It was unseasonably warm, so far as I recall, without a spot of snow upon the ground. Having begun my journey, as ever I do, from the home base in Fargo, ND, I endeavored again to seek the splendorous sights of post modern Americana, and with little more than the standard $20, two notebooks, clothes and bedroll, I went to grace this country with my pen and thumb. The mission was to reach Alaska by the 2000 millennium, where Jewel was scheduled to give a special show to the most ardent of fans. Naturally I could neither resist the charm of that elitistic streak nor the possibility to see Alaska, which would become my 38th state. So it was that the journey began.
It was a brisk and windy plain that met me as I took my measured strides down I-94, and I was invigorated by the familiarity of those multitudes passing by, indifferent to my ragtag form as it struggled, ant-like, across the landscape. The scent of fuel and hot rubber inspired me, the feel of the unyielding highway grounding all the flighty dreams I was accustomed to in respite. I looked across the horizon, noticing the cool and billowing clouds as they enveloped the blue expanse, the rich golden hue of tended crops in the distance. Quite suddenly, and customarily so to the road, my pondering was broken as a blue compact car shimmied to the side of the median.
Now, perhaps one of the most bittersweet parts of hitchhiking has to be this moment, for,
while entirely exhilarating to discover the kindness of another in this act of implicit trust,
it likewise is excruciating having to run anywhere up to a quarter mile with fifty pounds strapped to your back. One of the most valuable lessons of the road is to carry only what you need, avoiding things such as metal cans, or food altogether if one can maintain the funds along the way. Everyone who travels this course has to pick up some manner of trade, my personal modus operandi is poetry, while I've had numerous friends use jewelry as a means.
As it stood, I hadn't a need for the poetry, although I had written out 20 odd poems beforehand, both because of my preexisting funds and due to the fact that this new angel
was actually a family, two children and parents, of devout Christians on the way to a regional meeting. Christians are almost invariably good for a five spot, with or without product, if caught in the appropriate mindset. That was for later, however, as business always comes after the pleasures of our mutual company.
They asked me a few questions about myself, the interview process of troubadours,
which I heartily responded to. Likewise I questioned them upon the aims and ends sought, and place from which they had come. As it turned out, they were an odd set, convinced that the Pope was the Antichrist, and gave literature that demonstrated as much. Apparently, because of the “I AM” on his hat, he bore the numbers 666. I pointed out the Fatima prophecies, and overall absurdity of religions which make claim to worship of God while building houses of the murdered husks of the ancients.
Soon the darkness began to settle in, and we reached Jamestown, ND where they drooped me off at the local truck stop. I thanked them, gave a poem about angels, and offered my catchphrase pitch “For survivals benefit, donations are well received, but not a prerequisite.” They smiled and gave me five dollars, bidding my travels safe and happy, which I returned. Waving as they drove away, I watched them roll into the night, then proceeded into the store to purchase a spot of dinner.
