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When last we met, I had just arrived in Tacoma, WA. I spent 3 weeks hanging out with my father; he was pretty cool, as father's go. I was so obviously a carbon copy of the man, and like I said in Part I, it was....well it was interesting at its worst, and that's all I'm going to say on the matter. When it came time to say adios, I trekked out to the interstate and headed due south, towards my native state of California. My reasons for going, of course, were to see what my home was like, now that I was grown. I sure wasn't into women when I was 8 (obviously, this had changed big time), but we had made a trip back when I was 15, and I made the natural discovery that there were tons of scantily clad women in Los Angeles, and the better portion of them were GORGEOUS. My cousins, who were 10-12 yrs. old when I had first met them, had moved there, and my last set of foster parents (whom I had been with for nearly four years) had just moved there as well, so it wasn't like I didn't know anyone there.
I somehow got wind of a well-known Highway that hugged the coast all the way south (101), so I made a beeline for that. I was quickly tiring of the Interstate anyway (it was quite boring; you never really got to see much of anything but concrete), and, if you don't remember, it was illegal to be on the interstate anyway. NOTE: Again, it was really quite hard to not get sidetracked here, the story of my childhood was quite involved, as well as extremely variegated, and would take volumes to write about. I'm just not going there, for any reason...yet. Just a simple fact alone relating to that part of my life, I was in as many schools as I was in grades. That alone should serve as a good enough reason to refrain.
I got quite a ways in no time flat, per usual, and then crossed the line into a county I had no idea was quite infamous. That county was none other than Humboldt county, and I was oblivious to the fact that it was well-known for many an acre of the strongest Marijuana and Sensimilla grown anyplace in California. Naturally, as is my fortune, I was picked up as I neared this county by a dealer of this very Sensimilla, and was, within minutes offered some. I hesitated only briefly (I had smoked pot the better portion of my high school years already, so I was no "green" thumb), when the man said that it was so good that I'd be in the back seat before I got two hits in, then dove into it. One thing I barely remember is that he wasn't joking either, not even a smidge. Higher than the proverbial kite, he dropped me off sometime later, proffering as a parting gift, a "quarter" of it. If I remember right (and believe you me, that time was a little blurry), that quarter lasted me for almost 3 weeks.
I arrived in Lost Angeles, got a job, and lived there for almost a month and a half. It was just turning into the summertime there, and the weather was a sunny/smoggy 70-80 degrees the entire time I was there, give or take a degree. I spent most of that time in Artesia, an upper middle-class neighborhood. The beach was merely a bus-ride away, and I spent a lot of my free time there, remembering how much I had enjoyed it as a kid.
When I chose to pack up the duffel and once again take on the highway, I got a ride just outside of Los Angeles, going East towards Arizona. I remember jumping into a well-air conditioned Lincoln Towncar, out of an 80 degree day. When I exited the car, just after Palm Springs, it felt as if someone had just turned on a blowtorch. It was well over 100 degrees in the shade, and I was hardly prepared to face it. I was, of course, broke, so I couldn't afford to be buying anything to drink, and quickly located what was to become my emergency water bottle, in a ditch: an empty 32 oz. Budweiser bottle. I had already been duly warned NOT to drink what could only be identified as "river sludge" out of the very nasty Arizona river...but a lot of walking in the hot middle of the day sun soon convinced me that if I didn't, I wouldn't have survived the walk. Fortunately for me, a very wealthy local picked me up, took me to his home and practically threw me into his backyard pool. When I finished indulging in that, he told me to take a shower, then filled a gallon jug with nothing but ice, and gave it to me for the upcoming trip. He dropped me under an overpass, and told me to nurse the jug. It was 120 degrees, even under the bridge, and I think I went through the jug in about 30-45 minutes. I remember I got a few short rides from there through Phoenix and somehow survived to get into Santa Fe, NM. Just south of Santa Fe, as it got very dark, I chose to take up with what was probably the dumbest ride I could have accepted. A smart person would have seen the 24 empty cans of beer in a flat in the back window of the car, that, by the way, was filled with 5 very drunk people, and said "Uh-UH." But not me. No sir. Not only did I get in, I even bragged my ignorance by letting them put my duffel bag in the trunk! (Naturally, since there were already 5 people in the car, a sixth one would definitely have put an end to the idea of a duffel bag going in with me, so I went along with it.)
After about ten minutes of a lot of shouting and drinking, I finally said "You know what? I really should get out here, I have a friend that just lives right over there...". I was pointing, hilariously enough, at a solitary pair of outhouse-sized "restrooms" that served as a marker to a wimpy little town named Wagon Wheel, which, probably, consisted of a dude ranch, a convenience store and a family of 12, all living in the same house. Not that I could actually see to determine any of that. It was 11 o'clock at night and there were no lights, stars or moon to shine enough illumination to even see where the road was.
As I got out of the car and managed to exhale, the driver got out to open the trunk for me...then, when I had my back turned and there was no shot at me making it back to the back door, he turned and jumped back into the car and drove off with everything I called mine at the time, including several sets of brand new clothes and personal items. Add to that, I was in the middle of literally nowhere New Mexico, in the middle of the night, with no cell phone and not 50 cents in my pocket. As I walked south, there was maybe 1 car for every 15 minutes that went by, and, of course, no one stopped. I was screwed. As I got further away from the outhouses, I suddenly felt utterly alone. Every car that zoomed by me made me more desperate just to get ANYWHERE and FAST.
After about 5 cars went by without even slowing (this was in about an hour's time), I had an idea. If I couldn't get them to stop for "conscious" me, maybe I could get them to detour for "wounded" me. I promptly laid down on the side of the road...and waited. Before long, a car zoomed past, then stopped and backed up as I watched, with one eye slightly open. Next thing you know, a semi pulled off the road, then before long, there was two or three more cars stacked up next to me. After that, the highway patrol came along, at which time I figured it would be a great time to "come to" long enough to relate my tale of a car full of drunken idiots, who had whacked me over the head and stolen all of my things. Then came an ambulance, and I got a free ride to a hospital in Las Vegas, NM. They didn't find a bump on my head, but they thought it might be a good idea if I stayed with them for a few days until I was sure I was OK. A cute nurse, who had been pretty much taking care of me that few days, decided I wasn't going back out there with nothing, and decided I was going home with her, and she wasn't going to take no for an answer. Who was I to deny her?
Even though she had inferred that I was able to stay as long as I wanted, and even after my little "experience", the road and I had gotten to know each other pretty well, and it began calling my name again. I thanked my benefactor and bid my adieus. Off I ran again, and this time, ended up in what I call "the terrible twos"...better known as the two states I hate the most, Texas and Oklahoma, in that order.
Denton TX, a town boasting approximately 50,000 inhabitants became a very temporary haven for me. It was a college town that sprawled over a slab of some of the driest land I have ever stepped on. I couldn't believe it, but most of the town was dirt road...they had only paved a few more used thoroughfares. Another thing I came across, for the first time, were bars that you couldn't drink in without being a member, and you had to bring your own bottle. That was different. Needless to say, I didn't drink a lot there. It rained once while I was there, and not long after that, I experienced a plague in Denton containing some of the largest blood-sucking mosquitoes I had ever laid eyes on. I high-tailed it out of there and never looked back. I had no love for Texas whatsoever, that was evident.
I made my way North through Amarillo, then weaved my way up to Oklahoma City. I was picked up by a man who wanted me to come home with him and "the wife", and stay for a spell. The wife was gorgeous, and he made it known to me, in private, that if I stayed the night, she would be my reward. Then when I was about to bed down for the night, he proceeded to make it known that he wanted to be my reward too. It wasn't long before I decided to vacate that little arrangement as well.
I made my way back west again...though I'm hard-pressed to remember why; I took I-40 West, and ended up in yet another hole in the ground: Sayre, OK. It was in the middle of the temporary oil boom they enjoyed in Oklahoma, and there were jobs a plenty. I discovered too that there were scorpions a-plenty as well; I think I killed 3 or better during my life there. I took on a job delivering oil in a bobcat to the oil lubester tanks at the drilling sites that dotted the Oklahoma landscape at the time. The "boom" ended not long after that, and as quickly as thousands of people had swarmed into Oklahoma, they deserted it. Needless to say, I lost that job, and headed back towards Oklahoma City.
It was almost the beginning of the fall season, and I found out that the State Fair was running around that time. Even though I didn't have a lot of experience working for the fair, I thought maybe this would be a good place to get some work. I applied, and got a job working the double Ferris wheel. It was really easy work, and it paid very well. Then I found out why. Working this ride meant you had to tear it down and put it up, when those times came along. Being stuck for it, I did as I was told. It was no fun for a guy with height issues, I'll have you know. I continued on though, because I was intrigued with the spot we were to occupy next, the tour's final resting place: Birmingham, AL. I hadn't ever been to the official South, and was excited that we were going there. After we got there and set up the ride, the fair began. In Oklahoma City, it had surprised me how few people attended the fair. The fairgrounds in Birmingham, on the other hand, was simply bursting at the seams. I don't think I've ever had such a good time. It was ten days of heaven for me, I met and went out with a different girl every day of the fair. It was a literal buffet of Southern belles. A woman with a southern accent would become a real weakness for me. As I progressed through the days, I somehow managed to eek out a promise to each one, swearing they would be the one getting all of my attention at the end of the fair.
On the last day, we were overcome by almost double the crowd, if that was even remotely possible. Worse yet, the line to our ride was easily the longest, stretching for what seemed like miles, and it never let up until the end of the fair. In that line, spread out evenly, thank God, on the ride, and standing close by, was every woman that I had been with that week, all waiting for me to give them an indication as to when I would be done. The world's greatest poker dealer would have been envious of my shuffling skills that night. As they exited the ride, I gave each one a different hour they were to "come back and get me." This got them away from my ride for a while, as well as gave me a chance to think about which one I would leave with. The time came, and I chose to stay with a gal who lived close by the grounds. After a number of weeks, I ducked out (much to her dismay of course), promising to return as soon as I could. I never did. I went back to that city long after that, around 1999. I couldn't believe it was the same town. Destroyed quite obviously by the effects of crack, it didn't take me long to make my way through it as quickly as I could, and never returned.
It was almost 8 months after I had left that I made it back to Iowa, in the middle of a dead nasty winter, on the coldest day of that year. 1982 had been one of the most memorable and absolutely FUN years of my life, and many a time I wished that it was still that way, so I could do it again, even now. My decision to not wait til I was 70 and too old to enjoy my retirement was an excellent one, and played a giant part in carving out who I am today. If it's at all possible to still hug the highways and see the U.S., I highly recommend it. If nothing else, it builds character. Take my advice, there's no better view of the United States than from the side of the pavement. A person misses way too much just "passing through" in their vehicles. :D
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