he disappears

The disappearing hitchhiker is not a very good endorsement, but

So I thought I'd make it known that I am alive.

you'll be pleased to know there were some wild rides through northern california including singing with a troupe of Mexican musicians. A hard working man took me through the cold mountains in the December night. We transported his ridiculously large load through the streets of downtown Portland so he could drop me off at a good spot.

My last leg was Portland to Seattle. i walked a way out of portland until some college kids took me across the border into Washington. I was shunted slowly north, but i was too far north too late in the year. it was getting dark and i didn't have my ride to seattle. I hung out at a gas station for an hour or two, got very good value for my $1 coffee, and finally the nth person I approached was a ukranian who was going to Tecoma, we listened to ukranian pop from the 80s, songs like yeah" let's all rock the ussr tonight!" catchy number.

In Tecoma I realized it was still some miles to seattle, and being within a cities limits was not giving me much good hitchhiking vibes. I decided to try the bus. the bus was useless so i hung out and an old man who'd taken himself out to dinner took me and his doggie to a gas station where I made my last attempt at getting a ride. I approached a guy but he shouted at me because he thought i was coming with a gun (what with it being cold and me with me hands in me jacket) I gave up, and called my friend to come and get me.

its always nice to have a friend to call. so that was it, hitchhiking the usa. over

I made it home, via an aeroplane, and last summer (while driving in my 84 Volvo 240) of I took a enthusiastic french youth to Benalla he thought there might be work.

Other than that, I haven't really been hitching for a while.
but not so long ago I had occasion to do give it one more go,
to live the romance that is the side of the american road.

F**king Amtrak
I was back in america and trying to get from Chicago to Springfield. Since it looked way too hard to hitchhike out of Chicago, the 6am train for $27 was appealing. Woke at 4.30 and jumped on the first bus and asked how to get to Union Station. The bus driver was most helpful and soon I was being whizzed into the city with the workers. The CTA is a fine system and we were expressing. At 5.20 we were downtown, but there was a bit of a tortuously slow trip up the street to the station. I arrived in the station about 5.45 and walked in to get my ticket. I queued up and there were two people working in a chilled out way, and i was pretty chilled. The couple in front of me not being particularly in a hurry but me neither what with 11 minutes until the train. I was a patient Australian. eventually it was my turn and I said I'd like to buy a ticket for the 6am service to springfield.
He said "I'm very sorry sir, but I cannot sell you a ticket for that service." He pointed to a sign which said, "We do not sell tickets 10 minutes before the service" he was quite right it was precisely 5.50.
So you really can't sell me a ticket.
No sir.
And the next service? 8.32 sir, and the price? $49 sir,

A hitchhiker again, but not a good one.
I found a map on the wall, and devised a way to get to the I37 that involved a train and a bus,
I asked the man in the booth for a ticket to a park n ride on the interstate but he didn't know about the connecting buses. He directed me to an ancient red telephone. I took the receiver out of the cradle put it to my ear and was asked how I could be assisted,
Press 1 for tickets, the voice told me, 2 for complaints.
I only had one button without a number.
Eventually a woman came on speaking very quickly. I didn't really understand anything she said. I decided to just jump on a train on that line I'd seen in the picture and hope for the best.
I was trying to work out which platform I wanted to be on, but every time I got close to one, a river of people would come in the opposite direction, and I, once more in the possession of a backpack guitar combo, was swept away.
the platforms all talked psychotically,
"platform 4, platform 4, Platform 4, Platform 4" says platform 4
"platform 12?" asks platform 12, "platform 11?" replies "platform 11".

I eventually got on a train and dumped my stuff everywhere and the train was perfectly nice, interestingly sparse, not a single advertisement in site (could this really be America?)

I was going out west with a few sporadic workers and an old man,
scores of people waited on the other side to be taken to work in the city.

I got off the train, and skipped across the tracks. In the station I found out that the bus was leaving in 1 minute!

I ran with my awkward satchel guitar combo and sure enough, there it was and I signalled it down. I put two green dollars into the machine and looked to the lady for my 50c change but she gave me the look that confirmed that the machine had eaten my change. I was one of three people on the bus that ran once every 2 hours.

The Highway
I was a little nervous, but excited, my first hitch in a while, and in Illinois.
I saw the interstate and I knew what to do.
I headed towards the safe spot, where the cars could stop
and it started to rain. Big drops but just a little. But then a lot
I was standing by the road for at least an hour and a half,
but it was only raining for about a third of the time and pouring for one third of the time.
the rain had stopped but things like my guitar in its softcase were a little soggy when a guy stopped! He skidded to a stop 50 yards down the road and then came reversing at speed. he was quite skilled because he skidded to a stop as his window was just inches from my face. it turned out he was taking the wrong highway too soon, and we decided I should stay where I was.

I was encouraged, but I was also wet. it was quite a while longer when i finally nabbed one. he was a carpented. he told me he "wouldn't normally pick up hitchhikers but his son was a musician" and when he saw my guitar he just stopped. It turned out he was lying, his son was a drummer. bdum ching

This kind man was the one who solidified for me my favourite american expression of the trip which is
"there ya go." as in ...could you take me to a gas station where people might be stopping to get gas before they drive further south down the interstate? and he said "there ya go."

Slight poor planning perhaps. I kind of ended up at a gas station on the wrong side of the interstate, but there I was able to get a dunkin donut breakfast burrito for a buck (+8c taxes)

I asked a few people for an optimistic lift to springfield, and they all said: "I would take you, but I'm not going that way..." I gave up and did a dangerous walk across the bridge that had no provision whatsoever for pedestrians (but then why would one walk to a gas station?)

There was lots of traffic. There were learners coming past. And the trucks. They all seemed to be endlessly for the one company. A company you've never heard of, a nice local company, a nice local company with three trucks, Four trucks! FIVE trucks! a lot of trucks.

At that point, due in part to my early start and in part to my earlier Amtrak tirade
I started to feel really sleepy.
I just wanted to lie down, i couldn't handle it anymore: smiling in the face of the people's confusion
Luckily I was prepared with a big Sharpie and a piece of cardboard I'd stolen from Target.

I left my sign visible and tried to recline on my soggy backpack. It wasn't comfortable, so I sat down and played my soggy guitar a while,
well, it was probably only half a song before I am interupted by a young man who has stopped for me and says he can take me to blah blah, which as it turned out was exactly where I was going. I jumped up and clumsily threw my guitar and gear in his open cab (the rain had abated). He seemed a nice fellow who was taking his first hitchhiking experience very seriously. We shook hands and introduced ourselves, and worked out that he couldn't get me all the way to Springfield but to Bloomington which I knew from previous research was a good way towards Springfield. He asked me how it was usually done, this thing when you offer a stranger a ride, how did it usually work , he wanted to know.
Well, that required a story or two, and then we both grew comfortable with the idea of spending an hour together, so we talked about politics and military life (he was an ex marine) and as we were driving past a field of windmills he revealed that he had once investigated buying a windmill, but aparently the upfront capital for those big white things was a bit too much. He asked me: "Do you have racism in Australia?" And I said, no, we eradicated it in 1973. I didn't say that. I'm too earnest in conversation: rather I told him our famous racist stories, and he did have a vague recollection of Cronulla when I mentioned it.

By the time we got to Bloomington, the rain was nowhere in sight and it was roasting.
He dropped me off in the centre of Normal, which I found out was the twin town of B.
I inquired at the station, and amtrak was only $12 the rest of the way, (which was more my speed than $49) if I waited til the evening service.

Perfect, so now I can hang out a few hours in Normal Il.
I took refuge a while in an air-conditioned eco-cafe where I ate organic yummies
I tried not to drink booze (again) for at least a while. two hours,
then gave up and went to a bar,
where finally the reason for carrying around that clunking bit of box hill wood came good
we sang american classics with gusto and they plastered me with vodka and jager bombs and pints of delicious american beer
and by the time i got on the train station i must have been a slobbering mess,
but that was perfect, because by the time I woke up in Springfield, 45 minutes later, I was ready to go again.

Hitchhiking Gods

You are not going to get picked up for a while
for a while?
for a while
Can I leave?
You can leave
And will you tell me when to come back?
no
so how will i know when to come back
you won't
so what should i do?
Wait
Wait?
Stick your thumb out
to all those cars?
even the ones that won't stop


Forward thumb, high thumb, dancing thumb.
bouncing ball on thumb, throwing rocks with aid of thumb.

Can’t I just not be here?
no.
i'm cold. can't i just go inside?
you can go inside.
and I can just wait in there and get warm for a while
you can wait in there,
and you'll tell me when it's time to go?
I tell you when it's time to wait.


what’s the point i’ve been here for hours nobody’s going to pick me up,
stick your thumb out
I've got to restrategize.
so restrategize
and if i restrategize somebody will pick me up?
no you just have to wait.
wait and?
Stick your thumb out
and?
think happy thoughts

the cars the idea of ...the idea of New Orleans, staring at the people in the cars. pulling faces at the people in the cars. happy thoughts, la la, la. I'll make them smile. hey, it's me, wanna give me a lift. hey. ha. la la la. Come on, just one smile, just one smile. is that a smile?
no that's more of a surprised look. ha ha ha. la la la. and look that fellow is outraged. i must be standing on his bit of the highway. oopsydaisy la la la ooooh she looks confused.
It's okay ma'am. I'm sticking my thumb out.
That's right. my thumb. out. no need to stop.
yes sir i know you're not going to give me a lift,
but, well, i was rather hoping, hence the thumb, out.
oh sorry ma'am if i'm bothering you, but I'm hitchhiking,
it's just the rules. you stick your thumb out

i'm hitchhiking, hitchhiking, please understand that i'm...just... f**ing HITCHHIKING
HITCHHIKING! YOU YOU YOU YOU YOU IMBECILES.
You indecent folk who don't have the common decency to pick up another human being another HUMAN BEING not one of you has room for a HUMAN BEING! Oh why is it so? Out of all these cars in this whole highway, not one of you thinks this person has anything to do with you.


you don't have to be angry.
I'm angry because you are making me wait.
I'm not making you wait.
Then why am I waiting?
You are waiting for somebody
Who?
somebody who'll pick you up.
Why?
you tell me.


They might not know me, but they will see. i will get into their heart release them from their fear invite them into my heart we'll be friends. look at me folks the friendly warrior wielding his only weapon a thumb, look at me folks, give me a lift, i'm just goofy and harmless.


somebody is slowing.
You did it.
I was goofy and harmless!
you are goofy and harmless
and that's the secret?
no
then what's the secret?
get into the car
you open the door, and you're on your own

Monterey to Santa Cruz (just a wee one)

Up and at em, refreshed and ready to roll to...wherever!

Out on the highway, it wasn’t long.

He was a landscaping contractor, we moved some blueprints so I could get in.

Working for government, so many regulations, so many phone calls in such a short trip, to Watsonville.

Then it was a plumber, of mexican descent, who’d given up on Florida, and returned to California, he worked for Home Hardware,

Managed the plumbing section. The job was secure, but it was tough to buy a house, for his young family.

Then I was in Santa Cruz, and I liked it well enough, so I stayed for a while.

OC to Monterey, Day 3 (The wise)

A Medicine Man talks about new levels of conciousness

An early start didn’t get me moving very quickly. It was a native man of 70 years who picked me up after a half hour or so. He seemed to be fighting fit, but apparently had all sorts of conditions from cancers to emphizema, and as a result he smoked marijuana medicinally. By this stage it was par for the course when he shared his medicine as we drove along that winding road, following the cliffs, stopping to look at waterfalls and the like. I only got scared once when we seemed to slip a little on a particularly sharp bend. He dropped me at the next hotel/restaurant along and bought me a delicious breakfast. ‘How funny’ he said, ‘that an old man picks you up, buys you breakfast and then drives off with only a “happy trails.”’ How funny indeed, and how nice. Thankyou, and happy trails to you sir.

*****The Bender ends******

Walking the Dog
I was relaxing and enjoying the sunshine, not in a hurry after the spiritual guidance of my last ride, when I met a man taking his dog for a walk. He’d started the walk 30 days previously in San Francisco. We chatted away and it turned out that he, despite appearances, was a man of some means, who simply liked to live a simple life. I really admired the guy. His dog had hurt a paw, so now he was going to hitch a ride to get some treatment. We were going opposite directions for a while, before he decided that South wasn’t the way he wanted to go. He joined me in my spot looking for a ride North.

No point Russian
We waited a long time on that very quiet highway. Then a middle-aged couple with thick accents stopped for a look at the view. As they were getting back in the car, I negociated a trip down the road with them. Unfortunately, they didn’t have room for my friend and his dog, so I said my goodbyes to them.

They were a couple of Russians who’d emigrated to the USA at the end of the cold war. They lived on the East Coast and were on a little Californian getaway. They wanted to keep stopping and looking at things, which is pretty much the reason I was there too, so we were temporary travel pals. They were lovely people, perhaps slightly confused by my vagrant lifestyle, I mean, don’t I have a job, or actually do something? One day, one day…

Pays to sleep
Suddenly we were off the quietest highway in the world, and there was traffic everywhere. I got dropped off in Monterey. I strolled down to a busy onramp, stuck my thumb out, not sure where I was going, maybe Santa Cruz. As I stood there, as dusk fell, an overwhelming weariness took over my body. Unthinnkingly I walked back to some motels I’d seen, I used a credit card, actually paid for a bed, turned on the TV, and the next thing I knew it was morning.

OC to Monterey, Day 2 (Green)

After a long walk into town from the CalPoly campus, a coffee, and another unsuccessful busking attempt, I walked out to highway 1. This was it, I would cruise along the coast and see the lovely cliffs.

Mirrorvision
The first guy who picked me up was the founder and president of Mirrorvision, a company that will revolutionize the way we view media. He took me to his studio apartment in the little town of Morro Bay where he demonstrated (after another puff of a pipe) his product, four angled mirrors around an 8 inch TV screen from the 70s. He showed me a version of The Empire Strikes Back, specially edited for the Mirrorvision format. I also got to try some special Mirrorvision goggles that act as a kind of kaleidoscope but of course way cooler and more revolutionary. Its only a matter of time before everybody can enjoy this technology, so enjoy the last days of seeing the world straight before Mirrorvision takes over.

Uninhabited
About this point I realized that I had lost my map back in SLO. Oh well, what they hey, I wasn’t going to go back for it. But if I had it, I might have realized that I was about to enter into terrain where nobody really lives. My next lift was three very friendly youngin’s on their way back to Cambria after picking up some groceries in Morro Bay. They left me at the liquor store, opposite a pretty beach, apparently the spot where everybody would stop before attempting to drive on further.

A Surfer and some enormous seals.
Then a guy looking for waves picked me up, and we cruised along. He insisted that we didn’t smoke the joint mr mirrorvision had made for me, and instead we smoked one of his. He had just knocked off work and was relaxing with a beer and a drive. We looked at some enormous seals, elephant seals apparently, as they flopped about on the beach. He very kindly took me to the next stopping point 10 more miles down the road.

Hospitality
We stopped at the start of the amazing cliffs, had a walk around and stood in awe as it got dark. The surfer headed back home, I put my bags and my ‘Monterey’ sign in a prominent position in the outside eating area. I soon realized there wasn’t much point trying to hitch since there were absolutely no cars. Hmm. Interestingly, in this little stretch of California coastline no houses can be built, and the only things that exist are resort like hotels like the one I now found myself in. So the only people moving around were hospitality staff. I met the guy running the convenience store where everything was overpriced, and we became friends over another joint (there were no customers as you can imagine). He really looked after me, finding me some delicious leftover chicken to eat, gave me some free beers, and then when it was revealed that I had launched out into this coastline without a tent or sleeping bag, he offered me a place to sleep. It was his car, much more comfortable I must say than the chilly outdoors, and he even gave me a blanket. I am still so thankful, sir.

OC to Monterey, Day 1 (The hardest hitching to date)

So after Las Vegas exploits (which I would tell you about, but I’m bound by statute 22: “what happens in Vegas…”) and after a sick-day in Orange (was feeling horrible, until Jaeger-bombs and Rock-Band), it was time to hit the road again.

After a brief consultation of Google Maps, I decided that the train was the only reasonable option for getting the hell out of Orange without a car. So I caught the commuter into Union Station LA. I tried and failed to not pay. At Union I assesed options for getting to a thumbable freeway but in LA transport and/or information are shit so I decided to try

AMTRAK

It was nice, I had 4 seats to myself, it cost $21 from LA to Santa Barbara. I met a cool college kid who was going back to school at CalPoly in San Luis Obispo. He was a young guy and I liked him because he thought everything I said was interesting. He was wise with big bright eyes.

Santa Barbara
Attempted to busk, got shunted by security in the mall, then had to compete with the endless beggars on the streets. One example was a couple of guys with a sign that said “Hungry, hungry Hobos”. How is a Simon & Garfunkle song supposed to compete with that?

Getting out of Santa Barbara, THE HARDEST HITCHING EVER
I was at a pedestrian crossing where I had to convince cars to stop, hold up the cars behind them while I got my bags and self into their car. Even I couldn’t believe anyone would do that, they didn’t, I left.

At the next on-ramp there was no room either. From entry to merge was about 20m, and I couldn’t work out how to get a ride without causing an accident. I tried the least busy entry, which had a vague spot where maybe someone could have only knocked over one or two trees while they pulled over. No good. I had to think of a new trick:

THE RED LIGHT TRICK
One of the 3 entries to the onramp was a traffic light where cars were waiting. There was no room to pull over, but enough time to get in and away on the light cycle. I waited, picked out a solo guy who pulled up as the light turned red. I gave him the would-you-mind-winding-down-the-window signal. I told him I was trying to get a lift and that I was stuck, that even a ride just down a few exits would help. He helped.

ILLEGAL ROAD CROSSINGS
Where that photography student dropped me was even worse. The onramp was embedded amongst intersecting roads not intended for a pedestrian to ever reach. I watched traffic for a long time before crossing two roads illegally. Then I was standing in an illegal and moderately dangerours spot, waving my thumb out.

I kept smiling as the sun got lower. It seemed hopeless. Then

A GIRL!
A lovely girl by herself. She gave me a quick test:
-You’re not crazy are you?
-You’re travelling aren’t you?
I must have answered correctly because before long we were rolling along to San Luis Obispo. As we drove we had a taxi-cab like confession session. She told me about her boyfriend troubles, and I chimed in with the occasional ‘Right on sister,’ Then I revealed a restless doubt of my soul (or two) and we literally bonded (literally in the american sense, actually we bonded figuratively)

Then I called up my new college friend
***the bender begins****
and he helped me find a place to sleep where I was able to develop a method of lying flat on a sofa and a single-seater ordinarily too small for sleeping, very handy if you ever end up in college accomodation.

Flagstaff AZ to Las Vegas NV (A Movable Feast, Hitchhikers, Christian-Rock and Holiday Traffic Jams)

Thanksgiving

A light drizzle was falling on Flagstaff the last Thursday in November. It was the morning after a crazy Wednesday, a night of open-mic, 25c drinks, sand-speckled beer that had been down the grand-canyon and back and finally the couch of a sweet half-swedish girl. She’d made me feel great about my Swedish, more than any real Swedish person could, “Snakke du Svensk?” “Ja!”

These memories were floating through my head as my phone rang. It was cousin Ed and Ms. Watson calling from Atlanta, wishing me a happy thanksgiving. Alex across on the other couch started talking to her mum too, and I could hear that on the other end, the phone was being passed around, and over and over the sentiments of this American holiday were being expressed. I give thanks for you every day, she said. I felt inexplicably joyful.

The day before I’d been offered to eat thanksgiving dinner with some of the fine locals I had met in that little mountain town. I had declined. Vegas was calling. But now it was Thursday and outside the rain was falling. I was tossing how best to spend Thanksgiving; eating too much turkey, or getting wet with my thumb out. In the end it was a no-brainer.

Dinner was scheduled for 1pm. But after the crazy night, the hosts were still in bed at two. I went over to help with preparations; my role was chopping onions and then getting out of everybody’s way. I drank beer and a little pipe was being passed around. We played games. Dinner was served at 6.30pm. The turkey was great. The mashed potato was delicious. The stuffing was unbelievable. Everyone was so full of food, and we continued playing games, and singing along to the guitars and the mandolin. Occasionally I looked outside where it was still raining and where hardly a soul could be found. I was still contemplating hitchhiking. It would be miserable, nobody on the road, and that endless drizzle, while inside was warmth and joy. I’ll catch the Greyhound bus at 2am, I told myself, arrive in Vegas in the morning. The guitars kept singing, and then, the bus, if it existed at all, was past. At 5am I fell asleep on another couch.

Marching with Confidence

The rain had stopped and it was getting light. I had slept two hours but felt fresh as I marched out towards Interstate 40. Once again I hadn’t done my research very well. The spot had only about 10% of traffic heading in the direction of Kingman. Most cars were speeding past on their way South to the big city of Phoenix or East to New Mexico. And nobody heading in my direction stopped. I waited an hour before I decided to find another spot, possibly on the historic Route 66. There are only bits and pieces of that famous highway that remain, but the main street of Flagstaff still bears its name. I walked back into town and toward the 66. On route I stopped at a service station to get some advice. The first local I asked thought the 66 wasn’t the option. He said that where I had been standing was the best spot.

Another Hippy goes out of his way

The second local told me: “Get in.” He was a proper mountain hippy, in his 50s with a little white beard and the kind of hat that you could imagine on a real-life wizard. He was spending the day taking some photos. It was his hobby, although he confessed that he had some talent. A woman had given him the Infinity we were driving in, for example, in exchange for five of his photos. He didn’t really care where he took photos, so although he hadn’t been planning on it, he would take me to Williams.

We were already at 7000ft, but as we drove along he asked if I wanted to get high. Then the cab was hazy and we talked about life and politics. He’d tried to leave Flagstaff a few times, but he always ended up coming back. He was left-leaning, as hippies tend to be, but with a certain degree of cynicism and a lack of tolerance for bullshit, the kind of qualities that often come from spending a long time on the planet. I was very grateful for his company.

A Frog

I walked from where I’d been dropped off to the on-ramp of the freeway. And lo-and-behold, there was already somebody standing there. Could it be? It was. Another hitchhiker. Finally.

He was Etienne, a French dude riding his bike from New York to Los Angeles. The rain had trapped him in Williams for two days and now he was behind schedule. He was trying to get a lift with his bike and all, but without much confidence. For a while we stood together, then he very kindly offered me to stand separately from him, since I could get a ride in anything, whereas he needed a pick-up truck. I moved my bags down the road, but still drifted back and talked to him. And in the end we got a ride together.

Christian-Classic-Rock

A father and son tried to spend thanksgiving riding their 4-wheel motorbikes in the mountains. But their car broke down. Now they were on their way back with a massive trailer, room for an extra bicycle and all our gear. Then we were rolling along. They asked for a song so I took out my guitar and played a few as we drove. The son was about 14, a sweet kid, full of curiousity about Australia and France. The dad was into classic-rock, and he told me that he also played guitar, and wrote music. Christian Music.

When we stopped for a toilet break, he played me a number. Try to imagine a guitar riff in 2/4 by Eric Clapton in the Cream years or The Rolling Stones, that goes (starting on the off-beat) Nah, nana, nah, nah, nana. So the song went:

He’s the King…
(Nah, nana, nah, nah, nana)
The King of Kings
(Nah, nana, nah, nah, nana)
He’s the lord…
(Nah, nana, nah, nah, nana)
Of all things
(Nah, nana, nah, nah, nana)

It was still stuck in my head long after I wished goodbye to the three of them in Kingman.