Friday, April 28, 2006
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.
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.
