I stood outside the gas station door in Green River, Utah. My phone said it was 11pm but I wasn’t tired yet and I didn’t see a good place to camp. The cigarette trashcan next to me had something burning in it giving off noxious fumes, but the wind was blowing the smoke towards the only other spot to stand so I had to just deal with it. I decided that I’d take an hour and try to talk someone into picking up a stranger, if I came up empty handed I’d retire and try again in the morning.
I got a lot of filled cars, a lot of people going the wrong way, and a couple no’s. One guy was about to give me a ride but his girlfriend shot it down. He tried to give me money and when I turned it down he took my phone number and said they were getting a hotel for the night, but he’d call me in the morning and see if I was still stranded. I had about 20 minutes before my self-induced deadline when a man came out of the store and talked to me for a bit. He said he needed to ask his travel partner – as it were his mother in law – but that he could probably give me a ride. At just about midnight I scored a ride all the way to Vegas.
Big cities are not good places to hitch from. Most people aren’t going far, there’s no place to pull off, and there’s the “someone else will get him” mentality that never actually works out. It was 5am, I had barely slept, and I was dropped off in front of a casino. I walked to the nearest highway entrance but people were passing me too fast and there was nowhere to stand. I figured it was only going to get hotter as it got later so I set out walking towards a gas station on Tropicana Ave, about 2.5 miles down the highway.
Now walking down the highway is legal in parts of Colorado and Utah but it is not legal, as a Nevada State Trooper informed me, to do so in Las Vegas. I was pulled over (sort of, I was already on the shoulder) and greeted by an officer telling me how dangerous my actions were. He asked me where I was going and then why, starting to laugh when I told him I needed to make it to an interview in two days. When I gave him my passport as identification he wanted to know why I didn’t just show him my driver’s license. The real reason was I had left it in a pair of shorts at a friend’s house, but I elected not to share that. He looked at all the stamps, ran all my information, searched me, and then said he would give me a ride to the gas station. Chuckling to himself he told me that of all the cop work he’s done my stories were in the top two. A Vegas Cop thought I had some of the most interesting stories?!? Maybe it was his first day, but I took that as a huge compliment.
I sweet talked him into taking me all the way to the truck stop on the edge of town which I thought would be great, but instead it was deserted. A couple trucks and 3 cars in an hour as well as being on the wrong side of the highway made me nervous. Once again I walked out to the highway, but this time I stayed on the ramp.
Its difficult to describe how the road wears on people. The whole point of hitch hiking for me was to have an adventure – meet new people, hear new stories, get new perspectives on life. I find these things to be rejuvenating and exhilarating and the up-sides of adventure. However - lack of sleep, standing out on the street, not being able to ask for bathroom breaks or music choice or any creature comforts can be very draining. I hit my breaking point in the morning sun of Las Vegas as car after car passed me and I began to wonder if I would ever make it out of the concrete jungle. One girl tried to stop but almost got rear ended because there was nowhere to pull off. And then, finally, I got picked up.
I can’t explain the emotional leap between wondering if I’d wither away in the Las Vegas sun, and climbing into a car with air conditioning. My ride was provided by a guy we’ll call Victor and he was awesome. We chatted for a bit and then he put the air conditioning on for me and told me to adjust it however I wanted. Then he told me to go to sleep if I had a long night. He was so nice I almost got sketched out by it. I fell asleep for about a half hour, woke up refreshed, and talked with Victor for the remainder of the ride about cruises and the travel industry.
My subsequent rides came so quickly I couldn’t even get a layer of sunscreen on. Every time I would post up on an on-ramp and pull out the bottle, someone would stop. I got a ride from a dude in a huge lifted truck, a musician going to play at a church, and a Russian family who first tried to buy me a train ticket and then wanted to give me money but I turned down both.
My last ride was from a woman with her son. Their car was falling apart and they were loaded down with stuff, but of all the cars that passed me on a major highway ramp, they were the ones to stop. The woman told me she was dumpster diving for things to resell on Craigslist and picking bottles and cans out of the trash for the refunds, all to pay for rent and cloths etc for her son. Here was a woman who had almost nothing, but still went out of her way to help out a total stranger.
Meeting people and sharing stories is the reason why I hitch hike. It opens my eyes and re-grounds me in reality. Is selling bikes hard? It can be, unless it’s compared to coal mining. I start to think about my life choices when a police officer that probably sees drunks and gamblers and prostitutes all day tells me I have crazy stories. And no matter how down and out I’m feeling, I’m only supporting one person, not trying to raise a family. I am vulnerable and alone on a highway on-ramp, but every time someone picks me up it reinforces my faith in humanity.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Rebirth of the 60's
After my interview in Colorado I needed to get back to San Diego. I was tired of being on the road, living out of a backpack, and sleeping at friend’s houses. I had really wanted to hop a freight train but an interview in California early the next week deterred me. Plane tickets had jumped substantially in price and there weren’t any Craigslist Rideshares headed to San Diego anytime soon. I figured I could rent a car and drive it out, probably pick up some ridesharers on the way, but I’m so tired of that drive and I wanted an adventure if I was going to be travelling. So I stuck out my thumb.
I didn’t know what to expect – I have hitch hiked to go skiing a bunch in Colorado, and made it all the way to Moab Utah for a bike race once. I had hitch hiked 1400 miles in Patagonia and just recently used my thumb to get around Colombia. But Denver to San Diego was intimidating.
I got dropped off in Golden, Colorado by a friend heading for a bike ride. People rarely know what to think when they drop me off on a highway ramp, so she wished me luck and said she’d pick me up again if I wasn’t gone by the end of her ride. It was less than 5 minutes before two kids in their late teens picked me up and I was on my way!
They dropped me in Evergreen where I grabbed a ride to Idaho Springs, then on to Dillon, and a good ride to Grand Junction. Walking to the on ramp in Grand Junction I saw something I had never seen before which hitch hiking – another hitch hiker. It was a little awkward but we introduced ourselves, his name was Emilio, and found that we were both guys in our mid twenties, fairly normal, and out for an adventure. He was headed home to Tahoe after hitching around the mountains of Utah and Colorado, meeting up with friends, and having an adventurous summer. We talked for a bit about getting and giving rides, the adventure and dying art of hitching, and the people we met along the way while trading off thumb duties. Eventually I got tired of the infrequent traffic and walked up to the highway. One car stopped to give us a bottle of water but no ride, and finally I saw a truck stop for him at the bottom of the ramp. While he was getting in that I got picked up by the very next pickup that came by. He caught up and since my ride was going further Emilio hopped in with me and our driver, an older Latino man stoked on his vintage Chevy. Our new friend told us about driving long distance trucks in Mexico, avoiding English classes as a kid, and some fling he was on his way to see. Somehow jobs came up in conversation and I told him I did international sales for a bicycle company before being laid off. “Oh, an easy job,” was his non-judgmental response. I explained that in the economy it was difficult to move some inventory, and different languages and time zones and customs and all that before thinking to ask what he did. He’s a coal miner, underground, at the age of at least 50. Oh. By comparison then, yes, an easy job.
We got to Salina around sunset and started asking at the gas stations for a ride. Emilio found one going directly to Tahoe but I wasn’t having as much luck. I’ve never been terribly lucky at gas stations so I walked to the highway again and put my thumb out. No one was picking me up. Finally as it started to get really dark I went back to the gas station.
I found a ride from an old hippie with a Bible on the dashboard of his new Saturn Vue. He bought the car for his sister and was going to give it to her in a year as long as she made it through her parole. We creeped along hitting a low point at 55mph for no reason other than he wasn’t paying attention. Ironically he wasn’t paying attention to how fast he was going because he was too busy telling me how much of a hurry he was in to get to Jerry Garcia Day in San Francisco the next day. I thought about mentioning that driving 20mph below the speed limit probably wasn’t a good strategy for making up time but I let it pass. He drove me to literally the next gas station, but in that part of Utah the next gas station is 110 miles away.
I didn’t know what to expect – I have hitch hiked to go skiing a bunch in Colorado, and made it all the way to Moab Utah for a bike race once. I had hitch hiked 1400 miles in Patagonia and just recently used my thumb to get around Colombia. But Denver to San Diego was intimidating.
I got dropped off in Golden, Colorado by a friend heading for a bike ride. People rarely know what to think when they drop me off on a highway ramp, so she wished me luck and said she’d pick me up again if I wasn’t gone by the end of her ride. It was less than 5 minutes before two kids in their late teens picked me up and I was on my way!
They dropped me in Evergreen where I grabbed a ride to Idaho Springs, then on to Dillon, and a good ride to Grand Junction. Walking to the on ramp in Grand Junction I saw something I had never seen before which hitch hiking – another hitch hiker. It was a little awkward but we introduced ourselves, his name was Emilio, and found that we were both guys in our mid twenties, fairly normal, and out for an adventure. He was headed home to Tahoe after hitching around the mountains of Utah and Colorado, meeting up with friends, and having an adventurous summer. We talked for a bit about getting and giving rides, the adventure and dying art of hitching, and the people we met along the way while trading off thumb duties. Eventually I got tired of the infrequent traffic and walked up to the highway. One car stopped to give us a bottle of water but no ride, and finally I saw a truck stop for him at the bottom of the ramp. While he was getting in that I got picked up by the very next pickup that came by. He caught up and since my ride was going further Emilio hopped in with me and our driver, an older Latino man stoked on his vintage Chevy. Our new friend told us about driving long distance trucks in Mexico, avoiding English classes as a kid, and some fling he was on his way to see. Somehow jobs came up in conversation and I told him I did international sales for a bicycle company before being laid off. “Oh, an easy job,” was his non-judgmental response. I explained that in the economy it was difficult to move some inventory, and different languages and time zones and customs and all that before thinking to ask what he did. He’s a coal miner, underground, at the age of at least 50. Oh. By comparison then, yes, an easy job.
We got to Salina around sunset and started asking at the gas stations for a ride. Emilio found one going directly to Tahoe but I wasn’t having as much luck. I’ve never been terribly lucky at gas stations so I walked to the highway again and put my thumb out. No one was picking me up. Finally as it started to get really dark I went back to the gas station.
I found a ride from an old hippie with a Bible on the dashboard of his new Saturn Vue. He bought the car for his sister and was going to give it to her in a year as long as she made it through her parole. We creeped along hitting a low point at 55mph for no reason other than he wasn’t paying attention. Ironically he wasn’t paying attention to how fast he was going because he was too busy telling me how much of a hurry he was in to get to Jerry Garcia Day in San Francisco the next day. I thought about mentioning that driving 20mph below the speed limit probably wasn’t a good strategy for making up time but I let it pass. He drove me to literally the next gas station, but in that part of Utah the next gas station is 110 miles away.
Monday, August 1, 2011
On the road again
Friday night started out with some track racing. I’ve logged a lot of time on a “fixie” since I was 16 - riding a century (100 miles) in Colorado, negotiating snow and ice packed bike paths, the delivering on the streets of Manhattan with the purest of bicycles beneath me – but riding on the banked surfaces of a velodrome still made me feel like a beginner. My “fixie” is currently set up with a left-side drive system, bull-horn handlebars, around-town gearing, and an old Campy front wheel I literally found in a dumpster. All these parts make it very cool in my mind, but also completely and totally illegal to ride on the track. So I called my friend Steve to see if I could borrow a bike.
Steve may have just had a kid, but that doesn’t make him old or uncool just yet. His text informed me that not only had he left his bike out for me to use, he also left a bigger chainring in case I wanted to put the hurt on people, tools to change it, and a couple beers in a cooler because that’s also mandatory equipment for track night. Armed with all of this I went over to the track and prepared to get flogged. I won a preem (a midrace sprint) and finished midpack the rest of the time so I’ll definitely be back to get flogged some more.
When I was in Canoa I met a gringo walking around cleaning up the beach in exchange for free drinks at one of the hostels. He introduced me to his step-son Tino who came to California a few weeks ago. After his trip to Vegas and Palm Springs we finally got to hang out Friday night. Tino took me to a bar in Quito that serves beer for $5 an hour (yes, by the hour), so of course I needed to show him a good night.
We headed straight to Pacific Beach with Aimee and met up with Ninja, Austin, and Moto Matt who had all just finished the Critical Mass ride. It took some effort but I was able to rally nearly everyone for a night on the town. We enjoyed some microbrews on the deck of the Ale House over looking the ocean, got some late night Mexican food, and walked home along the boardwalk to round out a good SD Friday night. The night ended sometime around 4am when I dropped Tino off, and four hours later I was on my way to Boulder.
A friend’s birthday, an interview, a business venture, and an opportunity to talk to another company all coincided in one week, and I, always happy to hang out in Colorado, seized the occasion to go back. Sean and I knew each other for all of about 6 minutes and 3 phone calls before we decided to take on the 1300 miles to Boulder in a packed sedan but luckily our first impressions were good. He picked me up Saturday morning and we started rolling towards Salt Lake where we planned to meet up with one of his friends for a bike ride on Sunday morning.
Genie, Sean’s friend, had run 31 miles on Saturday, and then waited for us to arrive before having dinner. Then, as if it was nothing, got up on Sunday morning to take us for a mountain bike ride. I immediately diagnosed her as crazy, but the good kind.
We rolled though the hills near Salt Lake enjoying the fresh air and open space, happy not to be sitting in a car but rather on our bikes. The only thing that detracted from the ride was the rear brakes on my borrowed bike which I believe were just there for show as they provided no stopping power. High speed switchbacks and techy rock-strewn stretches of trail lost some of their fun when I had to lock up my front wheel to scrub speed. Eeek.
We got into Boulder around midnight and I’ve spent the day enjoying the thin mountain air and dry heat, but sorely missing the ocean already.
Steve may have just had a kid, but that doesn’t make him old or uncool just yet. His text informed me that not only had he left his bike out for me to use, he also left a bigger chainring in case I wanted to put the hurt on people, tools to change it, and a couple beers in a cooler because that’s also mandatory equipment for track night. Armed with all of this I went over to the track and prepared to get flogged. I won a preem (a midrace sprint) and finished midpack the rest of the time so I’ll definitely be back to get flogged some more.
When I was in Canoa I met a gringo walking around cleaning up the beach in exchange for free drinks at one of the hostels. He introduced me to his step-son Tino who came to California a few weeks ago. After his trip to Vegas and Palm Springs we finally got to hang out Friday night. Tino took me to a bar in Quito that serves beer for $5 an hour (yes, by the hour), so of course I needed to show him a good night.
We headed straight to Pacific Beach with Aimee and met up with Ninja, Austin, and Moto Matt who had all just finished the Critical Mass ride. It took some effort but I was able to rally nearly everyone for a night on the town. We enjoyed some microbrews on the deck of the Ale House over looking the ocean, got some late night Mexican food, and walked home along the boardwalk to round out a good SD Friday night. The night ended sometime around 4am when I dropped Tino off, and four hours later I was on my way to Boulder.
A friend’s birthday, an interview, a business venture, and an opportunity to talk to another company all coincided in one week, and I, always happy to hang out in Colorado, seized the occasion to go back. Sean and I knew each other for all of about 6 minutes and 3 phone calls before we decided to take on the 1300 miles to Boulder in a packed sedan but luckily our first impressions were good. He picked me up Saturday morning and we started rolling towards Salt Lake where we planned to meet up with one of his friends for a bike ride on Sunday morning.
Genie, Sean’s friend, had run 31 miles on Saturday, and then waited for us to arrive before having dinner. Then, as if it was nothing, got up on Sunday morning to take us for a mountain bike ride. I immediately diagnosed her as crazy, but the good kind.
We rolled though the hills near Salt Lake enjoying the fresh air and open space, happy not to be sitting in a car but rather on our bikes. The only thing that detracted from the ride was the rear brakes on my borrowed bike which I believe were just there for show as they provided no stopping power. High speed switchbacks and techy rock-strewn stretches of trail lost some of their fun when I had to lock up my front wheel to scrub speed. Eeek.
We got into Boulder around midnight and I’ve spent the day enjoying the thin mountain air and dry heat, but sorely missing the ocean already.
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