Here's the summary of our hitchhiking travels this past week. I'm not the most reliable storyteller, mostly because my memory for details is poor, and so I end up embellishing and making up half the facts. Fortunately for me, we met enough characters this past week that no added color on my part is needed, and so I will record these tales for future reference when my recollection dims.
- The first guy that picked us up was this old Jewish dude with three dogs and a '61 Cadillac. The Jews love me. Seriously. I have a long list of credentials and references. So it's not a big surprise to me that this guy was the only one to even look at us after standing on the side of the road for an hour out in Harriman, in the whitewashed suburbs of New York City. This guy was this old tropical plants salesman, he had to be about 70 something and he had just spent his whole life selling rich people these rare exotic plants. What a strange life! People fascinate me, particularly the nature of their life's work, because I strongly believe that this is what reveals the character of a man, his work, his action. Anyway, he was this very jolly sort of fellow, we sang along to Sinatra the whole way and Dave and I played with his labradors in the spacious backseat. I don't know much about cars but this one was beautiful and old, and it drove like a boat. I've always wanted a car with fins, silver-green, just like this one, and he told us about how he collects these things. Again, fascinating, people and their collections of old treasures. You could tell this guy was getting very nostalgic about youth seeing us out here, and kept imploring us, like so many elderly people do, to make the most of our youth, and I think it made him happy to see us doing just that. I also love old people who don't shy away from coarse humor, there's just something funny about our expectations of the dignity of old people and then hearing them talk about the girls they took out like half a century ago and realizing that not much changes. He dropped us off about an hour up, in Saugerties (sounds like Socrates).
Sidebar: Here, I encountered my first Stewart's ice cream stop/fuel station and bought a coffee milkshake, not realizing that Stewart's is like the Starbucks of upstate New York. Like honestly we were in towns with a population of 15, with 3 Stewart's. Like in some places the entire population of the town was honestly either employed at, eating in, or loitering outside of a Stewart's. Weird. More on this later.
- The next guy who picked us up was ex-NYPD with a thick yous-guys accent, so I was a little surprised, considering what we were doing, or at least where we were doing it, (thumbing on an interstate on-ramp) is illegal in New York State. I commented on this, and he said he didn't usually pick up hitchhikers, but that we looked like "nice boys". I'm not really sure what that means, especially considering our (polite) aggressiveness in soliciting rides and Dave's greasy mop-o-hair, but I guess it's a good thing, as we would be told this many times on the trip. Hopefully at least we are changing people's attitude towards hitchhiking in a small way. Anyway, this man could curiously, considering his former occupation, be described as a "lefty pinko nutjob," to borrow a phrase. He kept asserting that if we voted for McCain we'd be drafted the minute he was sworn in, as if McCain's secret agenda was to convert all the young men of America into cannon-fodder for the War on OPEC. Anyway, he did make some legitimate points, and I kept my politics out of the discussion for the most part because I'm still sitting on the fence and it seemed impolite and frankly pointless to disagree with this guy. I asked him for his favorite cop story, and somehow he turned the discussion back to the war by telling some story about policing the mobs who gathered to protest Nam. All in all, an interesting ride.
We were dropped off at a shopping mall in Albany/Schenectady, where we awaited pickup from our friend Susannah Krewson. In the meantime, Dave and I figured out how to climb the columns supporting the outside of the building. This would become a theme on the trip, ending in tragedy. Again, more on this later.
Susie dropped us off outside of S'tedy, where we hitched a short ride to the nearest rest stop. I offered the guy some of my premium mocha M & M's. He thought they were "OK". What an asshole. They were delicious, actually.
In David's experience hitching south, the rest stop circuit was the way to travel. It seemed promising, as we were able to personally address/charm all the traffic that went in and out. Unfortunately, northeners generally suck a lot more, and so we ended up waiting three hours for a ride. (I have to interject here that I am very appreciative of the fact that both of us, but especially Dave, are mostly very positive people. If I had been forced to endure these waiting periods with a pessimist, I probably would have thrown myself under a bus.) As it were, we had a very fun time regaling travelers and goofing around, but we were both tired and the sun was going down. You think it's hard to convince a total stranger to trust you in their car in the daytime, try doing it after nightfall. Graciously, we were given a ride to Pottersville, some boonie village in the Adirondacks. This part of the journey is one of my favorites.
- A kindly woman in her forties (but quite good-looking for her age) and her son took pity on us as dusk was fast approaching. Dave and I, being the wholesome All-American Cherry Pie Loving boys that we are, quickly worked our down-home charm and within 1o minutes were proferred an invitation to spend the night at her residence.
I'm going to take another sidebar here, so I don't have to say this again at every point where the account features an act of unsolicited human kindness. I had multifold reasons for taking this trip. First off, I'm an explorer and an adventurer at heart. I also like to prove people wrong. (I was told repeatedly "You're gonna die out there, you jackass.) Beyond that though, this is a discipline for me. Despite what inferences might be drawn about many situations in which I've found myself in the past, I don't like being stuck out in the open, with no shower, no food, and no place to stay. I don't like not having control over my environment. I'm typically independent and self-sufficient. I'm walled off, and I don't ask for things I can't return. I hate, above all, to be anyone's charity case. So, far from naivete on my part, this trip was a very conscious decision to throw myself at the mercy of humankind at large, to give up my "island-unto-myself" delusions and test my own character and that of a bevy of complete strangers. In America, land of the "self-made man", independence and self-sufficiency are two rarely questioned ideals, and yet they can just as often be weaknesses as they are strengths. So it may sound strange to say, "I have set out lately to consciously attempt to make myself more dependent on others." I was watching a show called "Dexter" on Showtime about a (rather endearing) pyschopath who murders only those who have committed heinous crimes. I shuddered first to realize how many similarities I had with this man in terms of my own lack of emotional vivacity, and, perhaps more frighteningly, how similar this man's value system is to my own, and to the American ideal of utilitarian justice. Eliminate those who pose a threat to society, answer only to yourself in terms of judgment.
Anyway, I digress. Dave and I had an unspoken agreement (we discussed this afterwards) that we wouldn't offer anyone money, because we were attempting to foster a community of free giving, and not one of exchange. A transaction would have cheapened the situation, and the joy I felt over that one guy or gal who stopped after a thousand passed by, being taken in by complete strangers when our presence offered no practical advantage and could only have caused them harm, was immense. These acts moved me, intensely, as nothing really has in a similar way in the past few months. I took a leap of faith by going on the road without a backup plan, albeit a small one, and time and again, my faith was nurtured and rewarded. Consequently, my relationship to God has never felt stronger. Love is only understood when experienced from both ends. I'm beginning to realize that although for the most part I am able to give love freely, I'm largely unable to accept it, for fear of becoming vulnerable to it. By placing myself in a position where I had no other choice, I got to know some truly wonderful people in a small way.
Alright, you can go vomit now, or stage a love-in, whatever you want, that's my touchy-feely rant for the day.
Back to the strayt dope.
- So this segment takes some curious turns. The car, a very shiny and newish seeming Aztek, is driven by her son. Both this woman and her son have iPhones, and so I guess between the car and the technology Dave and I both sort of subconsciously formed this perception of affluence. Anyway, they drop us off at a gas station right off the exit, which conveniently has this like boondocks WaWa in it, and we procure some mad tasty burgers. We solicit rides for another hour untill it gets really dark and we can see people backing away and reaching for the pepper spray, so we give us and hike up this mountain to where this lady lives. So this place, safe to say, not what we expected. It's this double wide trailer with various rooms and levels just spouting up from it at random intervals, like some crazy redneck castle. Her boyfriend is just chillin' on the couch, sporting a well-coiffed mullet, drinking Milwaukee's Best, and watching America's Funniest Home Videos. I'm overjoyed, as my love for mullets is also well-documented. Hell even Dave, to his credit, once sported one of the most beautiful mullets I've ever seen. But that's a different story. This lady lets us use her computer and just knocks herself out makin sure we're comfortable. It was so awesome, I don't think I've thanked anyone more in my life. Anyway, we sleep, wake up early to hit the road, and as we leave Dave notices her playing online slots (you apparantly can't keep people from inventing new and creative ways to throw away their money) and on the porch, sitting there, are two Molotov Cocktails. Weirded out. Why they couldn't buy shotguns for defense, like a normal hick family, I will never know. Anyway, Dave and I puzzled for days over the curious mishmash of expensive toys and boondocks living. I think they robbed a bank or something, and are building a Fortress of Solitude in the hills to protect themselves. Or they are superheroes, living among us as Cledis Kent and LouEllen Lane. Just a theory.
We hike to the freeway and catch a short ride to the next rest stop. Again, a few hours till we're picked up. We get tired and badger this lady into picking us up and driving us to Lake Placid, which is way the fuck out of our way, but we're moving again.
- Our driver is another middle aged woman, which becomes a trend. I think these ladies are out of their minds, picking up two strange men, but I guess overall we're two pretty nice looking fellers and old chicks get lonely too. This one was lively. The road to Lake Placid was narrow, two lanes, but she put the pedal to the metal and passed people up like Steve McQueen. We barely had time to dig the spectacular view and relics from past Olympics that littered the side of the highway. I'm not really a jittery dude, but I was definately hanging onto the "Oh Shit!" bar most of the way. We talked eastern philosophy, debunked postmodernism, defended Christ and ate some wicked roast beef sandwiches. (Dave's was better than mine, but that's just because he refused to think outside the box and went with the house special, while I tried to be a renegade and make the sandwich my canvas. So, Dave, I stick to my guns. Asshole.)
We chilled for an hour at Lake Placid. It was a beautiful day. Breathtaking. We hitched a ride from a family of four in a Windstar (again, I appreciate the ride, but they have small children in the car...what the heck are they thinking??) and got dropped off about ten miles from the northway (I-87, this is what the yokels call it).
- Not two minutes later, we get picked up by this very jolly man. We soon learn the source of his jollihood, as he reaches into the glove compartment and cracks a Natty Light while he steers with his knees. I'm in the backseat and can't see Dave's face but I'm grinning like a motherfucker, half out of, "Oh, snap..." and half out of, "Just when I thought this place couldn't get any hicker..." and half out of "This is going to make a good story." It was a backcountry road, no traffic, and we didn't think homeboy could do much damage anyway. So this guy is a chatty Cathy, and tells us his life story, about how he was kicked out of his hometown (Keeseville) over to the next down 15 miles down the road (Ausable Forks) because his ex-wife left him and took everything he had. This ride is starting to feel like a bad country song. He also makes the hilarious assertion that every woman in the area has double D's because "there's something in the water". Dunno, about that, but there's definately something in his "water". This best part, though, is when it becomes painfully obvious that this guy has never been more than 30 miles from his hometown. He asks where we're going and we tell him, Montreal. The exchange goes something like this:
"Well I don't know anything about Montreal" he says, "but if you guys are going North, you gotta go to PLATTSBURG."
*Exchange of blank stares*
"You mean you never heard of PLATTSBURG? They got everything up there! They got women, a monument, the BATTTLE OF PLATTSBURG! Ya gotta go to PLATTSBURG."
Dave is sitting in th frontseat looking dumbfounded as I'm cracking up in the backseat. He takes us to a gas station by the northway and we go our merry way and he, his.
Now, the way I see it there are two rides that constitute the Holy Grail of hitchhiking. The first is a topless woman with a Ferrari and a fresh sack of bud. Shockingly, we didn't find any of those. What we did find though, was almost as good: a motorcycle gang. I got excited and sent Dave over to beg a ride while I thumbed by the on ramp. Unfortunately, they insisted that we have helmets, which stupidly we lacked to foresight to pack, but in a brilliant stroke of luck, the man fueling up at the adjacent pump was going all the way to Montreal. Dave crackled me the good news on the walkie-talkie, I gave a fist pump of triumph, and away we were whisked to Canadia.
- This guy, as it turns out, was either really boring or I was just to exhausted to listen anymore. I think he was an engineer of some sort, going up to visit his girlfriend. What was cool though, was that this guy (like most of the people who picked us up) was a former hitchhiker and was also a member of CouchSurfing.com, the website that Dave and I are members of, and that we used to find a place to stay up in Montreal. Basically, it's a community of people who, like us, believe in cultural exchange and hospitality. People send us messages and stay with us when they come through Philly, and we in turn have a place to crash almost anywhere in the world, giving and receiving freely, learning from others. The kind of world I'd like to live in. So we exchanged information, he offered us a place to stay out in Keane, which is apparantly some artsy outpost in upstate New York. Cool Stuff.
And we arrive! The tricky part was convincing the border agents that we weren't homeless vagrants (we certainly looked it) planning to cross the border and camp out for good. We showed them that we were carrying plenty of money and told them about our trip, and about couchsurfing. The french Canadian border patrol guard who interrogated was incredulous that something like this existed, but she ran background checks and everything graded out, and Jack dropped us off at the Metro stop.
I'm tired of writing and just want to get this up, so I'll include our adventures in Montreal in my next installment. Hope you enjoyed reading thus far!
SW
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