On the road to find out

I was driving down I-84 headed into the Gorge for a morning of hiking. I wasn’t on the road long when I saw a hitchhiker on the side of the road, and on a whim I pulled over to pick him up. I pulled onto the shoulder and idled while he made his way up to the car. He was an adult male, trim, with sandy blond hair and skin that was dark and creased beyond his years, the sign of a man who spends an awful lot of time in the sun. He was dressed in a baseball cap, short-sleeved button-up shirt, pants and sneakers. He carried a worn leather-like soft-side suitcase.

He climbed into the back seat with a warm “Thank you” and I pulled back onto the road. I introduced myself, and he replied with a “Hi, I’m Daniel.” He had a thick accent that I identified as “southern rural”, but couldn’t confidently isolate beyond that. Oklahoma? Missouri?

I told him I wasn’t going too far, just another 15 miles down the road, but every little bit helps, I guess. I started asking him where he was headed, and his story came out in bits and pieces.

He had reached Portland just the night before but, “I didn’t like it much.” I tried to press him for details, to no avail. About all he had to say was “It was a lot bigger than I thought it would be.” I got the impression that “the big city” made him nervous, and that he felt more comfortable either on the road or in smaller towns. He then told me that he had started hitching in Missouri, had come through Arizona and New Mexico and then had just reached Portland and was headed back east, towards the Dakotas. We talked a little about what a big country it is, and how wonderful it is, once you disconnect from all of the news and advertising and just take it as you find it.

And then he said that he mother had died a couple of years ago, and that was what got him traveling. He had spent a year after her death beating himself up and feeling awful. When it got so bad he couldn’t stand it, he decided moving had to be better than sitting there. And so he started hitching. I was surprised he would share something so intimate and personal with me, and didn’t really know how to respond.

I finally reached my exit and dropped him off, and then found the parking lot and trial head for my hike. But for the next couple of hours, he was on my mind. It’s hard for me to picture what his life must be like. This wasn’t an experienced traveler with a backpack, bedroll and one-man tent. I’m not sure what he does when night falls and he hasn’t reached a city. Sleep by the side of the road? And when it starts pouring rain? I’ve never been so completely without anchor, drifting idly with no plans, no timetable, no agenda.

When I came off the trail and back to the parking lot a few hours later, there he was, sitting by the side of the road. I didn’t know what to say to him this time, and so didn’t say anything at all. I just got in my car and headed for the highway, going back towards town.