Hitch
with truckers
There was one day I woke up and I just didn't want to ride my bike. I don't know what it was or why, but something inside of me was morally opposed to riding a bicycle all day. I didn't wanna do it. Maybe it was my chafed butt or the longer days we'd been pulling? Whatever it was, it was something. Stumbles was kind of tired too, but not like I was. She dragged me out and onto my bicycle somehow.
The wind
wasn't even bad, I don't know what was wrong with me. I could go, I just really
really really did not want to. I said fuck it. I'd ridden most of the miles for
the day and I didn't want to continue hating myself for the next couple hours.
It's about the smiles, not about the miles (generally our motto if we had to
hitch somewhere due to something or other). I get on the side of the interstate
with my professional hitchers stance and thrust my thumb out. I'm mentally
prepared to admit to someone I'm just a tired bum who doesn't feel like riding
the last bit of miles. I stand there for 5 minutes. 10 minutes. 20. I start
singing to myself. 30 minutes. Every passing truck raising my hopes, giving me
a shot, but none answering my call. 40 minutes... A semi-truck pulls off on the side of the
road. A semi? Really? A fucking semi?
First
off, in all of my professional hitchhiking career around America not one semi-truck
has ever pulled over on the side of the interstate to pick me up. Yet here I
am, not even properly hitching, with a bicycle on the side of the road, and a
semi has pulled over. I really thought he'd just pulled over for something else
and it had nothing to do with me. Until he got out of the truck and waved me
over. Like seriously? Where am I going to put the bike? I still couldn't believe a
semi had pulled over for me. I walk over to where he had pulled onto the shoulder of the interstate. The
guy hardly speaks English, but he gestures me into the truck. I gesture to my
bike. He gestures to the truck. Whatever, I shrug, climb into the passenger
seat, and greet his driving partner sitting in the back bunk. The guy then
hands up my bicycle through the passenger door and we manage to fit it in between the passenger and driver seat. He closes my door, runs around the
front of the truck, and hops in. Then we're off.
The
driver was from Mongolia and his partner, the one in the back bunk, was from
Iran. I talked a little bit with the driver, but his English was not very good. He soon reaches around behind the drivers seat, pulls out a half gallon
of grapefruit juice, and gets me to fill my water bottles up with them. He goes
back to driving and the guy in the back seat starts talking to me. His English
was probably better than mine and we instantly launched into traveling stories.
I'll never forget, he was telling me about Iran in the present time and some of the
political things going on there, when we had this bit of conversation: The reason things are bad
right now is because the people who have been deprived and crazed for all of
history have finally gotten into power. I asked him what the name of the group
was, the group that was now in power. Who are the deprived and crazed? He looked at me as if I was a little slow
and answered me simply, "They're the religious people." We both laughed.
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Bozeman
We'd
organized a warm showers host for the night in Bozeman, Montana. John was his
name, and from everything I could tell (via our texts) he seemed like he'd be a
great host. It'd been a long short day. The wind had been brutal and, when we
finally got to the pass taking us over the mountain, the hill wasn't even large
enough to block the headwind. We were riding uphill and into the wind. I guess
we should have been used to the wind by that point in the journey, but that
doesn’t mean we couldn’t still curse it profusely. The backside wasn’t any
better either. We were going downhill, but the wind was making us pedal for
that downhill. That’s just wrong.
When we finally arrived at the bottom of the hill and
roll off the on ramp on our way to this guy’s house we find him waiting there
for us at the first stoplight. A cool greeting to come into town to. He guides
us back to his house, through the wall of bushes, and into the back yard.
Turns out we were his first Warm Showers experience.
He’d never hosted anyone else before! We got to be the pilot episode for him! He
did a damn fine job and I hope we didn’t disappoint him either. He was ecstatic
to be hosting us. He’d bought us groceries to make sandwiches with, oranges,
watermelon, and he’d made this super incredible guacamole. All of which we
devoured. He introduced us to his wife, Donna, and we quickly got the whole
story. John had signed up for the Warm Showers program without really ever
telling is wife. When he got my message he asked her if it’d be alright for us
to stay. She didn’t want anything to do with it. I suppose it is kind of
strange to invite smelly strangers into your house for a while? I’m used to it
at least. After she wasn’t so receptive to it he asked her “So, I should tell
them: Sorry, you can’t stay here because my wife is a bitch?” She agreed to let
us stay. Her and Stumbles kicked it off super great. And you could tell she
actually was having a good time. We hung out and chatted and laughed and drank
before finally the mention that maybe we should stay an extra day came up. Just
like that, it turned out we were zeroing in Bozeman.
It
happened to be one of my favorite zero days. Why? Because we did absolutely
nothing and it was absolutely fantastic. Literally, all day, we sat out in ‘wicker
heaven’, what they call their outdoor patio, reading and drinking beer. I can’t
even describe how good it was for me to just have a reading zero during this
bike ride. For some reason that was all I’d been craving. And It was sweet
bliss.
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There ya' go, two more small stories from the adventure. I'm off to Alaska in a few days! Not totally sure if I'll get some more biking stories out there or maybe some other stories, but I'll do my best!
Hope everyone is happy out there,
Beacon
P.S. Good job supreme court.
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