BasinCamp

Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy Part I
A collection of hitch-hiking stories from my misspent youth

I didn’t have a car in high school. My folks only had one vehicle most of those years. When I went to college I didn’t have a vehicle until my junior year. Often I would still hitch-hike when I didn’t have gas money or the car didn’t run. These are just a few incidents from my tours around the galaxy in those years.

The Ride to Winnemucca – 1972

I visited my folks in CA following the end of my freshman year in college. After a short visit I had to get back to MT as I had a summer job lined up. I had left the Central Valley in CA and got a succession of rides up the valley to Sacramento and over Tahoe. The trip was going pretty well, but it was around dusk when I made it to Nevada’s town of Reno, The Biggest Little City in the World as the neon arch proclaims in downtown Reno. I got rides through town towards Sparks on the East end. Then it started to get dark and the rides dried up until after an hour or so an old truck slowed and asked if I would like a ride. The cab already had three people in it so I hopped in the box. There were several others heads there that had been picked up earlier. The truck would slow down several more times before we reached the forty mile desert east of Reno and pick up more unlucky souls. There were 13 of us in all before the driver could aid no more hitchhikers. The desert night air cooled quickly even in early June and the driver appeared to have difficulty navigating a straight course across the desert that night. I never learned if it was due to alcohol impairment or a loose steering gear on the truck or another combination of factors. A bit of fear and trepidation spread among those of us shivering in the truck box as we wondered if this was to be our last night on earth. We talked of asking the driver to stop and let us out, but then the alternative of being alone by the side of the road in the middle of the night in the midst of the Great American Desert was not an attractive solution. I believe some folks made their peace with their maker as we crossed that stretch of a deserted property. Eventually we made it the 166 miles from Reno to Winnemucca and the driver announced that this was as far as he was going. The crowd of riders split up to find places to sleep hang out in casinos or look for a cup of coffee at the all night truck stops. I walked to the east end of town and found a billboard opposite the Husky Station that looked to be a safe place to get some sleep and bedded down for what was left of the night.

Spring Break – 1972

On spring break I decided to hitch it back to SD. I had been there over Thanksgiving and rode with my old classmate Rick. He wasn’t headed home in the spring however. I had been to see my folks at Christmas and felt I needed to see buddies from Pine Ridge and high school at spring break. I shared my plan with Leni Jones who was the daughter of the bishop of SD and she said she would like to travel with me. I wasn’t too sure about hitch-hiking with a girl, but she said we could pick up a car at Rapid City that was there for the bishop’s use when he was in the western part of the state and she would drive me to the res. I figured that would make that part of the journey pretty predictable to we make plans when to leave. Rides were pretty non eventful until we reached the east side of Butte. We were standing by the side of the road when a car slowed and asked where we were headed. We said we going to SD and he said he was going as far as Livingston. Leni asked if I would sit in the middle as she thought the driver looked a little strange, besides there was a pistol on the seat next to him. I opened the door and started to get in first. He said he wasn’t going to have some guy sitting in the middle of the seat next to him. I kind of looked at Leni and she whispered that she would sit in the middle if I got him to put the gun away. We exchanged a few words trying not to upset him and still hoping to salvage a ride out of the situation. Leni wanted him to lock the gun in the glove box. We finally compromised that he would put it in the glove box, but he wouldn’t lock the cabinet. We got in and headed up Homestake Pass. We started visiting and found out his name was Denny McClain and he was from Anaconda. He lived above one of the businesses on Main Street. (I had come back to Missoula through Anaconda on the Intermountain Bus at Christmas time and was impressed with the turn of the century street lights and the eerie glow cast through the falling snow.) The car’s engine seemed to miss and knock a little as we went over the pass. Denny said he thought the fuel pump was going out and he would have to pull over in Whitehall, but we could have a ride if we were willing to wait. We should have left at that point. It turns out Denny didn’t have any money and proceeded to call on various pastors in Whitehall to see if they would loan him some money for a new fuel pump. I was familiar with such behavior having grown up as a pastor’s kid. Someone was always stopping by our house to borrow money for gas, car parts or groceries. My dad didn’t usually give out cash unless he knew the people pretty well as it often ended up being used for alcohol instead. Anyway we lost an hour or two while Denny found some money, got the fuel pump and installed it. It was late dusk when we left Whitehall. As we proceeded eastward Denny began to tell us a story of woe. His kid was supposedly in a hospital in Livingston and he needed to get there and see him. Denny appeared to getting less rational and possibly a little drunk, though we hadn’t seen him drinking, he could have snuck a few shots in Whitehall during the proceeding. He explained that he was separated from his wife and didn’t know if she would let him see the kid when he got to Livingston. He said it would make him feel much better if he could put his arm around Leni. She said it would be okay if that is all he wanted to do. The trip became more surreal as we went along. I had the feeling Leni was falling for his lines hook line and sinker. Although her dad was our bishop, he had come to the priesthood later in life. I had spent several days at their house in Sioux Falls the summer after 6th grade when I returned from an Episcopal summer camp in Minnesota. He was the lay administrator for the diocese then. He later became a priest and was elected bishop in 1970, so their family hadn’t been raised in the same environment we had experienced. Also there was a big difference between Pine Ridge and Sioux Falls. The Falls was the largest city in SD and more similar to Midwest middle class values than Pine Ridge which was the second largest reservation in the country and the poorest county in the U.S. Anyway, we made it safely to Livingston at about ten that night. Leni gave Denny a hug and he went his way. We waited by the road and were fortunate enough to get another couple of rides that night. The next day we made it to Rapid in daylight and to the res by early evening.

Floating Diamonds on Interstate 94 – 1973

I was on my way back from Miles City after attending the Bucking Horse Sale in the company of my newest sweetheart. She had given me a ride out to I–94 after we had had a great time for the past 3 days. We were both a little sad to be parting. I really didn’t want to stand by the road for a long time waiting for a ride. Besides that the sun was already sinking in the west in the May sky. It wasn’t long a car full of cowboy looking fellows picked me up. I was a little nervous with my long hair, but it turns out they were all college students and had just been to a branding in Terry, 40 miles northeast of Miles City. I soon realized there were two cars that were traveling in tandem. They had all been to the same event. They decided they could drive side by side and pass beer from one vehicle to the other. Then they tried lighting cigarettes and passing them between vehicles, all this while continuing to cruise into the setting sun at 75 miles per hour. I told myself to just be cool, don’t get stressed. They were probably very good at what they were doing and I had certainly ridden in cars in high school when kids tried some pretty crazy stuff and had seen speeds in excess of 140 miles per hour. Of course, I had had one of my classmates killed in a fiery crash too, but he was pretty drunk. Then the two cars tried something I haven’t seen before or since. I have mentioned before that we would ride our bikes in figure eights on the outdoor basketball course and try not to hit each other. Well the two drivers decided they would both change lanes and weave floating diamonds down the highway while still maintaining the same speed. They did it without a hitch. We stopped in Billings, Bozeman and Butte and some of the students got out at each school. There were still several continuing on to Missoula, but when we reached Butte they decided to spend the night there. I headed out on the Iron Street Exit to I-90 and got a ride from an Anaconda native who was just finishing a shift at a nightclub in Butte. He explained how it was sometimes difficult to fit in when you are a night club performer and dress differently, wear white shoes and have different behaviors. I wasn’t too sure what he was getting at, but I guess I could relate to the principle. We sometimes deviate from society and it is tough to fit in. Hitch-hiking is sometimes like that, but tonight I was just glad to get back to Anaconda safe and sound.

Three Brothers on the Madison near Three Forks – 1974

I had been working in Yellowstone Park for a couple of weeks. I had met someone back on the res while I was on the way to Yellowstone (of course I didn’t know I was on the way to Yellowstone. I thought I was headed back to Anaconda to get a job on the Smelter. Guess I was never cut out to be a Smelter Stiff!) Anyway, after a couple of weeks on the job I was curious if this young lady was thinking of me and maybe would write a letter to my last known address, a PO Box in Missoula that I had given to her. I still thought my truck had bad king pins and didn’t really want to drive it all the way from YP to Missoula, so I thought I would hitch it over there and back on my day off. After all it was only 340 miles or 680 miles round trip and I ought to be able to make that between my one day off and I had until 2pm the next day to report to my shift in the kitchen.

I headed out the morning of my day off and made Missoula in good time. Checked the Post Office and found no letter so I headed back. The rides back were a little slower. It was already dusk when I got a ride near Drummond from two guys that were going into to business as gold miners. They offered me a position as their cook. I mulled it over and then declined their generous offer. I ended up in Three Forks about it was pitch dark. There was still a Rocky Mountain spring chill to the June nighttime temperature. I thought it would be best to find a place to spend the night. I found some Milwaukee rail cars and thought it would be comfy to sleep in a box car. I crawled in one, but got nervous when I saw the spotlights from the railroad bull coming around. I snuck away and found a group of county vehicles near the road shop several hundred yards down the way. I found the cab of a truck that was open and got up inside that and tried to sleep, but again got spooked that someone was checking things out and thought I had better vamoose before I could be arrested for vagrancy. I walked another half mile or so and came to the I-90 Madison River Bridge. I explored the bottom side and decided I wouldn’t be disturbed if I crawled up near the top of the embankment and slept on the concrete.

I awoke in the middle of the night having a dream that my three brothers had come to visit me under the Madison Bridge. I don’t know if they were just checking up on me or they were there all seeking wisdom from their elder brother on how to survive on the road. That is the only time in my life I can remember ever having a dream about my three brothers. I have wondered if it may have been due to the anxiety of having to move several times when I was cold and sleepy and unsure about being rousted in the middle of sleep, the future of getting rides and making it back to my job on time. I managed to get a few more hours of sleep, got great rides the next morning and made it back to YP with spare time.

Sleeping in the Snow – 1972

I planned to hitch-hike back to Missoula by myself after spending spring break in SD. Leni had other plans; I can’t remember what they were. Maybe she had a ride lined up or her parents were putting her on a bus. I had seen all my friends and went to a wild party at a friend’s house in Pine Ridge. His parents who worked for the BIA land department were gone for the weekend. He thought he would just have an intimate little party, but word got out and people he had never met showed up. The next morning as I walked by the BIA offices there was a teenage girl in the park area who had been at the party the night before. She begged me to take her with me back to Missoula. I told her I just couldn’t do that. I don’t know where she would have gone when we got to Missoula. It probably wouldn’t really be my responsibility, but I didn’t feel I could be a part of making somebody’s life more difficult than it was already.

I made great time on the road and got to the Rocker Truck Stop by dark time. There were several large cylindrical gas tanks on the hill behind the truck stop so I hiked up there, laid out my sleeping bag and crawled in preparing for a good nights rest. I awoke about two am covered in six inches of snow. I quickly stood up and shook the snow off my bag and tried to roll it up without getting it any wetter. I went inside the truck stop café, ordered some coffee and prepared to spend the remainder of the early morning sipping coffee. I made it through the morning without incident and at first light started walking back towards the interstate. I was only part way up the ramp when a car above me on the freeway stopped and honked for me to hoof it up there for a ride. I guess one needs to be aware that spring weather is unpredictable. Even if it is nice in Missoula or SD, it doesn’t mean you might not run into snow in between.

RIAA tells College Student - Drop Out! Pay Blackmail

Cassandra Hunt shared 272 songs online. Now she is being told she must sign a settlement for $3750 or defend herself in court against a copyright infringement trial. The settlement which RIAA says isn't negotiable amounts to $13.78 per song! What would the legal fees be to do that? And how could she afford that if she can't pay the fine. She already works three jobs and has student loans of $20,000 a year to pay her college tuition. If this 20 year old physicis major were to drop out of college and forego any increase in future earnings how would she ever afford to buy any CD's or download songs at $.99 apiece? Cassi's story is featured in the May 4, 2006 edition of Rolling Stone or you may check out her story at www.screwpirates.com and make a donation by paypal! Somebody has to stop the RIAA from their blackmail and threatened lawsuits against people who have no means to defend themselves.

A Description of the M & M

"I stepped inside and found myself in American lowlife heaven. To my right is a long breakfast counter; to my left, a long and very well stocked bar; ahead of me, several card tables and a handful of poker machines. There were more customers eating breakfast than drinking liquor or gambling, but only just. They are the people you have seen sitting in diners in every blue collar movie you've ever watched: hunting jackets, baseball caps, plaid shirts, heavy boots, visible weapons. The men look pretty tough as well."

A quote from Road To McCarthy, by the late travel writer Pete McCarthy

Moving to Montana as a freshman at the University of Montana
1971 (And in the Interim from Pine Ridge to California)

We visited the Missoula campus the summer of 1970 and also the University of Idaho campus at Moscow. The most memorable event of that trip was staying at Eddy’s Motel in Butte. I thought to myself this town is really depressed. I learned later the Anaconda Company was on strike that year, besides there was an abandoned WPA housing project across the street from Eddy’s Motel and a mountain of slag left over from copper processing surrounding the area around the motel. Eddy’s is still there today, still operating and just as depressing. There was a recent death in the motel due to a drug overdose. It was still a cute mop and pop motel in 1970 however. The 4 B’s restaurant used to be located in front of Eddy’s motel until the new facility was built on Dewey Boulevard, near the Town Pump complex. It was also the summer of 1970 my dad interviewed with the bishop of San Joaquin in anticipation of being able to move there after my high school graduation the following summer. I remember being struck when the bishop ordered a beer for lunch and bought one for my dad also. The bishop in SD had been married to an alcoholic and strongly disapproved of all drinking, especially among the clergy as it set a poor example among the Indians who struggled with rampant alcoholism. I was also impressed with the availability of alcohol all over California. Beer, wine and hard liquor were openly sold in all grocery stores. In South Dakota you went to a liquor store to buy wine or spirits or beer with alcohol content above 3.2%.

Anyway, back to 1971. My family moved to Reedley, CA after I graduated high school. I was bucking bales and they waved at me as they drove off. My dad said it was the saddest day of his life. I stayed behind in SD and worked for various ranchers and farmers. My grandfather died in early August, the day after his wedding anniversary and two days after his birthday. I had to get a ride to Rapid City and fly to Fresno. I had a 23 hour layover at the old Denver/Stapleton airport and met a dude that turned me on to a joint there to ease my despair. After the funeral in Berkeley, we went back to Reedley. I couldn’t stand that place. It was over a hundred degrees every day and nobody went outside during the day. I told my mom the next morning I was leaving for Pine Ridge. She said if I waited until lunch she would ask my dad if they could get me a bus ticket. I didn’t want to wait and didn’t really mind hitchhiking. Mom drove me 14 miles west to the freeway, which really was just California 99, part freeway and part restricted access. There were still numerous fruit stands along the highway in those days. I especially remember the huts made to look like an orange that sold orangeade and lemonade. There were signs at each exit on the freeway part that said "no hitchhiking beyond this point", so you had to stand on the exit to get a ride. Somewhere up near Sacramento, I was standing on the ramp and an HP came up and gave me a ticket. He said I was standing on the restricted part of the ramp. I later saw the sign that was obscured by the oleander bush. I never paid the ticket although I did receive several notices increasing the fine to $600. I guess it isn’t on the books any longer. I made it to Pine Ridge traveling parts of 3 days. The case of beer that Chauncey and I had stashed in the back of my 1948 Chevy wasn’t there any longer. I think Chauncey had probably been persuaded by his brothers to retrieve it. We had been driving around drinking that before I left the res and the tribal police stopped up. Chauncey was driving, but didn’t have a license. We both got out and they asked who was driving. I said I was and they said to follow them down to the police station. They took off for the station and we went the other direction.

The plan for college was that I would drive the 1948 Chevy to California before the end of the summer and my dad would drive me back up to Montana. When my family moved to California in June they had two cars, a 1968 Chevy and a 1963 Buick Special my grandfather gave up a couple of years earlier when doctor’s advised him, he should no longer drive. I used it to drive to school during my senior year. The Buick gave up the ghost over Wolf Creek Pass in southern Colorado during the family move to California and was towed to Durango. My assignment that fall was to drive through Durango on the way to California, salvage everything of value in the Buick and transport it my folk’s new home in Reedley. The trip took me 3 and one half days of 16 hour days. I didn’t want to drive the old Chevy any faster than 45 miles an hour because it was really old and I didn’t want to throw a rod. I had never registered the car in South Dakota as the HP didn’t have authority on the reservation due to tribal sovereignty, but if I was going to be traveling cross country I figured I might need to exercise more caution. I kept my eye open for abandoned or wrecked cars with current plates on them. Sure enough, a week or so before I left for California a car wrecked between Pine Ridge and White Clay with current plates. I stealthily removed the plates and placed them on my Chevy. I think they were 2 dash plates, meaning they were from Rapid City in Pennington Co. I was only stopped once on the trip to CA, north of Denver for a bad tail light. The officer gave me a warning ticket and told me to get it fixed. I guess they didn’t check the plates! My folks had sent me a credit card to pay for the gas, but I didn’t have much cash. A friend’s mother gave me a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter before I left PR. I had a pouch of tobacco and some rolling papers. I pretty much survived on PB sandwiches and smoking “roll me owns”. I was able to buy a candy bar on the credit card in Colorado. I took it easy on the Chevy when I came to the desert in CA and AZ because I remember reading about the Joads, the Okies and Arkies and their Fords quitting in the desert during the dirty ‘30’s. I tried to drive at night as much as possible when it was a little cooler. I made it just north of Bakersfield and a fan belt broke. I was able to find one in a junk yard and used the only $2 I had left to pay for it. My folks and brothers were glad to see me arrive safely in Reedley. I was glad I had survived the trip and wasn’t too worried about the upcoming move to Missoula.

A couple of weeks later we left for Missoula. We made it to Twin Falls, Idaho the first night around midnight and found an old motel on US Highway 30. The next day we drove up to Dillon and had lunch a little place called Skeet’s Café. Later that morning we passed Nissler junction just west of Butte where US 91 met the twenty two mile piece of freeway between Butte and Anaconda that would later become I 90. I remember my first sighting of the Great Stack in Anaconda. It still had smoke pouring from it in 1971. My father told me it was the tallest smokestack in the world. The Washington Monument could fit inside that smokestack. The freeway ended at the Anaconda turnoff and we were back on US 10. The highway entered Deer Lodge and the first great structure you saw was the old state penitentiary. It truly looked like a structure from a different century. It was still very functional then. In fact, men were still men incarcerated there in 1978 when we moved to Deer Lodge. The new prison was built in 1977 and the transition between the two facilities was gradual. It was a cloudy fall day when we entered the Deer Lodge valley and first saw the smelter stack, as we approached Deer Lodge it began to snow. I wondered in the back of my mind what kind of parallel universe I had just entered. Little did I know then how much influence the communities and individuals of Deer Lodge, Anaconda and Butte would have upon me in later life.

We arrived in Missoula in the early evening and got a room at the Palace Hotel. My dad found a phone to call my mom and tell her we had arrived safely. We had dinner. The next morning we went to the University where my dad helped me find my dorm room in Duniway Hall. He left quickly as he wanted to make a good distance the first night on the trip back to CA which he would have to drive solo after leaving his oldest son to start his college career. I located one of my two classmates from Rushville High, also attending the U of M. Rick Orr was also planning to study forestry at the U. We both had to be there early for the forestry freshman orientation camp in the Lubrecht Forest. That night a few of us got together in Rick’s room, someone bought a case of beer and I passed out in Rick’s room.