sort of appealed to me, and it was only about 17 miles. I still had a couple of weeks before I had to be home to start my summer job, so I turned around and headed off that way.
A mile or so from the café, the road got steeper and began to wind up through rolling, sandy foothills. Very few cars passed me going either direction. I kept envisioning all the traffic on the Interstate, and, after about half an hour, I decided to turn back. To take advantage of any car that came along, I walked down the center of the road. Which ever way a car was coming, I’d hop off the road. That was the way I was going, too. I didn’t care. I just wanted a ride.
I’d gone barely a hundred yards back toward the restaurant when an old station wagon pulled over to pick me up. There was a middle aged man driving alone. He was headed east, toward Lava Springs. I was overjoyed. It was the longest I’d waited for a ride the entire trip so far. My day had started horribly, gotten a lot better with the great meal, and then became more frustrating than I’d yet experienced. I hopped in and asked him where he was going. I could hardly suppress my glee when he said, “Salina, Kansas.” That was over a thousand miles! I’d be cutting further south than I’d planned and coming across Interstate 70, but that was just fine with me.
He looked about my dad’s age. His hair was beginning to turn grey. He was not dressed very well and the car was a little beat up. There was something strange in his eyes, though, a glint of something that made me wonder. I wasn’t frightened, but was a little uneasy. After we’d gone a few miles he looked over at me and asked, “Do you know why I picked you up?”
The question didn't seem harmless. My mind raced to the darker regions. ‘You want to rape and murder me, right?’ were the first words that came to my mind. I said nothing for a moment. I eased my hand into my pocket and gripped my folded up knife. I’d not be able to get it open in time, but it would be better than just my fist. Finally, I looked over into his eyes and said, “No. Why did you pick me up?”
He got a smile on is face and said, “Because you reminded me a lot of my son, Dave.”
I saw there was no danger and instantly relaxed. “Really?” I said.
“Yeah, he would be about your age now,” the smile faded, he turned his head and stared forward, concentrating on the road. He flexed his hands on the steering wheel and sighed.
I was confused. I didn’t know if I should say anything, but finally asked, “Would be?”
He looked over at me and I saw that strange look in his eyes again, but this time it was tinged with a sense of dolor. “Yeah, Dave was killed in a car accident, right in front of our house about five years ago. He was only sixteen. He was our only child.”
I was stunned. I stammered, “Oh, I’m sorry. Five years ago?”
Over those next thousand miles, he never drifted so far away that he forgot and called me Dave. We soon became good friends. I realized I was playing a role, a harmless role, and was kind. I treated him the way I’d treat my own father. When we got to Lava Springs and stopped for fuel, he asked me if I would drive. He’d been on the road since three in the morning and wanted to crawl in the back to get some sleep. We had some trouble getting the car restarted. There was a problem with the carburetor that he hadn’t gotten around to fixing yet. Neither of us knew much about automobiles, but finally we got back on the road.
Within moments he was asleep and snoring. I kept the radio low and drove at a reasonable speed, as my own dad would expect me to. There was one problem that seemed minor, at first—there was no gas pedal. There was just the knob to which one should have been attached. I had a rather heavy soled pair of shoes on, but I soon felt that knob digging into the bottom of my foot like some kind of Chinese torture implement. After several hundred miles, even with a constant shifting of my foot, I was ready to scream and confess to whatever they wanted me to.
Dave’s dad woke up when I stopped for fuel in Laramie, Wyoming. I still had plenty so I gave him some money toward the gas. He picked up a couple sandwiches and candy bars. While we were there, he insisted I call my parents, which I did. They were glad to hear I was on the way home. From there, we planned to head south to Fort Collins. I had a cousin attending Colorado State, so my mom gave me her number. Had she been home, Dave’s dad would have been happy to drop me off, or wait a few hours while we visited, but she didn’t answer her phone.
We had trouble getting the car restarted again, but finally did and were on our way. It was late by then and it was my turn to get some sleep. My adopted dad took over driving. I crawled into the back, took off my shoes and rubbed my sore foot for a while. It was the best sleeping conditions I’d had while on the road during the whole trip so far. I got into my sleeping bag, listened to the radio playing softly and the drone of the tires as we headed off across eastern Colorado. Within a few minutes, I was dead to the world.
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Top-level comments on this article: (1 total)This is such a cool story....on to day three for me now.thanks for following along- been wanting to get this "on paper" for a long time. All true, of course
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