A Lifer on the road

It was my second USA cross-country journey. I was in the high plains of Wyoming. The sound of the gravel road shoulder crunching under the wheels of the car as it pulled over to let me out of the car. I pushed the back of the seat forward to the dash. Reached into the backseat and grab my backpack. Gave a friendly smile to the driver and thanked him for the lift. As many times as there were before, there would be again, When I would get back out onto the road to start thumbing a ride, there would be another person front in line. As it was this time too, I took the second position about 50 feet in the back of the other traveler. We gave each other a friendly nod acknowledging a certain, special kind of respect that we Hitchers had for one another. We all knew that we would probably be sleeping somewhere out in the open that night. Or maybe under a bridge overpass if it was raining. There were countless times when I would lay under the stars curled up in my sleeping bag and stare up as I fell asleep having wonderment about me in this life.

It was a lonely spot in Wyoming and there weren’t many vehicles passing us. Before long I wandered over to him and began a conversation. I studied his dark tan weather face, and worn clothes realizing that he probably was a veteran of life on the road. He had kind but skeptical eyes as he looked me up and down. We cautiously asked each other questions about our past. I thought to myself that he must be in his mid to late 40s. He wasn’t all that much younger than my dad. And as I probed into hearing his stories again to realize that yes indeed he was a lifelong hitchhiker. Living on the road was his lifestyle and he had done it for many years. As I asked him with curiosity how he made money he told me, “I will go from city to city town to town. I mostly get a job as a dishwasher, and kitchen hand. If they have for a place for me to stay I might end up there a month or two.” He said. ”I don’t like staying in one place too long. I need the feeling of a fresh start”

I began to wonder what his life was like before he started living on the road. What had happened? Did someone die? What could’ve possibly happened that would push him to a place where he would abandon the comfort of a home and not be around loved ones? To live constantly on the move without ambition or dreams. Why did I have such deep feelings that left me with a hunger for both lifestyles? Part of me lusted for the idea of being completely free of responsibilities and part of me was overwhelmed by the idea that I would be so alone.

A few hours after spending time together and talking about our lives a car with two girls in their 20s pulled over and gestured to me to come. I could tell they didn’t want the older guy. I started grabbing my backpack and looked up at him. I felt bad because he had been there before me. And he was much more worthy of the ride than I was. He just looked at me with that friendly smile and nodded. He pushed his head upward suggesting for me to go on and gave a waist-high wave. I thought to myself, I truly just love this life of being on the road. After meeting him I often wondered if this wanderlust would wrap its arms around me so tight that I wouldn’t be able to let go. Maybe I would end up being forever captured in its mysteries. Maybe someday I would find myself drifting from town to town city to city.