“Road Trip—Pt VI: Passing in the Night”

The sun was shining auspiciously the next morning, and it was decidedly warm for late January.  My bright red Alpha Sigma Phi jacket was sufficient even shortly after the sun woke me and I broke camp.  It was disappointing that I stood there for a long time before I got a ride.  I hoped the driver would take me to a truck stop, at least, so I could get something to eat.  The general didn’t stop for some time after he picked me up, but I didn’t complain after he told me he was headed for Memphis and would enjoy the company.

We did enjoy our conversation that day.  I’ve often wondered what happened to him and if he remembered the kid he drove across Tennessee.  He was kind enough to stop for lunch and let me ride on with him, and when we got to Memphis, he even drove across the city and dropped me off where I could easily get into Arkansas and the I-70/I-55 interchange.  A few hours and some unmemorable rides later I was in St. Louis.

There I was again, standing on the side of the highway.  Not far away and obviously headed in the same direction, a young woman about my age stood next to a pack almost as big as she was.  It was getting dark.

I am pretty “Old School,” as many of you know, especially when it comes to my romantic notions of the Chivalric Code.  [Laugh if you wish.]  I know I wouldn’t want my daughter thumbing her way across the country.  Wouldn’t have even back then.  Some of my female college friends probably have some stories of their own.  On top of that, a sort of unwritten code of the highway was that you gave precedence to a hitcher who was already at the place you were dropped off.  She was there first.  I headed her way to go on down the road.

She eyed me suspiciously, of course, as I walked up the roadside toward her.  I put on a smile and waved with both hands open when I said, “Hello!  I’m headed on to northwest Missouri, probably not until the morning.”

I think it alleviated her fears.  We exchanged pleasantries.  I don’t remember much about her, not her name or even much more about what she looked like.  Friendly, at least.  We chatted a bit.  I told her I was going to grab a bite to eat and look for somewhere inexpensive to spend the night.  I could tell from the look in her eyes that the thought of food was a bit troublesome.  With as many reassurances as possible that I was harmless (no, really!), I talked her into letting me buy her a sandwich.  Can’t remember where that was, either, but next door to the little diner was an old hotel.

These days you have to go out to some small towns—or the seedier parts of cities—to find places like that.  The rooms were just for sleeping.  Each floor had one bathroom that had a tub and shower.  Everyone on the floor took turns using it.  I do remember that one night was $10.  That was forty-two years ago, remember?  My dinner companion had loosened up while we talked over our sandwiches, but it took a good deal more convincing to talk her into sleeping on the floor of my room.  I had discovered that she had very little money left and I do recall that she still had a long way to go even if I don’t remember where that was.  We had both spent the night before asleep in the rain, but she didn’t have a tent and had sat up all night under an overpass.  She eventually accepted my offer—I had told her I had a sleeping bag and would be comfortable on the floor, but she wouldn’t hear of it.  She did use my bag as a mattress, however.  Her time in the bathroom included doing some laundry in the sink, and she wasn’t in the least embarrassed about hanging her underwear on the furniture to dry or spreading a pair of wet jeans over the radiator.  We’d used up most of our small talk by then; we were both tired; she snored.

I heard her get around the next morning, but I only let her know I was awake to wish her well and safe travels as she left.  I followed not long after.  I think I had about five dollars left.  With my fingers crossed, I headed for the highway again.  I knew we were headed the same direction, but she must have had good luck catching a ride that morning because I never saw her again.  The sun was shining brightly behind me and I was headed west.  Home stretch.

I flipped over the plywood sign I had been carrying.  One side said “Missouri.”  This side had “Tarkio” in big red letters.  I knew from experience that drivers were more likely to stop if they had a general idea of where you were headed.  Not far from the Mississippi a beat up boat of a car pulled over.  Two young ladies leaned out the passenger side window.  “Is Tarkio anywhere near Nebraska City?”

Yep.  I was going to be home very soon.