Hobo 1.5
I escaped Vegas as planned, and rode into Bakersfield with Walker. Staying with Kindra was great as usual, and little Igby rocks too. Kindra drove me a good distance to a truck stop on my way out of town giving me a head start for my hitch towards San Diego.
I got picked up pretty quickly, a mexican truck driver headed to LA. His truck had big windows all around which was perfect for taking in the landscape that surrounded us, it was pretty awesome. He spoke decent english, and given my spanish abilities, we stuck to my native tongue while talking about everything from basketball to illegal immigration.
He dropped me off in LA with a 10 dollar bill, and my thumb was out again, but to no avail. It wasn't a great spot, I began walking. I tried a few other onramps, but darkness took over quickly and I began looking for a good nook to sleep in, always a bit of a task in city areas. I found an abandoned grassy lot atop a hill, sandwiched by I-5, I-10, and the train track. The train came every 30 minutes or so about 20 feet away, several times disoriented from sleep I imagined I was on the tracks and done for. All was well.
I was up with the sun in the morning, and hit the first on ramp I came across, but the early morning yielded few cars and no stoppers. Walking to the next one I passed a starbucks, I thought about going in and relaxing for a bit, after all it was 7 or 8 and San Diego was only a couple hours away. I walked past it towards the freeway, I barely got my bag off and my thumb out when a car stopped, probably the fastest ever since I've been hitching.
I walked up to the window of the volvo, I looked at the little guy at the wheel and he asked, "You have any drugs?".
"Nope".
"Hop in! Where you headed?"
"I'm trying to get to San Diego"
"Well I guess I'm going to San Diego then". He was an interesting guy, he lived in his car, apparently for the past 20 years. He had a habit of picking people up, he said usually girls though, and usually they aren't hitchhikers. He started telling me all sorts of stories about the girls, like the one run away from a Nevada treatment center. He grabbed a photo from the dashboard he took of her, pretty girl, and he tossed it back into a pile of similar photos he'd taken of people he picked up.
He stopped at one point for gas money, he took my picture too, I'm sure I'll live forever on his dashboard with the others now. He dropped me off in downtown San Diego and I eventually found my was to Jessica's place. We picked up Aaron at the airport, and kicked things off with a bbq and beers.
I ended up at a bonfire on the beach. Waves, moonlight, the smell of fire, sand in my feet, a nice buzz from the beers and some whiskey... who wouldn't run down into the ocean and try and kick it's ass? I pulled my shorts off and went running towards it in my boxers, Christa ran along with me and I'd say we kicked it's ass pretty good. I walked back towards the fire feeling victorious and looking for my pants, then discovering them soaked and sandy. The ocean had fought back, and took the life of my two phones and my camera.
The night went on into a bar with beer pong and great beers like Arrogant Bastard. The end of the night was hazy, but I woke up at Jessica's place remembering my busted phones and camera. I got one phone working, but the screen is dead. The other phone I use for the internet is down for the count and the camera is shot. No videos for a little while among other things.
That night brought more bbq, beers, and an early bar night at JTs, and later drinking with cards back at the place. A couple nights in and I'm having a great time, despite the loss of means of communication that defines Hobo 2.0. For now I'm 1.5, and fine with that, because times always find a way to be good.
I got picked up pretty quickly, a mexican truck driver headed to LA. His truck had big windows all around which was perfect for taking in the landscape that surrounded us, it was pretty awesome. He spoke decent english, and given my spanish abilities, we stuck to my native tongue while talking about everything from basketball to illegal immigration.
He dropped me off in LA with a 10 dollar bill, and my thumb was out again, but to no avail. It wasn't a great spot, I began walking. I tried a few other onramps, but darkness took over quickly and I began looking for a good nook to sleep in, always a bit of a task in city areas. I found an abandoned grassy lot atop a hill, sandwiched by I-5, I-10, and the train track. The train came every 30 minutes or so about 20 feet away, several times disoriented from sleep I imagined I was on the tracks and done for. All was well.
I was up with the sun in the morning, and hit the first on ramp I came across, but the early morning yielded few cars and no stoppers. Walking to the next one I passed a starbucks, I thought about going in and relaxing for a bit, after all it was 7 or 8 and San Diego was only a couple hours away. I walked past it towards the freeway, I barely got my bag off and my thumb out when a car stopped, probably the fastest ever since I've been hitching.
I walked up to the window of the volvo, I looked at the little guy at the wheel and he asked, "You have any drugs?".
"Nope".
"Hop in! Where you headed?"
"I'm trying to get to San Diego"
"Well I guess I'm going to San Diego then". He was an interesting guy, he lived in his car, apparently for the past 20 years. He had a habit of picking people up, he said usually girls though, and usually they aren't hitchhikers. He started telling me all sorts of stories about the girls, like the one run away from a Nevada treatment center. He grabbed a photo from the dashboard he took of her, pretty girl, and he tossed it back into a pile of similar photos he'd taken of people he picked up.
He stopped at one point for gas money, he took my picture too, I'm sure I'll live forever on his dashboard with the others now. He dropped me off in downtown San Diego and I eventually found my was to Jessica's place. We picked up Aaron at the airport, and kicked things off with a bbq and beers.
I ended up at a bonfire on the beach. Waves, moonlight, the smell of fire, sand in my feet, a nice buzz from the beers and some whiskey... who wouldn't run down into the ocean and try and kick it's ass? I pulled my shorts off and went running towards it in my boxers, Christa ran along with me and I'd say we kicked it's ass pretty good. I walked back towards the fire feeling victorious and looking for my pants, then discovering them soaked and sandy. The ocean had fought back, and took the life of my two phones and my camera.
The night went on into a bar with beer pong and great beers like Arrogant Bastard. The end of the night was hazy, but I woke up at Jessica's place remembering my busted phones and camera. I got one phone working, but the screen is dead. The other phone I use for the internet is down for the count and the camera is shot. No videos for a little while among other things.
That night brought more bbq, beers, and an early bar night at JTs, and later drinking with cards back at the place. A couple nights in and I'm having a great time, despite the loss of means of communication that defines Hobo 2.0. For now I'm 1.5, and fine with that, because times always find a way to be good.
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