Published: 30 Apr 2020

Hitchhiking Route 101

Mike Williams and I hitch hiked from Seattle to Los Angeles and back. after I met Mike at a clinic where I spent time with my friend from the army, Rick Cate. Mike was one of the many teens that frequented the drug abuse clinic. When I got the notion to hitch to Los Angeles, the idea was to go alone and further make discoveries about myself and my world. Having left my first and only relationship to go to Seattle to be with someone I knew for ten days while in the military, was as logical and consistent as my decision to leave Seattle to travel to Los Angeles by myself. Logic never entered my mind, not much entered my mind in those days.

It was a crazy time in my life. I gave up the job of four years that paid me union wages plus commission to find out who I was. Having concluded that my love affair was going no where, any where seemed like a better place to be. Seattle was a pit stop. It was a time to renew a tentative friendship at best, but also a time to find out what was going on in the world. California had been calling to me since childhood, and being in Seattle was too close to resist investigating my California dreaming.

Rick dropped me at Centralia, Washington on Route 5. The pine trees reached into the sky along the road. It was an unusually warm and dry winter for the northwest. I wore a light jacket and tennis shoes which demonstrated my inexperience with the road. My first ride took me into Oregon, and before night fall, I was deep in logging country. Traffic was light, and no one seemed to want to be bothered with picking up a lonely hitch hiker. As the dark set in a Volkswagen bus moved onto the shoulder and waited for me to run up. It was lime green and lacked the flare and imagination of the hippie bus that flower children were making famous as the vehicle of choice.

It lumbered along at below supersonic speed as I fell asleep from the hours of standing and walking. I awoke to the herky jerky motion of a Volkswagen chugging to a stop. I watched with my head leaning against the door jam and my half awake and sleepy eyes denying what my brain was processing. The Volkswagen went silent and it rolled without enthusiasm onto the broad black shoulder. The driver bent forward and leaned over top of the steering wheel. He turned his head toward me in slow motion.

“Sorry! End of the line.”

“Are you out of gas. I could walk to the next station.”

“No. I’ve got gas. I think it’s in the fuel system somewhere.”

“I’ll walk and if I cross a gas station I’ll let them know you are out here,” I said, as I stepped out of the bus and took a breath of fresh crisp air.

“Watch out for bears. The woods are full of them,” he said, as I moved away from the vehicle.

A slight shiver ran up my spine. There was no reason to leave the vehicle. The police would stumble on him sooner or later, but the draw was always south. I wanted to keep moving. There was no traffic and not a sound. The black on the sides of the road went on forever. Only directly above me could I see light from the stars. There was no moon and luckily no bears at least none that made their presence known.

I walked for an hour and thought it was four or five miles from where I started. A big sedan rolled past me and then slowed and stopped a hundred yards ahead. He didn’t bother to pull onto the shoulder. I ran toward the car and slid into the passenger seat. The middle aged man didn’t look at me as he started moving again.

“I’m only going twenty miles, but I figure where I drop you will be better than being in the middle of no where. It is the closest town. There is a diner if you want to get a cup of coffee.”

He dropped me at the front of the diner and I watched him drive away. I decided to spend a little of the few dollars I had for a cup of coffee to keep me going. I stopped at the gas station and told them about the bus. They told me the police would stop and find out what the guy wanted to do. My conscience was clear and when I went into the diner I got a real surprise. There sitting at a booth in the rear was Mike Williams and Keith. Both I knew from the clinic. Their eyes brightened when they saw that I recognized them. I was over three hundred miles from the clinic and never expected that I would run into two of the maybe twenty people I knew from Seattle. I tried to measure the odds as I approached them and realized I was too tired to care.

When I sat down they both expressed relief to meet someone they knew. It seems that they had both decided to run away to San Francisco and they got scared being out on the highway. Someone had picked them up and wanted to give them more than a ride. When they finally got out of the car they saw the diner and decided to wait until they were sure the guy was gone. I wasn’t enthusiastic about my new companions and I didn’t want to hitch with them. Three guys weren’t ever going to catch a ride, especially at night. Then I remembered the clinic and Rick and figured it was my duty to make sure they got where they were going safely. It turned out to be a good decision. I found out I needed them as much as they needed me, or at least Mike Williams. I would be forever grateful for his companionship.

Keith was tall, thin, and immature. He was also a royal pain in the butt. His needs were paramount and everything was right now and sooner when possible. Mike on the other hand was more intelligent than his seventeen years. He insulated me from Keith and babied him when I wouldn’t. We hit the road after I had enough coffee to last me. Mike paid the bill and we were back on the shoulder of the road. We got a ride into Redding, California in the back of a pickup truck. It was bright and sunny, and my first look at California included the view of Mt. Shasta and that was one of the most awesome sights ever. The snow seemed far too close, but the air temperature was warm and pleasant, and the sun was delightful on my skin.

We got two more rides before late afternoon and ended up north of Sacramento on a side road. We worried that we should have stayed on the interstate, but when three guys hitch together, you take what you can get. As the sun was sinking in the sky we were thinking we would not get out of the sticks. For the second time in less than twenty four hours a Volkswagen bus rolled to a stop. As the door slid to the side to allow us to enter the middle of the bus, a cloud of acrid smoke floated past my nose. There was no doubt about the smell, and Sergeant Peppers blasted from the stereo to complete the image. These were heads, hippies, flower children. There was a guy and his “chick” in the front and a “dude” leaning back on some pillows to the rear of the vehicle. As we climbed in a pipe was handed to us. Keith, then Mike, and then I took a toke as everyone laughed and got introduced. There was Weasel and Bouquet in the front and Randy in the rear. We joined the party as the bus moved forward at less than supersonic speed. I tried to avoid the pipe that kept passing me, but from time to time I took an obligatory mouthful of smoke and tried not to choke. Smoking wasn’t my thing and drugs gave me a feeling I little liked. There was enough smoke in the back of the van that you didn’t need to puff on the pipe to get high. The music banged and the party rolled.

Weasel asked us where we were going and we told him San Francisco. He told us that Randy was going to Fresno and they were taking him there. When he dropped him off he would then take us to San Francisco. It seems that Weasel’s grandmother had died and left Weasel some money. He now drove around the countryside picking up hitch hikers and taking them where ever they were going. That was his chosen profession. He was a bus driver only it was his bus. He and Bouquet were nice people and it was well after dark when we dropped Randy off and Bouquet checked the map and advised Weasel of how best to get us to San Francisco. They insisted on dropping us at the door where Tommy, a friend of Rick’s, lived. They drove off in a cloud of smoke and a cacophony of music blasting from the windows as they waved.

Tommy was expecting me and it turned out us. We called to let him know to let someone know that Mike and Keith were fine. He said he would pass the word as a third hand communication and advisory. He would not say whom the information came from. Keith and Mike were still safe. Tommy and his “woman” were going to Big Sir the next morning and we decided to go along and head for Los Angeles. It was rainy and cool in San Francisco and we didn’t want to be on the street in that weather. We were bedded in the living room and woke to fantastic smells of breakfast foods, biscuits and coffee. We were all up and ready to roll after filling our empty bellies.

As we moved through the countryside Tommy pointed out points of interest and took us across the Golden Gate Bridge before we started south on Highway 101. We stopped in Monterrey and looked around after having a late lunch. As we headed for Big Sur, the sun started to set into the Pacific. Everyone said we would be disappointed and the clouds would hide the final sunset, but our luck held and the sun set without the marine layer hiding so much as a minute. It was the first time I saw the Pacific Ocean and my first sunset into same.

We slept at a commune where Tommy and Beth spent a lot of their time. We were taken out on the highway the next morning and given a five dollar bill from Tommy. He said it was from Rick and would buy us a meal. We were off down through the winding wooded roads heading for Los Angeles. I knew someone there and it was much warmer in L.A. We all thought it was the best place to go. The day was a mixture of clouds and sunshine interrupted by one quick shower. The day was chilly but not unpleasant. Once again as night crept up on us we were suspicious that we might spend the night on the side of the long lonesome highway. About eight p.m. a station wagon came around the curve and rolled to a stop. The three of us hopped into the back seat and little did we know we were in for the ride of our lives.

The 56 Chevy wagon was all black and the three men in the front seat were all drunk. The car weave from shoulder to shoulder as it headed east toward Route 5. After ten minutes I wasn’t sure I we would make it there. The guys laughed and drank from a Jack Daniel’s bottle. The radio blasted and I tried to get their attention to ask to get out. The car weave as the driver was preoccupied with his friends and his liquor. Several times we became dangerously close to trees bordering the road.

When I asked to get out, they laughed. They thought it was funny I wanted to live. Both Mike and Keith were cringing in the back seat and we all three knew we were likely to end up in the woods. Our luck held however and the lights from the police car broke into the reverie of the three men. My heart was pounding as first the driver and then the passengers were removed. We still sat shaking in the back seat and developed a story for the consumption of natural habitated law enforcement officers.

Immediately when the attention turned to the passengers in the back seat the officer that approached us realized we weren’t with them. He could see the fear and the fact we weren’t drunk or showed any signs of even having a drink.

“What’s your story?” He asked.

We agreed I should speak for the group and I said, “These are my brothers. We are hitching to my grandparents near Los Angeles. We got in with these guys a few minutes ago and I saw my life flashing before my eyes.”

This amused the cop and he announced to his partner that we weren’t with them. He apologized that he couldn’t fit us into the highway patrol car but that we weren’t far from the road that would take us to Route 5. He wished us luck and left us standing on the side of the road without ever questioning the story I gave them. The three of us relaxed and thought we would stick with that story if anything came up.

We walked for several hours before getting another ride. It was near midnight by the time we got to Route 5. We were just over one set of mountains from Los Angeles, but the night was cold and clear and the wind was knifing through our jackets and tennis shoes. Only Mike had a heavy coat, and he was still cold. We stood at the side of the highway shivering and ran into another highway patrolman a lot sooner than we wanted. First he passed going the other way and yelled over his speakers,

“Get off the interstate. It is illegal for pedestrians to be on the interstate.”

We watched as he disappeared going north and we walked toward the ramp knowing we were going to stick our thumbs out if a car passed. No one had passed to that point but there was always a chance. We didn’t hear him as he came up behind us and we were talking and carrying on too cold to turn around until the blue light started flashing on us. We were busted.

He got us all in the back of his car and I gave him the story. The other two just nodded when he asked if that was the case. He said he wasn’t going to give us a ticket. We shivered for him and he said he would take us to the ramp so we could warm up. The next thing we knew he was out on the highway and going supersonic speed toward Los Angeles. The radio crackled meaningless messages and codes. The officer looked eerie in the light illuminating him from the dash. He never took his eyes off the road or spoke, and much too soon we were on the top of the mountain outside of Los Angeles.

He stopped at the bottom of the ramp and said, “This is as far as I go. You get out here on the ramp and don’t let me catch you out on the highway again. There is a twenty four hour restaurant over on the other side if you want to go get coffee and wait until morning. Just don’t let me catch you on the highway.”

We got out and watched as he went under the interstate and back in the other direction. We went to the restaurant and sucked down coffee for several hours and decided it was time to hitchhike. The two inches of snow made it particularly bad on my feet, which were encased in tennis shoes. We stood on the ramp and waited, and waited and waited.

It was dawn by the time we walked up onto the highway. We agreed we could freeze to death before anyone stopped for us. We started walking off the mountain and hoped we didn’t meet our third highway patrolman that night. We walked until the sun was high in the sky and then a gray Mercury Monterrey pulled to the shoulder. We raced on numb feet to jump into his back seat. He was a pleasant black man and said he didn’t pick up hitchhikers but we looked so cold he couldn’t pass us by. Our gratitude was obvious and we flushed in our appreciation for the ride and the warmth.

He was a salesman and was heading for Los Angeles. He agreed to take us in to where my friends lived. When we got off the hill he stopped at a donut shop and treated us to donuts and the biggest cup of coffee I had ever seen. It was almost seventy degrees where we ate. It was below freezing when we started walking just thirty miles away. It was a contrast hard not to appreciate. The man dropped us at a phone on Colorado Blvd. He was gracious to the end.

Los Angeles was friendly and especially warm. Tim and I met while he visited Washington D.C., and he invited me to visit him. I was surprised that he had no trouble with Mike and Keith staying over as well. We really didn’t know each other that well, but it was a different time and we were all housed and fed like old friends. On my first day out we walked through Pasadena and I saw someone that was my lovers double down to a birthmark. I steered clear until I couldn’t resist another look, but it was too late and he was gone when I returned.

It was warm and beautiful and I liked the area. The weather stayed in the sixties and seventies and after being there a week Mike started getting antsy. Keith decided to stay on and was talking about calling his mother for bus fare home. Keith was a complainer. I would not miss him. Mike was a comedian and all around good guy. We went everywhere together while Keith went his own way. Kenny drove us to the freeway and we decided to take Highway 101 toward Santa Barbara. It was another pleasant day and we caught several rides that took us up along the coast. It was spectacular. We waited an hour at a time for the next ride, but it was easier than when we were three.

It took us to the next afternoon to reach San Francisco and Tommy’s. We were once more bedded in the living room, and Tommy wasn’t quite as glad to see us this time. His wife was pregnant and having a great deal of discomfort. Mike and I stayed scarce, but we were worn out and asked to say a few nights. Tommy agreed and his wife said nothing. We didn’t ask them to feed us, but we were running desperately low on funds.

On our second day in Frisco a man approached us on the street. Mike immediately took up a position directly behind me so he could look over my right shoulder. The man was dressed in a nice three piece suit and tie. He asked us if we wanted a job.

“What kind of job?” Mike asked suspicious of the approach.

“Window washing. $50.00 a day.”

Mike stepped around me and became interested. He repeated the amount. The man nodded. Mike wanted to know where we would be washing windows. The man looked up at a building across the street from where we stood. There at the top was a platform that was lowered down the side of the forty story building. Mike just stared before having sense enough to ask.

“What happened to the guys that were washing the windows?”

“The platform broke. They got scared and quit.”

“Broke how?” Mike said.

“One end dropped down five feet lower than the other end. It took a couple of hours to get them up. They were too scared to go back down to finish.”

“Yeah! I guess,” Mike said, “Good luck, Jack. See you around.”

Mike started up the street. I smiled and followed. I was glad he had enough sense to say no.

Mike decided we needed to panhandle to eat. I told him I just couldn’t do that. I wasn’t about to beg for money. He said he didn’t ask me. He was willing to do the panhandling and share the proceeds. Why this was acceptable to me I don’t know, but I knew I wasn’t begging for money. By noon we had enough to get some sandwiches and cokes. We started checking restaurants to see if they needed dish washers. The answer was always no until we came to an Italian restaurant. The owner was standing outside and Mike bounced up smiling.

“Need a dish washer. Me number one dish washer.”

The man looked Mike up and down. He was wearing his outrageous large fur coat that looked something like the kind of coats they wore back in the twenties to football games. He did not change his expression or speak.

“Well, man, you got a job or what?”

“Can you come back in a few hours?”

“Sure! I can come back. What time?”

“Four. Come around to the kitchen at four.”

We didn’t talk about the prospects and walked down to the Fisherman’s Wharf area and rode the cable cars back up the hill. We went through the alley and came up to the back of the restaurant and Mike yelled through the door. The owner must have been in the kitchen and he stepped out to speak to Mike.

“My dish washer showed up. We have a hard time keeping them. If you want to keep checking each afternoon, I’ll be able to use you.”

“I’ll only be in town for a few more days,” Mike said.

“Why do you want a job for a few days?” he asked.

“Eat. I like to eat.”

“Oh!” the man thought.

“Come in. I’ll feed you. You asked for a job, and I respect that. You come through town and you are always good for a meal. One meal. No more.”

“I am really starved for some real food, but my buddy and I travel together. If I eat, he eats. I can’t take a meal without him being fed.”

“No problem. You come in and eat. Both of you.”

The man guided us through the door with a hand on each of our shoulder. I was surprised by Mike’s willingness to turn down a good meal if I didn’t get fed. It was the first time I realized we had become friends. We had spent some time together, twenty four hours a day. His sentiment made me warm than all that delicious food. We got plates with a little bit of everything and all the coke we could drink. We ate long past when we were full. The food was outstanding.

As we left the owner escorted us back to the alley.

“One meal. Both of you are welcome for a single meal when ever you come through town. If you want to work I’ll try to find something for you to do. Only one though,” he repeated.

Mike and I were so full it hurt to stand up and walk. It was well after six when we got finished and washed our dishes and set them with the rest to dry. The main was cordial and without a motive past seeing we were fed. I found this pretty amazing. I tried to count the times someone had treated us to food without asking anything in return. It was amazing to me that so many nice people existed.

When we returned to Tommy’s, he wanted to go get some beer. He took us to a downstairs bar up on Powell Street. The entertainment consisted of guitar players and poets. It was unique from anything I had ever experienced. We all drank several beers. Tommy kept ordering another round each time he wanted another. After six beers and two past my absolute limit, Tommy suggested we go out and try to get on the cable cars. His idea was we would make a charge for the steps and if all three of us didn’t get on we had to go back to have another beer. I remember missing the first three cars. I don’t know if it was on purpose or because I was so looped the steps kept moving around. After three, I have no memory of the cable cars. I woke up the following morning at Tommy’s and with my head as big as all out doors. Mike explained that he had to carry me from the trolley line. I passed out on him.

I wasn’t much of a drinker and didn’t like drugs. I accepted his account of the previous evening. He told me he was smart enough not to keep drinking the beers because Tommy kept ordering them. I knew Mike was pretty intelligent. I wasn’t smart enough to just not drink the beer bought for me. I thought it was my obligation to drink it if someone thought enough to buy it for me. Even after I was aware I had enough I kept drinking until I wasn’t aware of anything. Mike didn’t seem to have any ill feelings at my lack of judgment. I thanked him for getting me home.

“You’re my brother, man. I couldn’t just leave you. It’s what brothers do.”

Mike had a way of making me feel like we were brothers. I had never known anyone quite like him. I remembered when I was seventeen and marveled that I was able to sit up and take nourishment. Mike was not only smart but well adjusted. He was just an easy guy to like. It was then I was sure glad I hadn’t left him and Keith in that diner in Oregon. It would have been a lot tougher trip without him.

It took us to the end of the week to decide to head back to Seattle. Mike was from Tacoma and wanted to let his parents know he was okay. He was a pianist and an honor roll student and he just got fed up with the constant pressure. He told me he ran away to get away from the constant pressure in his life. He spent some time around the clinic in Seattle before he and Keith split for California.

Early the next morning we said good bye to Tommy and walked across the city and across the Golden Gate Bridge. It was a grand sight and the song and all the movies flashed through my mind as we walked across the span. We caught a ride almost immediately and were in Santa Rosa by early afternoon. We stopped there and Mike panhandled enough money for each of us to get a burger and we were back on 101. We walked quite a ways before catching another ride and it was getting onto dark when we got out. We were in Cloverland and the night was cool and damp, but not rainy.

A four door sedan pulled to the side of the road and we told them we were heading toward Seattle. Oddly enough a guy got out of the front seat to let Mike in and a guy got out of the back to let me in. We ended up in the middle of each seat. The guys were all mid twenties or so and talked with heavy Mexican accents. They said only hello in English and asked where we were headed. They went to speaking Spanish and except for four or five complimentary words, that left me out.

I felt uncomfortable being separated from Mike. Actually I felt uncomfortable being in between two strangers that exuded no friendliness that I could detect. The four continued a conversation in Spanish and Mike and I were tired and sat silent. Mike looked over his shoulder at me a couple of times and I sensed he felt a bit uncomfortable as well.

The driver said in English that they were headed out to the Eureka and would let us out just north of there. It wasn’t far from Oregon. That sounded good to us. We just wanted to keep going. After several hours and after passing through Eureka they started speaking in English.

“You know, man,” one said, “You guys should be real careful out on this highway.”

“Why’s that?” Mike asked.

“Well, man, lots of trouble on thees highway, man. People been kilt out here, man. Two last month.”

“Yeah!” the other guy in the front seat said. “They say it is a car full of Mexicans picking up white boys. They take them out in the middle of no where and cut off their heads. All of them, zip. Heads cut clean off. I guess five or six of them last year, huh, Jose?”

“Yeah! Six for sure. Just say it’s a car full of Mexican guys going it. You guys should be more careful with who you get in with, man,” the driver continued.

“Five or six any way. Mexican guys doing white guys. You should be careful who you get in with.”

Mike looked over his shoulder as the passenger in the front seat put his arm across the back of the seat and the guys in the back seat looked at me with a lean and hungry look in their eyes. Needless to say I was becoming alarmed at our circumstances when the driver broke in again.

“Hey, man, this is where we turn off. Oregon’s that way,” He pointed straight ahead of us. “you guys be more careful who you get in with. Watch those Mexicans. You wouldn’t look so hot without your heads, man.”

The car screeched to a stop and the two passenger side doors sprang open and we found ourselves on the side of the road watching the car go out of sight down on the right.

“Damn. I thought our asses were grass, dude. They scared shit out of me. Let’s get off this road until daylight. I don’t want to take no rides in the dark,” Mike said.

There was a driveway like affair directly ahead of us and to the left. We walked up the dirt hill and into a mist that grew increasingly thick. Mike kept lighting his lighter and lit a piece of paper from his pocket. It was so dark we couldn’t see anything. We walked about a half a mile until we reached a level piece of ground.

“I’m tired man. I can hardly keep my eyes open,” Mike said.

“Me too.”

Mike had a fire going in what looked like the middle of someone’s driveway. About ten feet from us was a house. The front windows were out and the door was only on one hinge. Mike took wood from the front of the house and tossed it into the fire until it raged up into the mist and fog. There were trees on the other side of the driveway and the house. Mike had to explore it.

We walked to the front door and Mike threw pieces of wood back for the fire. The porch was missing large sections and the area in the house we could see was bare. There were holes in the walls and no furniture or signs that anyone ever lived there. We walked back ten or fifteen feet and it was black again. We agreed we would be better off sleeping out by the fire. If we tried to sleep in the house a fire might torch the entire place. We weren’t interested in an arson charge or breaking and entering. We went back out and left the front door about the way we found it. Mike poured more wood onto the fire and it was as bright as day until the fog got too dense for the fire to penetrate.

We slept there beside each other on the ground wrapped up in Mikes mink coat. The heat from the fire was intense, but the side that was away from the fire was right chilly. I woke a couple of times and the fire got progressively smaller and smaller until I saw only embers one time when I woke up. I fell back to sleep exhausted from the long day and miles of walking and riding. Mike snored lightly and was never awake when I was.

“Boom! Boom! Boom!” the sounds shook the ground we were sleeping on. “Boom! Boom!” the thunder rolled along the ground and the noise was so loud we couldn’t hear each other talk. The ground continued to tremble and the sound echoed into an even more dense fog. Mike stoked the fire and the ground shook and the noise continued in a rhythm of sorts.

Mike ever so carefully worked his way onto the front porch. He held the doorway as he peered into the dark house. I followed him as he moved through the front door and we waited for our eyes adjust. The sound continued and the vibration of the floor shaking was even worse than the ground shaking. The loud pounding noise was growing louder and matched the shaking of the house. Mike kicked the front door all the way open and the haze and mist was clear inside the house. It just hung there in the back half of the room. We could see boards and parts of walls hanging and every few seconds everything vibrated and shook around us. We took each step individually and waited before taking the next. As our eyes adjusted we looked directly out of the back of the house into nothingness. There was only fog. We took our next step holding on to each other and Mike screamed out,

“Sweet Jesus, back up. Don’t go any further. The fucking house is falling into the ocean. That’s the fucking Pacific Ocean down there.”

Mike backed up four steps as he spoke the words. He knelt down. I followed his lead. We crawled forward toward where the floor disappeared into the Pacific Ocean. Finally there was enough light to see the waves crashing up under the ground the house was setting on. There was nothing but rocks and water below the floor where it had fallen off into the ocean. We back tracked and when we were on more solid ground we ran out of the house to the fire.

“This entire piece of ground is going to fall in the ocean. No wonder no one is around here. The ocean is up under us right here. I bet this place will be in the ocean in a week or less,” Mike said as he started jogging toward the road that we could barely follow the driveway through the mist and fog. The sound of the ocean died away and the ground became more solid under out feet.

When we reached the end of the driveway, Mike through his arms around me and hugged me, and we both became hysterical. What we found so funny I don’t know, but suddenly we couldn’t stop laughing.

“Man. We could have fallen into the freakin Pacific Ocean, man. I’m still shaking.”

He was, and I was as well. We had spent the entire night on top of the ocean on a piece of ground that could have fallen in at any time. We were just lucky that way I guess. We found the road as the daylight broke through the fog on it. We started walking north and had no idea where we were. The further we walked the more dense the forest became. First daylight lightened everything, and then we slowly lost all the light as the trees seemed higher and higher until we could not find the sky. We walked and we walked and we walked some more and after two or three hours we started getting worried.

“You realize we’ve been walking for maybe ten miles and we haven’t seen a car or a building of any kind.”

“No. I hadn’t thought about it, but now that you’ve told me what are we going to do.”

“Let’s keep walking,” Mike said. “I don’t think I want to live here.”

My stomach was growling and we walked on. It was almost ten o’clock when we finally came to a small cafe. Between Mike and I, we had seventeen cents in assets. That and Mike’s raccoon coat were about our entire wealth at the time. We decided to ask for water at the cafe.

There was one of those annoying bells on the door when we entered. The place was empty. There were no cars in the parking area. The trees towered over the cafe and the brush had grown up within several feet of the sides and rear. Only the front was recognizable as a building. An elderly woman came through the door from the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron. She wore a pleasant smile that accented her pure white hair nicely.

“What can I do for you boys?” she said.

“We were wondering,” I said. “We were wondering if we could….”

“Water. Could we get some water,” Mike finally explained at length.

“Water. My goodness. You boys look like you been walking all night.”

“Since sun up. Haven’t see a car or a living thing until we found this place,” Mike said, looking around. “How far to civilization anyway?”

The woman brought back two huge glasses of ice water. We drained them in one gulp and set the glasses back down.

“You want more?” she asked.

“Yes, maim. If it isn’t any trouble.”

“No trouble. You boys look hungry. You sure you don’t want something to eat.”

“No, maim. We are out of money and trying to get back home to Seattle. We got on these back roads, and well, we just haven’t made any time at all and no roads back to the Interstate,” Mike said.

“You boys sit down over there. You look worn out. Just take your time. It isn’t like you are running off any business. It’s really nice to have someone to talk to,” the woman said as she worked behind the counter.

We sat by the window and noticed the view for the first time. It would have been a lovely spot at a different time. Having the weight off my feet was just about next to heaven.

“How long you been here?” I asked.

“Oh! Ben and I bought the place in twenty seven. The loggers ran this road then. No logging now. The tourists are out at different times, but two three people a day is all I get these days. Forty years. My son has a farm not far up the road. That way I have someone if I need them. Ben’s been gone almost twenty years now.”

“It must get lonely,” Mike said.

“No. I like it. I can’t do a lot. A few people a day to break the boredom, and that’s all it takes.”

The woman stepped out from behind the counter with two cups of coffee and a tray full of donuts. Mike’s eyes almost popped out of his head when he saw the tray.

“Oh, maim. We don’t have any money,” I reminded.

“Didn’t ask you for none. You boys need to eat something. These donuts will get in the trash by tonight. Do me good to see they don’t get wasted to day. You boys eat up.”

Before she finished Mike had finished three donuts and his coffee. She laughed and filled the cup for him again. She disappeared into the kitchen and we could hear her banging and clanging.

“You need any help, maim. I can do any lifting or carrying you might need. It’s the least I can do,” Mike said.

“You boys rest. You look a sight. You can’t tell when you’ll get to rest again. Better enjoy it while you can. I’m going to call my boy. Think he said he was a goin to Grants Pass today. If he is, I can have him take you boys. You just eat them donuts and rest up.”

Mike and I smiled and dove back into the donuts. I was still shocked by the kindness of strangers. There was no way to count the number of people that had helped us along the way and never asking for anything in return. The trip was a success in that area. I was impressed by the people we had met. My distrust of people in general was hard to maintain.

Dolores we came to know as we waited for her son to pick us up. She brought us eggs, bacon, fresh biscuits and gravy and pancakes. Mike was beside himself with Joy. It was the best meal we had since the Italian restaurant meal. This was a whole lot more appreciated and we certainly needed it more. After filling our cups one more time she sat and drank a cup of coffee and watched us gobble down the food.

“Does my heart good to see two boys appreciate my cooking this way. Most people pick so at their food. Good to see such fine appetites.”

“We certainly appreciate your kindness, maim. You don’t know how badly we needed to eat.”

“Oh! I think I knew. You boys were on your last legs when you came in here. Looked like a couple a sick pups to me.”

The door swung open and Tim Tall Trees came in. He was seven foot tall and three hundred pounds. A bigger man I had never seen up close. He wore a lumber jacks shirt and thick lined coat that made him wider than he was.

“Hi, junior. This is Mike and Rick. They need a ride to Grants. You make sure you get them up on the highway there now. They’ve been walking all morning.”

“Yes, mama. You boys load up. I got to be gettin in there. This is ten miles in the wrong direction. You boys grab what you can take and come on.”The man leaned over and hugged the tiny slip of a woman. You could hardly see her in his arms, but he was a gentle as could be. “Got to go mama, I’ll be by this afternoon. Come on boys. Bus is a leaving.”

We followed the man carrying our coats and yelled back our thanks and appreciation to Dolores.

She waved as we pulled out and we were gone. Later I told Mike we were going to stop back by there and bring her some flowers for her kindness. She feed us, quenched our thirst, let us rest, and arranged to get us two hundred miles up the road and back to the Interstate we knew we should have never left. We did have another adventure to mark up, but it wasn’t without cost.

The heat ran hard into my face and I leaned against the cool window trying to stay cool. I could hardly keep my eyes open and my stomach was just now trying to deal with two pounds of food after more than a day with no pounds of food. I wrote it off to too little and then too much. The trip took until almost two o’clock. Tim dropped us on an Interstate ramp and said hitch hiking is legal in Oregon. Have at it boys, and he wished us luck.

Rides were slow even on the Interstate. We got a ride to Roseville and it was well after dark when we got out. The next ride took us to Eugene, and it was after nine in the evening. My stomach flipped, flopped, and flipped again. I was burning up and freezing at the same time. I finally tossed my cookies all over highway five.

“You okay or what dude?”

“I don’t know. I don’t feel so hot. I haven’t felt good since we left the restaurant. Maybe I’m catching cold or something.”

Mike took off his cloth gloves and placed his hand on my forehead, “Sweet Jesus. You’re burning up, man. We got to get you out of the cold for you catch pneumonia.” Mike guided me toward some lights off the ramp where we stood. The further we went the less able I was to go until most of my weight was across Mike’s shoulders. He took a step at a time and the ground seemed to be somewhere else. I couldn’t feel it under me. My head was spinning, my stomach had gone sour, and I felt like death warmed over.

There was an all night restaurant under the lights. Mike helped me into the area between the entrance and the outside there was a ten foot glassed in area. Each time someone came or went the cold air blew on me making me more dizzy if that was possible. I stepped out and tossed more cookies, but there wasn’t much left. Mike held me and patted my back and tried to comfort me. He helped me back inside.

It was after midnight when Pam came out. She was one of the night waitresses.

“You boys come on in here. The boss is gone. You can sit in the closed section until I get off. You can’t stand out in this doorway all night. Can’t allow that,” she explained.

Pam sat us in the last booth in a section that was closed. There were no lights on and there was no way to even see we were there. In five minutes she had brought us coffee and more donuts. I almost lost it again. Mike took me in the employee bathroom and cleaned me and my clothes off enough to make me look like I was human. I did drink coffee and it did warm me up, but it did awful things to my stomach. The restaurant was pleasant and I slept on and off. I woke to see Pam sitting next to Mike a couple of times. I drifted back off.

At 6a.m. Pam got off. She offered to take us to her place, but Mike said he had to get me home. He didn’t think I would last on the road another day. I managed to walk up to the Route 5 and a big black sedan rolled to a stop before we got our thumbs out. We were lost in the big backseat. The two antique dealers found the tale of our journey fascinating, but my worsening illness concerned them. They were going to Seattle and Mike had them talked into dropping us off near the house before we were in Oregon. They seemed like pretty nice fellows, and they could see I wasn’t motoring too well.

Luckily when we did arrive home Rick was there. If we had to stay out over the garage, it was ten degrees cooler because it was shaded, but Rick let us in and stood back when he saw Mike carrying me up the last stairs.

“What the hells wrong with him?” He asked.

“Sick. Got sick yesterday down in California. He’s bad. Can’t keep anything down. Fever is high. I’m not sure he doesn’t have pneumonia. His breathing is awful bad.”

“Well, I got to get back to the clinic. Can you take care of him until I can get someone to cover me.”

“I can take care of him. Don’t worry about it. Go to work. I’ll try to get something down him, and keep him warm. He should come around.”

“I’ll be okay,” I said. “Don’t worry about me. I been sick before. I’ll be sick again.

Mike put me down on our my sleeping bag that was still against the wall in the living room. He stripped me out of my smelly clothes and brought back water and soap and washed me up. I tried to object but kept falling asleep. When I woke up I was in Mikes thick wool shirt inside the sleeping bag with Mike’s coat over top of me. I was burning up and freezing at the same time. I shivered and sweat at the same time. I was a bit out of sorts and Mike brought me tomato soup and after two teaspoons full, I deposited the contents of my stomach onto the coat, the shirt and the sleeping bag. He cleaned me up again and let me drink some water. I guess it stayed down. I don’t remember it coming up.

As a matter of fact it became the lost weekend for the next week. I have no recollection of anything but Mike. Day or night, when I woke up, he was beside me. He would help me drink and try to feed me. A few times he was sponging me off. I can’t remember being hot, or cold, or hungry or sick for that matter. I just have some pictures in my head of Mike by my side whenever I was awake which wasn’t often.

I came around after that week and started feeling better. Mike would disappear for an hour or so from time to time, and the next thing I knew we would be eating fresh veggies and soup or something a bit more thrilling after my stomach settled down. When I was getting back on my feet again, Rick told me he had never seen anyone more devoted. He said he nursed me, stole food to cook for me, cleaned me and kept washing everything I kept dirtying. It was when Mike was leaving to go back home that I asked him why he did so much for me.

“I know you better than anyone I’ve ever known,” he told me. “You are like my brother. Closer than a brother. I don’t think I would care this much for a brother. We traveled together, ate together, starved together. I’ve never been closer to anyone. You would have done the same for me. I had to stay and make sure you were okay. That’s all. I’ll be gone for a few days. Just don’t leave without me. Where ever you go, I want to go with you.”

That was Mike’s only request. It was all he ever asked of me the entire time I knew him. I know what he felt about getting to know someone. I had never been so close to anyone in such a short period of time. I guess adversity has a way of bringing people together. I don’t think I ever cared for anyone more than I cared for Mike, but when I left Seattle, I left alone before Mike returned. It was what I had to do, but I do regret leaving before seeing Mike again.

The End

This is a short story (in two chapters) by Rick Beck. Please let Rick know if you are reading: RickBeck at CastleRoland dot net.

1,757 views