Hitchhiking Adventures – Part 5

And in the middle of this picture, there’s me standing on a highway, my thumb raised against the wind. Then there was he, a man of about 35 years. A road construction worker, talkative, a lover of country music, baseball and beer. And he stopped to give me a ride. He was in good mood. It was Friday and the weekend was coming. After five days of working on a highway he was driving home for the weekend. He wasn’t too demanding when it came to his music. He had a single cassette that he always turned around. We drove for about three hours, listening to each country song on his cassette about three times, and to me all of the songs on his cassette sounded the same. We just kept going straight and straight down the highway. I don´t remember changing the direction, not even once. We didn’t pass many cars and, from what I remember, most of the ones that did were pickup trucks and the majority had a gun hanging on the rear window. My driver greeted each car that passed by. And the other drivers greeted back. We were listening to this one cassette and drinking beer. After finishing a can of beer the driver threw it into the back of his car, opening another one. I was thinking if I should be worried because of the driver getting more and more alcohol into his system. But the highway was straight, it wasn’t hilly, there was no heavy traffic, and he wasn’t going fast. He was looking forward to the weekend. I was sure, he would manage. We had a good conversation and he was curious about what was going on outside of his state. He told me that he left Wyoming only once in his life. What motivated him to leave the state was a car exhibition in a neighbouring state. “There was a car, covered in leather all over!” I told him many things and he often commented with “Is that true!?” I also tried to find out more about him. Well, he didn’t have a family and his main interests were: watching baseball, going fishing and hunting, and having one's peace and a cold beer. Finally, we arrived in his hometown. I was hoping that he would invite me to his place. I would even watch baseball with him and have a few more cold beers. But I think that didn’t occur to him. He dropped me off at a free camping ground in the middle of the little town, which was also nice. It already became dark. I put up my tent, but had kind of a strange feeling. There were some bars nearby and really loud group of young provincial people was warming up for the weekend. I didn’t want to walk around, joining the locals for another beer. I was worried about leaving my belongings alone in the middle of the town on a Friday party night. The next morning I walked back to the highway to continue my journey towards Nebraska. I had already hitchhiked for many days in the USA and Canada, but only met another hitchhiker twice, one of them this morning.

He was huge, with black hair and a long black beard. He was wearing at least two warm jackets and a winter hat, though it was already warm that morning. He looked like he hadn’t showered for a while. He was about 40 years old and carried eight big suitcases with him. I couldn’t imagine how it was possible to hitchhike with eight suitcases. But he told me, he managed. He had started his journey in Alaska seven months ago, in the middle of the arctic winter. Him in Alaska in winter, carrying eight suitcases. Imagine. He wasn’t badly equipped, which was no wonder considering his eight suitcases. The first thing he did was to give me a pair of good winter gloves, of which he had even more stored in his luggage, saying: “You never know.” America, a country of endless possibilities. For the first time in my life I got winter gloves as a gift on a beautiful and sunny day in the middle of summer. There was some kind of a walkie talkie next to his baggage. Whenever a truck showed up, he radioed to the driver: "Hey, take me with you, or at least leave me a coffee." I stayed with him for a while. But then I thought that no one would stop for us. I said goodbye and walked down the highway towards Nebraska. He couldn’t see me anymore after I had crossed the first curve, and I positioned myself, hoping for somebody to offer me a ride. I stood there for about an hour. Few cars came and none of them stopped. I got bored, but also curious. I wanted to see what happened to my comrade from Alaska. I went back and… He was gone. If he had passed me, I would have noticed, I was sure. But how did he leave carrying his eight suitcases? That was my Wyoming miracle.