I’m shivering as I type, warming up inside Denny’s awaiting my breakfast slam. Ahh…that’s better: ‘sausage’, eggs over easy, pancakes with maple syrup and a cup of coffee that keeps being refilled. Righteo, so how did I get here, from Californian November warmth to 7000feet and freezing?
The Gigalopolis
A few days ago, when I first arrived in the OC, I thought I was in LA. Not according to the locals. It’s a different city altogether. Seems a bit pedantic to me. Sure, it may be 35 miles from downtown LA but its not like there’s any distinguishable break from the endless city-blocks full of traffic and freeways projecting people around. You couldn’t really go anywhere without a car. And I think if you had a car you would simply end up driving around in endless circles (or squares, rather) going from one place to another, and never escaping. I was escaping. So I caught the train.
To San Bernadino. Another MCW* (the fourth I’ve visited), but again I was dissapointed to come out alive.
California
My first ride was a couple of hollywood agents, cruising back to their mountain retreat to put up christmas decorations. We drove through the hilly desert, and they dropped me at a rather pleasing mountain pass.
I threw some rocks. I had my first encounter with the California Police:
“You have to stand that side of the tree to be legal” he shouted (pleasantly?) from his car window. Apparently I had been blurring the lines between what is interstate and what is not. Yes sir, and I moved. But a gang of Mexicans who were doing some roadwork parked their truck in such a way that being legal meant not being visible. So I moved back to where I was originally, and before long got picked up by a Mexican who took me 20 miles down the road to the small city of Victorville.
God
Victorville was a bad place to stop. First because nobody was picking me up. Second, because God starting talking to me:
“You’re not aloud to be there…” said God.
I looked around for the source of this disembodied voice. It wasn’t God afterall, rather another cop hiding in the bushes, using his megaphone to scare people by pretending to be God. I gave him a smile, and a little hand-gesture and shuffled about 20m back down the onramp, leaning my things against the sign that says “No Pedestrians, No Farm equipment, No Mexicans.” I was honestly just trying to be legal, but I guess he thought I was being smart.
“What are you doing?” he shouted incredulously through his windown. He looked a bit confused, like The Wizard of Oz after he’s discovered, unsure whether to continue using his megaphone or not.
Oh, I was trying to get a lift into Arizona.
Well you can’t hitchhike here!
I pulled out my old chestnut: “Oh sorry officer, I was under the impression that the onramp was ok, but not the interstate itself.” This confused him. He didn’t seem to be sure if hitchhiking was legal or not (and nor am I), but he was sufficiently thrown by this to think of a new excuse.
“That sign there is just a guide,” he told me. “I’m highway patrol, and I have jurisdiction over the whole onramp, so I’m afraid you can’t stand there. It’s a matter of your safety, that’s all, not because you’re a nuisance, but because we’re responsible if somebody takes the corner too tight and hits you.” Oh sure sir, no problem sir, thanks for allowing me to cross the onramp twice for you to explain how I might get killed standing beside it. Prick.
So for the first time I was forced from a spot on legal advice.
Slow progress, good vibrations.
The next onramp, a couple of miles away seemed the best option. I walked down the road holding my ‘Barstow’ sign, backwards. A wonderful lady picked me up, and took me to the next onramp. She was brilliant, offered me a place to stay if I got stuck, and even came back 20 minutes later with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches!
I waited, no police, good! No traffic either. Bad. I practiced bouncing the ball (see Ep. 3) on my head.
Away...
I was in the car of a retired soldier. We drove past breathtaking scenery, a surreal desert/mountain combination. We had a nice chat. We agreed about everything, except creationism and muslims.
I was in Barstow, on a little frequented onramp of the I-40, the highway that runs all the way to North Carolina. It was getting dark. Earlier and earlier every bloody day. I needed a lift quick. I needed a new sign. I looked around for a scrap of cardboard, found one, and lo and behold, already had ‘Needles’ written on it. I don’t see other hitchhikers, but they exist, I’m sure. I’m not alone.
Isaac was a nice fellow in the 10th car that passed by. He was a divorcee, spoke with an accent that sounded European, but when I asked where he was from he simply said “Barstow.” He was going to see a friend in Newberry Springs. He left me at the exit of that impossibly small town. It was dark. There was a gas station.
A travel van stopped for gas. They’d passed me back in Barstow and I had waved. Isaac and I had overtaken them. I went and said hello.
I was lounging on a mattress with two dogs, driving down the road. They were on an adventure. The owners too. Back in Oregon, timing had been fortuitous, both had fallen out of work at the same time, and desired to spend a few months in Mexico surfing. They were driving down the 40 to that effect.
Then we were drinking Jack Daniels at the rest-area where they were going to camp the night. I hung out for a couple of swigs and a couple of smokes. They were very kind.
I was reading the tourist info at the rest area, all about Arizona, and about the rules for rest areas. I watched a guy go into the toilet. I watched him leave, hesitated for a moment, and then. Excuse me buddy…
The Summer Ends
80mph we sped, and I found out he was a combat engineer for the army. Apparently this is a standard infantry ‘grunt’ who occasionally gets to blow up bridges and the like. He was driving all the way across the country to his new station in North Carolina, where he would join the 82nd airborne. He was a wonder, a very sharp character. We became fast friends. We agreed about a lot of stuff, and we enjoyed disagreeing with each other too. He was mostly playing the centrist conservative, and I the centrist liberal (in the american sense). He had wanted McCain to win. He agreed that the country was in bad shape, but had a refreshing view of what those problems were. We talked for four hours straight, and were just short of Flagstaff when he pulled over to sleep a few hours. We were at 7000ft. It was cold. Very cold. 33 degrees according to his car. I still don’t always get farenheit, but now I know that 33 is cold enough for me. But he was army. He was tough. I was the whimp who had to borrow a blanket.
Before sun-up we set off again, and he dropped me here at Denny’s, where now I’ve finished my breakfast, and my fourth refill of coffee. I’m warm again now. The sweet blessed warmth of the indoors.
*Murder Capital of the World.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Friday, November 21, 2008
Austin TX to Orange, CA (An Epic)
I’d been threatening to ‘get cracking west’ for a while, and stop pansying about with these 200-mile-days. But I didn’t expect to end up on the West Coast so soon. I put it down to tiredness, lonely highways and the cold.
It began with meeting a young Obama campaigner in the adjacent hotel room in Austin. Over a few beers in the ‘live music capital of the world’ I divined that he was heading West. Taking a semester off school to join Obama’s campaign machine, he had been sent to Missouri where he worked for a solid four months. After the (historic) victory he had spent a couple of weeks celebrating, and after a week in Austin was heading back to his home in Oregon. So on Monday morning I said goodbye to my Mexican mates and jumped in his car.
We ate up Texas. Texas as many of y’all know is often used by Americans to understand the size of countries. As in the sentence ‘Bolivia is one and a half Texases’. I guess France would be our metric equivalent. Texas is big, and West Texas is boring. So we drove and drove through endless barren countryside, occasionally chatting away. He was an interesting guy, an intelligent thinker who understood the difficulties of practical politics. Refreshingly, he didn’t suffer from that worrying disease of Obamamania which makes you believe that all the world’s problems are now resolved.
Darkness fell and we drove on to El Paso. El Paso is sprawling and shiny, set amongst some crazy hills, and at nighttime the dominant feature is an enormous star of texas placed hollywood style on the adjacent mountains. Here my ride was stopping for the night in a hotel before he drove on towards Vegas. I decided to try my luck and look for a lift that would take me through the night. So he dropped me at a truckstop. There I began my old routine of asking for a lift to Albuquerque, New Mexico. It didn’t work. It was 10pm, then 11pm, then midnight. I had drunk a lot of coffee. There weren’t many people coming through. Everyone was going east or west, to California or to Florida. I kept trying. Then I fell asleep sitting up under my hoodie. The guys on nightshift took turns in sleeping too. I thought they might not be happy with my being there, but they didn’t say anything, and in the morning wouldn’t take any money for my coffee. I wasn’t worried about anything, which was weird. I guess it was my longest wait by far, but really I was just hanging out so it wasn’t too bad.
When it started to get light, I decided enough was enough, and I went out to the onramp and stood there for a while. But it was cold. Very cold, so I was jumping around, looking silly which probably didn’t help my chances of getting picked up. I got the feeling that in this border-town nobody wanted to pick up a stranger. But finally at about 10am, 12 hours after I had arrived, a guy in a truck pulled over. He too was going to California, but I thought I could get a lift up to Las Cruces where I could continue North on the 25 through New Mexico and Colorado.
But then, he told me the story of another guitarist he had given a lift all the way to California. And gradually, tired and not thinking too straight, I decided I didn’t really want to get off at Las Cruces. It was more of a non-decision. Just keep on rolling. And roll we did. He was Fidel one of the coolest cats you’ll ever meet. A Mexican cowboy (he really looked after his black Stetson) who loved to drive along singing. I got my guitar out and we sang La Bamba. He had a whole lot of Mexican traditional music on his iPod, and he gave me a musical tour, singing along all the while. One of my favourites was a Spanish version of Bob Dylan’s “It ain’t me babe”:
No, no, no, no, no soy yo.
No, no, no, no, no soy yo.
Al que ella dara su amor.
I guess in Mexico a song wouldn’t fly if it had the theme “sorry girl, I’m not interested in you.” In the Mexican version, its about a guy who gets stood up at the alter by his love, “It ain’t me- who she’s gonna love.” Wonderful!
In this way, New Mexico dissappeared. Arizona came with its amazing geography, like those american road-trip movies, a strip of tarmac carved through an unbelievable desert landscape. Then came the cactii. I can’t imagine a better way to travel through the West, playing songs on a guitar, chatting, popping back into the sleeper for naps, watching the miles slip by. Night fell and we crossed into California, and stopped for the night in a hotel in Thousand Palms. In the morning we continued on, past the most extensive wind-farm I have ever seen. I guess in California they go for quantity rather than quality. There must have been a few thousand turbines, most of which weren’t spinning. Desert. Cactus. Palm tree. And then we arrived at our destination of Pomona.
There I worked for my ride, unscrewing bolts, putting wedges under tyres, hammering bits of wood. It felt good to get covered in grease in the baking sun. His load was three new trucks for a truck-rental company. The foreman of the yard said that he had had 50 trucks delivered that week. And the company Fidel worked for was sending out hundreds of trucks a week. I thought the country was supposed to be in recession.
Then my friend came and picked me up. We rode down freeway after freeway, cars everywhere. I had arrived in a place that didn’t seem plausible in a desert. So Cal, 48 hours after leaving the capital of Texas.
It began with meeting a young Obama campaigner in the adjacent hotel room in Austin. Over a few beers in the ‘live music capital of the world’ I divined that he was heading West. Taking a semester off school to join Obama’s campaign machine, he had been sent to Missouri where he worked for a solid four months. After the (historic) victory he had spent a couple of weeks celebrating, and after a week in Austin was heading back to his home in Oregon. So on Monday morning I said goodbye to my Mexican mates and jumped in his car.
We ate up Texas. Texas as many of y’all know is often used by Americans to understand the size of countries. As in the sentence ‘Bolivia is one and a half Texases’. I guess France would be our metric equivalent. Texas is big, and West Texas is boring. So we drove and drove through endless barren countryside, occasionally chatting away. He was an interesting guy, an intelligent thinker who understood the difficulties of practical politics. Refreshingly, he didn’t suffer from that worrying disease of Obamamania which makes you believe that all the world’s problems are now resolved.
Darkness fell and we drove on to El Paso. El Paso is sprawling and shiny, set amongst some crazy hills, and at nighttime the dominant feature is an enormous star of texas placed hollywood style on the adjacent mountains. Here my ride was stopping for the night in a hotel before he drove on towards Vegas. I decided to try my luck and look for a lift that would take me through the night. So he dropped me at a truckstop. There I began my old routine of asking for a lift to Albuquerque, New Mexico. It didn’t work. It was 10pm, then 11pm, then midnight. I had drunk a lot of coffee. There weren’t many people coming through. Everyone was going east or west, to California or to Florida. I kept trying. Then I fell asleep sitting up under my hoodie. The guys on nightshift took turns in sleeping too. I thought they might not be happy with my being there, but they didn’t say anything, and in the morning wouldn’t take any money for my coffee. I wasn’t worried about anything, which was weird. I guess it was my longest wait by far, but really I was just hanging out so it wasn’t too bad.
When it started to get light, I decided enough was enough, and I went out to the onramp and stood there for a while. But it was cold. Very cold, so I was jumping around, looking silly which probably didn’t help my chances of getting picked up. I got the feeling that in this border-town nobody wanted to pick up a stranger. But finally at about 10am, 12 hours after I had arrived, a guy in a truck pulled over. He too was going to California, but I thought I could get a lift up to Las Cruces where I could continue North on the 25 through New Mexico and Colorado.
But then, he told me the story of another guitarist he had given a lift all the way to California. And gradually, tired and not thinking too straight, I decided I didn’t really want to get off at Las Cruces. It was more of a non-decision. Just keep on rolling. And roll we did. He was Fidel one of the coolest cats you’ll ever meet. A Mexican cowboy (he really looked after his black Stetson) who loved to drive along singing. I got my guitar out and we sang La Bamba. He had a whole lot of Mexican traditional music on his iPod, and he gave me a musical tour, singing along all the while. One of my favourites was a Spanish version of Bob Dylan’s “It ain’t me babe”:
No, no, no, no, no soy yo.
No, no, no, no, no soy yo.
Al que ella dara su amor.
I guess in Mexico a song wouldn’t fly if it had the theme “sorry girl, I’m not interested in you.” In the Mexican version, its about a guy who gets stood up at the alter by his love, “It ain’t me- who she’s gonna love.” Wonderful!
In this way, New Mexico dissappeared. Arizona came with its amazing geography, like those american road-trip movies, a strip of tarmac carved through an unbelievable desert landscape. Then came the cactii. I can’t imagine a better way to travel through the West, playing songs on a guitar, chatting, popping back into the sleeper for naps, watching the miles slip by. Night fell and we crossed into California, and stopped for the night in a hotel in Thousand Palms. In the morning we continued on, past the most extensive wind-farm I have ever seen. I guess in California they go for quantity rather than quality. There must have been a few thousand turbines, most of which weren’t spinning. Desert. Cactus. Palm tree. And then we arrived at our destination of Pomona.
There I worked for my ride, unscrewing bolts, putting wedges under tyres, hammering bits of wood. It felt good to get covered in grease in the baking sun. His load was three new trucks for a truck-rental company. The foreman of the yard said that he had had 50 trucks delivered that week. And the company Fidel worked for was sending out hundreds of trucks a week. I thought the country was supposed to be in recession.
Then my friend came and picked me up. We rode down freeway after freeway, cars everywhere. I had arrived in a place that didn’t seem plausible in a desert. So Cal, 48 hours after leaving the capital of Texas.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Lafayette LA to Houston TX (the longest day yet)
A Good Start
After the debacle of yesterday, and by the lucky virtue of my host having an early start, I was on the road at 7.45am. I whistled a little tune as I waited to cross the interstate, and found myself a good spot on the other side, a long on-ramp, safe to stop and plenty of time for drivers to see me. The first bunch of cars came by and one of them pulled over. I wasn’t surprised for some reason. It just felt like I was going to get a quick ride, and I did. He was a college student on his way to class. By the time he dropped me off in the little town of Crowley I’d heard a few of the songs he’d recorded in his home studio and heard about happy days spent in Colorado.
The Niggas
Three lads who were in the business of selling seafood squeezed my bags in amongst their eskies, and shoved me in the back seat of the pick-up. They were white boys who liked to refer to each other as ‘nigga’ and talked about popping caps in arses, listened to hip-hop, that sort of thing. They were actually pretty humourous. They told me they could get me as far as Lake Charles, but suddenly we pulled off the highway and parked infront of a Walmart. One of the chaps got out, and we waited. I didn’t know what was going on, but it turned out he was robbing a few little items he required like a phone. He’d been inside the store for about 20 minutes when a police car entered the parking lot and pulled up at the shopfront. We all thought he might be in a little trouble, but at that moment he surprised us, coming from behind and smiled as he got in, showing off his brand-new cap! We were off again and a little down the road I thanked them and was on my way
An ex-hippie
After quite a wait a guy pulling a caravan made a last-minute decision to stop. I don’t usually pick up hitchhikers, he told me, but then I saw your guitar. Music wins again. It turned out he was a bit of a tripper. In his 50s, he was on his way from Florida to the devastated island of Galveston. He’d had a tip-off that some hurricane recovery work could be found there. In the meantime he was on the look-out for a dentist who could put his teeth back in. He was pulling his home with him, behind an old Ford Van that was getting 8 miles to the gallon. I know the mileage because we ran out of gas not once, but 3 times. He only seemed to want to have enough in his tank to make it to the next gas-station. At each stop we got out and wandered around, and at one stop he forgot to actually get gas, and sure enough, we didn’t make it to the next gas station. Luckily he had a spare gallon in the back, he popped that in but we still didn’t have enough. The gas-station location on his GPS was out by 1 mile, so when he squeezed out the last drops from his reserve, we were still half a mile short. We walked down and got ourselves another gallon. It was impossible to be in a hurry with this guy. But we had lots of interesting conversations, not all of which I really understood, but interesting none the less. The rain started to fall as I got my first glimpse of Texas, and he dropped me off 20 miles from Houston. But 20 miles from Houston basically is Houston. I was trying to get to Austin, and the megalopolis was in my way.
Un otro Mexicano
Too much city traffic. I could feel that nobody was going too pick me up. And it was raining. So I talked a mexican into taking me around the ring-road to a truck-stop which I hoped would be my saviour.
The Trucks are Stuck
Excuse me sir, I was trying to get a lift to Austin.
Oh I’m not going anywhere.
I’ve been here for 5 days.
Nooo, I’m staying here tonight.
And so on.
It’s the economy, apparently. Lots of truckers waiting for loads that don’t exist. And nobody going to Austin. I made friends with the security guard but he couldn’t help. I struck up a deal with a homeless guy. We stood outside the door together, I asked for a lift as they went in, he asked for money as they came out. He was doing much better than me. After two hours without even a sniff I gave up and decided to go into Houston and see what happened.
A lonely bus ride in the pouring rain.
A busy bar. With wifi. And Houston has a hostel. Check-in is until 11pm. But I don’t write down the address.
An holistic-optician
At 10.43 I am on a tram. The police get on, and ask me to get off because my ticket isn’t valid. I’m not the only one. I tell them that the machine doesn’t work, and if they look closely they will see that the ticket for which I was overcharged is stamped with tomorrow’s date. This is taking time, its now 10.50. But a woman has overheard the conversation, has recognized my accent. She asks me what I’m doing. I tell her I’m not sure, going to a hostel I don’t know the address of, or sleeping in the greyhound station. We get off together and she takes me to her office where by day she takes a holistic approach to improving vision. She is lovely. We look up the hostel on the internet, get the address, and she drives me to it. We arrive at 11.27. The office is closing but they check me in, and a beer is awaiting on the balcony, the first of a few after a very long day.
After the debacle of yesterday, and by the lucky virtue of my host having an early start, I was on the road at 7.45am. I whistled a little tune as I waited to cross the interstate, and found myself a good spot on the other side, a long on-ramp, safe to stop and plenty of time for drivers to see me. The first bunch of cars came by and one of them pulled over. I wasn’t surprised for some reason. It just felt like I was going to get a quick ride, and I did. He was a college student on his way to class. By the time he dropped me off in the little town of Crowley I’d heard a few of the songs he’d recorded in his home studio and heard about happy days spent in Colorado.
The Niggas
Three lads who were in the business of selling seafood squeezed my bags in amongst their eskies, and shoved me in the back seat of the pick-up. They were white boys who liked to refer to each other as ‘nigga’ and talked about popping caps in arses, listened to hip-hop, that sort of thing. They were actually pretty humourous. They told me they could get me as far as Lake Charles, but suddenly we pulled off the highway and parked infront of a Walmart. One of the chaps got out, and we waited. I didn’t know what was going on, but it turned out he was robbing a few little items he required like a phone. He’d been inside the store for about 20 minutes when a police car entered the parking lot and pulled up at the shopfront. We all thought he might be in a little trouble, but at that moment he surprised us, coming from behind and smiled as he got in, showing off his brand-new cap! We were off again and a little down the road I thanked them and was on my way
An ex-hippie
After quite a wait a guy pulling a caravan made a last-minute decision to stop. I don’t usually pick up hitchhikers, he told me, but then I saw your guitar. Music wins again. It turned out he was a bit of a tripper. In his 50s, he was on his way from Florida to the devastated island of Galveston. He’d had a tip-off that some hurricane recovery work could be found there. In the meantime he was on the look-out for a dentist who could put his teeth back in. He was pulling his home with him, behind an old Ford Van that was getting 8 miles to the gallon. I know the mileage because we ran out of gas not once, but 3 times. He only seemed to want to have enough in his tank to make it to the next gas-station. At each stop we got out and wandered around, and at one stop he forgot to actually get gas, and sure enough, we didn’t make it to the next gas station. Luckily he had a spare gallon in the back, he popped that in but we still didn’t have enough. The gas-station location on his GPS was out by 1 mile, so when he squeezed out the last drops from his reserve, we were still half a mile short. We walked down and got ourselves another gallon. It was impossible to be in a hurry with this guy. But we had lots of interesting conversations, not all of which I really understood, but interesting none the less. The rain started to fall as I got my first glimpse of Texas, and he dropped me off 20 miles from Houston. But 20 miles from Houston basically is Houston. I was trying to get to Austin, and the megalopolis was in my way.
Un otro Mexicano
Too much city traffic. I could feel that nobody was going too pick me up. And it was raining. So I talked a mexican into taking me around the ring-road to a truck-stop which I hoped would be my saviour.
The Trucks are Stuck
Excuse me sir, I was trying to get a lift to Austin.
Oh I’m not going anywhere.
I’ve been here for 5 days.
Nooo, I’m staying here tonight.
And so on.
It’s the economy, apparently. Lots of truckers waiting for loads that don’t exist. And nobody going to Austin. I made friends with the security guard but he couldn’t help. I struck up a deal with a homeless guy. We stood outside the door together, I asked for a lift as they went in, he asked for money as they came out. He was doing much better than me. After two hours without even a sniff I gave up and decided to go into Houston and see what happened.
A lonely bus ride in the pouring rain.
A busy bar. With wifi. And Houston has a hostel. Check-in is until 11pm. But I don’t write down the address.
An holistic-optician
At 10.43 I am on a tram. The police get on, and ask me to get off because my ticket isn’t valid. I’m not the only one. I tell them that the machine doesn’t work, and if they look closely they will see that the ticket for which I was overcharged is stamped with tomorrow’s date. This is taking time, its now 10.50. But a woman has overheard the conversation, has recognized my accent. She asks me what I’m doing. I tell her I’m not sure, going to a hostel I don’t know the address of, or sleeping in the greyhound station. We get off together and she takes me to her office where by day she takes a holistic approach to improving vision. She is lovely. We look up the hostel on the internet, get the address, and she drives me to it. We arrive at 11.27. The office is closing but they check me in, and a beer is awaiting on the balcony, the first of a few after a very long day.
Friday, November 14, 2008
New Orleans LA to Lafayette LA (the latinos come through)
New Orleans, crazy town, i don't understand how it works but its a bit of a free state. Drinking in the streets, awesome! Legalized gambling, well ok. Showing of boobs- well it depends on the boobs. So understand that in such a place an early morning start didn't happen.
I left my hostel at midday, went for an hour long walk out past a cemetery, and along a highway to a suburb of neat middle-class houses, about one in three uninhabitable after the wind and water came through these parts a little while ago.
But I did find a very nice spot to stand, and it wasn't long before a pair of
Nicaraguans
picked me up and got me somewhat to the edges of New Orleans. I say somewhat because New Orleans is big and I wasn't sure where it actually ended. They were a couple of friendly guys and were very kind about my Spanish. They spoke that reasonably intelligible form of Spanish that most central americans speak.
Then I waited for a long long long time. And I thought I was in trouble again. Again I had been left at a tricky spot, with lots of traffic, cars moving quick and not an especially safe place for them to stop. I walked up and down and tried various spots. An annoying thing that has recently happened is the end of daylight saving. Now its getting dark at 5pm. And I was rather concerned about the possibility of getting stuck in a dodgy outer suburb of New Orleans. It was after 4pm when a couple of
Mexicans
stopped and said they wanted to help me. The passenger was very concerned that I was hitchhiking and thought the police would arrest me at any moment (I didn't tell him that five police cars had drived past during my long wait) and wanted to take me to the airport where I could catch a bus. I wasn't against the idea at this stage, but they weren't going to the airport, and the driver understood that I was trying to hitchhike. We drove along one of the most amazing highways I've ever seen. A swamp as far as the eye could see, the kind of place you could see yourself fishing amongst alligators, and the only man-made thing in sight this enormous concrete strip. At one stage we reached the intersection of two highways which was an incredible concrete construction floating on poles above this swamp. It was almost dark when they dropped me at a gas-station and wished me luck.
I knew I had no choice but to ask around here. I picked out a guy driving a pickup by himself. He looked like a latino but i tried in English first. I still haven't quite worked out the etiquette for this. If you strongly suspect someone of being a spanish-speaker, is it ok to try Spanish first? Would that be offensive if they didn't speak Spanish. Well, when I told in English him I was trying to get a lift to Baton Rouge, he pointed me in the direction of the highway I needed (assuming I had a car). He hadn't understood. Then I tried in Spanish, explaining I was hoping maybe he could give me a lift. He was very reluctant at first, but eventually I talked him into it.
The Honduran
And wasn't I glad I did talk him into it. What a great guy. An illegal immigrant from Honduras who had been living in Lafayette for a couple of years, working in construction. He didn't speak English very well at all. Like so many of these guys who've moved up from South of the border, his job didn't require him to speak English. According to the Lousiana farmers, these latino guys are known for being hard workers, and you just have to find one in the group who can speak English so he can explain things to the rest. He laughed at my joke which I heard the other day, that to my surprise translated well into Spanish. It goes:
Brown + White = Green
We had lots of laughs in the end, and he very kindly took me all the way into downtown Lafayette where I decided I would stay for the night. I had been trying to get to Texas, but when hitchhiking you take what you can get.
I left my hostel at midday, went for an hour long walk out past a cemetery, and along a highway to a suburb of neat middle-class houses, about one in three uninhabitable after the wind and water came through these parts a little while ago.
But I did find a very nice spot to stand, and it wasn't long before a pair of
Nicaraguans
picked me up and got me somewhat to the edges of New Orleans. I say somewhat because New Orleans is big and I wasn't sure where it actually ended. They were a couple of friendly guys and were very kind about my Spanish. They spoke that reasonably intelligible form of Spanish that most central americans speak.
Then I waited for a long long long time. And I thought I was in trouble again. Again I had been left at a tricky spot, with lots of traffic, cars moving quick and not an especially safe place for them to stop. I walked up and down and tried various spots. An annoying thing that has recently happened is the end of daylight saving. Now its getting dark at 5pm. And I was rather concerned about the possibility of getting stuck in a dodgy outer suburb of New Orleans. It was after 4pm when a couple of
Mexicans
stopped and said they wanted to help me. The passenger was very concerned that I was hitchhiking and thought the police would arrest me at any moment (I didn't tell him that five police cars had drived past during my long wait) and wanted to take me to the airport where I could catch a bus. I wasn't against the idea at this stage, but they weren't going to the airport, and the driver understood that I was trying to hitchhike. We drove along one of the most amazing highways I've ever seen. A swamp as far as the eye could see, the kind of place you could see yourself fishing amongst alligators, and the only man-made thing in sight this enormous concrete strip. At one stage we reached the intersection of two highways which was an incredible concrete construction floating on poles above this swamp. It was almost dark when they dropped me at a gas-station and wished me luck.
I knew I had no choice but to ask around here. I picked out a guy driving a pickup by himself. He looked like a latino but i tried in English first. I still haven't quite worked out the etiquette for this. If you strongly suspect someone of being a spanish-speaker, is it ok to try Spanish first? Would that be offensive if they didn't speak Spanish. Well, when I told in English him I was trying to get a lift to Baton Rouge, he pointed me in the direction of the highway I needed (assuming I had a car). He hadn't understood. Then I tried in Spanish, explaining I was hoping maybe he could give me a lift. He was very reluctant at first, but eventually I talked him into it.
The Honduran
And wasn't I glad I did talk him into it. What a great guy. An illegal immigrant from Honduras who had been living in Lafayette for a couple of years, working in construction. He didn't speak English very well at all. Like so many of these guys who've moved up from South of the border, his job didn't require him to speak English. According to the Lousiana farmers, these latino guys are known for being hard workers, and you just have to find one in the group who can speak English so he can explain things to the rest. He laughed at my joke which I heard the other day, that to my surprise translated well into Spanish. It goes:
Brown + White = Green
We had lots of laughs in the end, and he very kindly took me all the way into downtown Lafayette where I decided I would stay for the night. I had been trying to get to Texas, but when hitchhiking you take what you can get.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Meridian MS to New Orleans LA (and knowing between good and evil)
On the road early in Mississippi with storm clouds overhead. A few spots of rain started to make me realize how lucky I've been with the weather. Nothing serious materialized though, and after only half an hour or so, my guitar got me a lift again.
A couple of retired Alabama educators picked me up. They were a couple of great boys in their 60s on their way down to Baton Rouge to watch the big game between Alabama and LSU. Very refreshing to have some reasoned conversation with friendly and intelligent southern folk. We chatted about music, politics, travelling and told jokes. In the two hours we cruised along, i learnt that in Alabama, you have to pick between good and evil. Its quite simple, good you support Alabama, evil, you support Auburn. They dropped me off only 40 miles from NOLA in an awkward spot.
A key to hitchhiking is not only getting lifts, but knowing when to get off. I should have stopped a few miles earlier at the 'Welcome to Louisiana' station and would have fairly easily cruised into New Orleans. Instead, I had to cross several lanes of the busy interstate and then walk about two miles down the road where the cars weren't zipping past at 70. You live. You don't learn. And then
A SKETCHY RIDE
I guess it had to happen, after so many good rides with good people, I finally got a strange one. After a bite to eat, I waited less than a minute before a young chap with dark skin and blue eyes pulled up. I'm trying to get to New Orl'ns I said, and he said he was heading that way. For the first time, there was no conversation to strike up. I tried to get things going with a few standards: "it sure is purty around here", "So what part of New Orleans do you live in?" "Why are you so strange?" We cruised along and listened to Obama's first press conference after his victory. After a while, I noticed he seemed to be rubbing himself. I ignored this, I mean what else could you do? Then he started rubbing himself a little bit more rapidly. I continued to ignore him, but at the same time started to assess things like door handles, central locking systems and potential weapons. I started to think about how to escape, but there was no escape to be had while driving in the middle lane of a highway at 65 miles an hour. I would just have to see how it panned out. I looked out at the amazing view. To get into New Orleans, you cross along an incredible causeway across a massive lake. Ahead I could see the tall buildings of the city. It really was very attractive. He was still rubbing himself. Occasionally I tried to give a look that I hoped would say "look, i don't really mind what you do in your own car, but that thing you are doing is kind of seedy." When I asked a question he would stop rubbing for a moment to curtly answer, and then return to his crotch. Hmm. Well, I decided, I guess its better that he's rubbing himself rather than trying to stick his bits in me. So you can't complain too much. When we got into the city, I asked where the French Quarter was. He pointed to the left, as he was turning to the right. Alright, I'll jump out here then, I said. He pulled up, I got out, I grabbed my bag and said thanks mate. He drove off, i walked into town, and that was that. Relieved, very relieved.
A couple of retired Alabama educators picked me up. They were a couple of great boys in their 60s on their way down to Baton Rouge to watch the big game between Alabama and LSU. Very refreshing to have some reasoned conversation with friendly and intelligent southern folk. We chatted about music, politics, travelling and told jokes. In the two hours we cruised along, i learnt that in Alabama, you have to pick between good and evil. Its quite simple, good you support Alabama, evil, you support Auburn. They dropped me off only 40 miles from NOLA in an awkward spot.
A key to hitchhiking is not only getting lifts, but knowing when to get off. I should have stopped a few miles earlier at the 'Welcome to Louisiana' station and would have fairly easily cruised into New Orleans. Instead, I had to cross several lanes of the busy interstate and then walk about two miles down the road where the cars weren't zipping past at 70. You live. You don't learn. And then
A SKETCHY RIDE
I guess it had to happen, after so many good rides with good people, I finally got a strange one. After a bite to eat, I waited less than a minute before a young chap with dark skin and blue eyes pulled up. I'm trying to get to New Orl'ns I said, and he said he was heading that way. For the first time, there was no conversation to strike up. I tried to get things going with a few standards: "it sure is purty around here", "So what part of New Orleans do you live in?" "Why are you so strange?" We cruised along and listened to Obama's first press conference after his victory. After a while, I noticed he seemed to be rubbing himself. I ignored this, I mean what else could you do? Then he started rubbing himself a little bit more rapidly. I continued to ignore him, but at the same time started to assess things like door handles, central locking systems and potential weapons. I started to think about how to escape, but there was no escape to be had while driving in the middle lane of a highway at 65 miles an hour. I would just have to see how it panned out. I looked out at the amazing view. To get into New Orleans, you cross along an incredible causeway across a massive lake. Ahead I could see the tall buildings of the city. It really was very attractive. He was still rubbing himself. Occasionally I tried to give a look that I hoped would say "look, i don't really mind what you do in your own car, but that thing you are doing is kind of seedy." When I asked a question he would stop rubbing for a moment to curtly answer, and then return to his crotch. Hmm. Well, I decided, I guess its better that he's rubbing himself rather than trying to stick his bits in me. So you can't complain too much. When we got into the city, I asked where the French Quarter was. He pointed to the left, as he was turning to the right. Alright, I'll jump out here then, I said. He pulled up, I got out, I grabbed my bag and said thanks mate. He drove off, i walked into town, and that was that. Relieved, very relieved.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Birmingham GA to Meridian MS
Bobo (The Human)
Bobo picked me up on the outskirts of Birmingham. I introduced myself as Simon, that's a funny name around these parts he told me. He took me down the road and we's gone and had ourselves a lovely little chat. He decided afterwards that I was his friend and that he was going to help me. He offered me money for food, and really wanted to go out of his way to help me. He told me that he never ever learnt to read or write so well (but he could drive a truck just like he's ringin a bell). Despite this he skillfully rendered a sign guaranteed to get me a lift in no time:
Meridan
MISS.
I won't kill you
One of the sweetest guys I ever met.
Then I waited a long long time...
The Comedian
Rob worked at a company providing parts for the Mercedes plant down the road. He was in good humour about the imminent collapse of the American Automotive Industry. I was his first ever hitchhiker. Afterwards he gave me a business card and it turned out he was a comedian in his spare time!
The sun was low, and the cars were driving into it. They couldn't see me so well.
I decided to ask people for a lift at a truck stop. My approach:
"Excuse me sir, I was trying to get a lift into Mississippi. You wouldn't be heading that way would you?"
The 1st man said no I'm not. The 2nd said no I'm not. The 3rd said umm. The gas station employee said you can't do that here son. I started to walk back to the road when the 2nd revealed his fib, and picked me up. Score!
The Lousiana farmers give me the lowdown:
On their African-American brothers
- You don't know what it's like. We're the ones that have to live with 'em.
- You can't educate them black kids, you teach 'em to write their name, and the next day they gone forgot.
- They just sit around and get drunk, and collect their welfare cheques.
- They don't work.
- They go complain about slavery, well if they don't like it why don't they just go on back where they came from.
BUT
- when they get a bit of white blood in'em, well sometimes they can be purty smart
"you mean like Obama?"
- well i don't know about that
and on the president elect
- he's a muslim. And we's be Christians so we don't believe in that. You know when he was gone and sworn in as a senator in Ohio, he wouldn't do it on no bible. He used the Koran. He won't pledge no allegiance to no flag when he's sworn in. No sir.
Sounds like January is going to be even more historic than we thought!
Bobo picked me up on the outskirts of Birmingham. I introduced myself as Simon, that's a funny name around these parts he told me. He took me down the road and we's gone and had ourselves a lovely little chat. He decided afterwards that I was his friend and that he was going to help me. He offered me money for food, and really wanted to go out of his way to help me. He told me that he never ever learnt to read or write so well (but he could drive a truck just like he's ringin a bell). Despite this he skillfully rendered a sign guaranteed to get me a lift in no time:
Meridan
MISS.
I won't kill you
One of the sweetest guys I ever met.
Then I waited a long long time...
The Comedian
Rob worked at a company providing parts for the Mercedes plant down the road. He was in good humour about the imminent collapse of the American Automotive Industry. I was his first ever hitchhiker. Afterwards he gave me a business card and it turned out he was a comedian in his spare time!
The sun was low, and the cars were driving into it. They couldn't see me so well.
I decided to ask people for a lift at a truck stop. My approach:
"Excuse me sir, I was trying to get a lift into Mississippi. You wouldn't be heading that way would you?"
The 1st man said no I'm not. The 2nd said no I'm not. The 3rd said umm. The gas station employee said you can't do that here son. I started to walk back to the road when the 2nd revealed his fib, and picked me up. Score!
The Lousiana farmers give me the lowdown:
On their African-American brothers
- You don't know what it's like. We're the ones that have to live with 'em.
- You can't educate them black kids, you teach 'em to write their name, and the next day they gone forgot.
- They just sit around and get drunk, and collect their welfare cheques.
- They don't work.
- They go complain about slavery, well if they don't like it why don't they just go on back where they came from.
BUT
- when they get a bit of white blood in'em, well sometimes they can be purty smart
"you mean like Obama?"
- well i don't know about that
and on the president elect
- he's a muslim. And we's be Christians so we don't believe in that. You know when he was gone and sworn in as a senator in Ohio, he wouldn't do it on no bible. He used the Koran. He won't pledge no allegiance to no flag when he's sworn in. No sir.
Sounds like January is going to be even more historic than we thought!
Election Day Part 2
The queues turned out to be non-existant at the Birmingham country court-house. There was one woman handing out how to vote Obama flyers, but nobody to hand them to. She asked me for a song, she wanted to sing gospel, great voice. We were joined by the lawn-mowing guy. My first day in Alabama, so I said to him "I guess you just like cutting the grass so much that you do it for free." He could play the harmonica without a harmonica, quite a talent. We were joined by the security guard who took over the axe and played some mean jazz. A regular election day jam!
In the evening I attended a small gathering to watch the results come in. We flicked between Fox News, CNN, NBC and eventually Comedy Central. All those networks try so damn hard to be neutral it hurts, like listening to Eddie McGuire commentate a Collingwood game. We drank champagne when Obama's win was announced, when history was made. Things would never be the same again. Then we got drunk and forgot about the election.
In the evening I attended a small gathering to watch the results come in. We flicked between Fox News, CNN, NBC and eventually Comedy Central. All those networks try so damn hard to be neutral it hurts, like listening to Eddie McGuire commentate a Collingwood game. We drank champagne when Obama's win was announced, when history was made. Things would never be the same again. Then we got drunk and forgot about the election.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Election Day
Its midday on the first tuesday in November and I've just arrived in Birmingham Alabama. When I arrived there was absolutely nothing to do, but I happened to walk passed the Obama 08 headquarters. So decided to volunteer. It turned out this meant calling Florida voters (Alabama is a lost cause I spose). You had to use your own phone. The room was full of a diverse bunch, young women, an old lady, a middle-aged man, white and black. Everybody seemed to be enjoying the feeling of helping out. About 15 volunteers on the phones. I felt a bit silly using my own phone credit, and also using an Australian accent to convince Floridians to get out and vote. So I just made one call to be part of the process. and then I headed on out.
Now to check out these queues, which apparently are stupidly long. I'm not one of those to criticize American democracy too much, but waiting for 6 hours to vote is just dumb.
Now to check out these queues, which apparently are stupidly long. I'm not one of those to criticize American democracy too much, but waiting for 6 hours to vote is just dumb.
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