A Good Theology Book

I’ve had people—especially ministers—say, “This is supposed to be a theology book? What theology?” O ye of little perception! Just from the first couple of pages, you should be able to detect: 1) Ongoing optimism 2) Everyone they meet gets treated equally 3) The two characters are quick to give each other the benefit of the doubt 4) They travel with spartan frugality 5) The plan for the cross-country hitchhiking trip was mapped out over the celebration of the birth of our savior (Christmas 1970), and (for now) 6) We spent 40-days and 40-nights on the road which is a direct reference to Jesus fasting in the desert for the same amount of time as per Matthew and Luke. Just sayin.’

A Letter to My Friend's Girlfriend

My friend from high school, Doug, who now lives in Las Vegas, has read my book (I think).  His girlfriend, Alison, hasn’t.  So I sent her the following letter, both as friendly couple-to-couple gesture (my wife and I, and her and Doug), and also as a way to promote the events in my book that happen in Las Vegas.  Here’s the letter:

Hi Alison, Doug better give you a copy of my book, We Picked Up, as a Mother’s Day present BECAUSE after seeing your rather generic street name Pinehurst Drive (sorry, I’m sure it’s anything but) from your thank you card, it brought back to mind several watershed events that occur in my book in Las Vegas. One, the guys arrive into town across the Mojave desert with a horse-faced driver with leukemia and his 300-pound mother who does nothing but berate him. To me, this is the funniest part of the book, especially after the guy’s car breaks down and the two hitchhikers have to push the dead car into a service area. When they arrive into Las Vegas, Roger (i.e. me) is stunned that a normal, everyday neighborhood exists in Las Vegas (“What’ll they think of next?” he says). On top of that, the two characters are fighting like cats and dogs but make up in Las Vegas and go up a few notches on the maturity scale. And on page 297, in North Las Vegas, the words “We picked up” are actually written as a three-word sentence. 
That’s where I got the title.  So there you have it! Thanks for your card . . . it was great hosting you guys (even though I won the Antiques Roadshow appraiser contest!), and I’m sure looking for an excuse (and time slot) for Wonza and me to come to Nevada!   Sincerely, Ken

The Buddhist Lingo

I hope I got the Buddhist lingo right on Day 33-35, the part where Roger and Otto take the sidetrip to the Grand Canyon. I also hope I got the Buddhist atmosphere right. Since this is a made-up episode, patched together only partially from other trips and experiences I had over the years, I couldn’t rely on direct memory to help me out.  I had to learn what a Buddhist wedding entailed, what words were right for the characters, and to set the mood.  I also needed it to somehow jell and conform (i.e. make it appealing and accepting) to a liberal Christian standpoint as well. Bottom line, I wanted it to be fun and didn’t want to offend anyone. I had to make Norbert and Vanessa’s wedding real, yet a point of distraction to Roger as he considers the awesome backdrop. And then we have the presence of sweet Gwen, who painted the hippie bus with the mantra, “Love All, Hurt None.” The budding friendship between her and Roger had to be as compatible and smooth as the tenants between Buddhism and Christianity; at least that’s what I pushed for. Though Roger and Otto agreed, “It’s all one God anyway,” to Roger, “it still has to square with Jesus Christ.” So there was a lot working out on these pages. One of my favorite parts of the book is on the morning of Day 35, when Roger and Otto are camping the night after the sidetrip and banter back and forth with playfulness: “I got all tuckered out channelin’ my bliss through the abstractions of my mental sphere.” “We purified our formless receptacles, Otto.  We made our material planes immune to delusion.”

Three Weeks Without a Bed

At the start of Day Twenty, page 187, Roger wakes up at his Aunt Betty’s house, lounging in luxurious sheets, where “no cops will be rooting me out here.” He ruminates how he made it almost three weeks without sleeping in a bed. After a split moment of self-congratulatory conceit, he thinks further and decides, “It’s pretentious to presume that going a couple of weeks without basic necessities is a long time.  People survive ordeals much more demanding than this journey. What am I boasting about? What right do I have to gloat?” How glad I am to have come to this realization. Yes, Roger can act like a pompous ass with his over-confident attitude, but not this time. He gets the perspective right. The rough style in which they were living was no big deal. “It was my CHOICE to live this way,” he thinks. “How dare that I think this is something special? I can hardly claim being thrust into dire hardship.  It ain’t this. No bed, so what?  Same as with not taking a shower.  Or not eating meals.  Or not wearing clean clothes.  What do I have to complain about?  Twenty days is nothing.  Go a year or more, Winans.  Then you’ll have something to write about.” That’s why you don’t see Roger Winans complaining much in this book. He understands that this 40-day cross-country junket is more or less an amusement park glee run (as he says himself on page 5) that he wanted very much to take. What was there to complain about? Nothing.

The Insterstate System

One thing you can follow along with my book, somewhat, is the progress of the American Interstate system. As you may know, this network of limited-access highways, named for President Dwight Eisenhower who initiated it in 1956, took 35 years to build.  That puts 1971 smack in the middle of its construction history. You surely can see the start-‘n-stop nature of the interstate in the pages of We Picked Up. Some states were further along than others. Nebraska, for instance, had almost all of I-80 built when we crossed. Kudos to them. But I can’t say the same for Nevada. Turn to page 116 on Day Eleven. I write, “We gained sporadic distance at best as a series of kiddie rides brought us through dry alkaline gulches, broken by hills and mountains, empty sagebrush reservoirs, and canyons stripped by quarries. The interstate was complete, incomplete, complete, incomplete.” The pain in the neck was the most common place for the interstate to be incomplete was around towns. As a hitchhiker, this was frustrating, because you wanted to avoid towns that weren’t your destination as they would slow you down. A couple of nice things about the interstates back then was police weren’t doing an efficient job in patrolling them—you could “usually” get on the highway proper and hitch directly on it, especially in way-out places like Wyoming. Other states were more strict to varying degrees. Also, the system wasn’t fully “discovered” by the public, meaning traffic wasn’t a circus like it is these days. There was adequate traffic flow, but sparse enough so that drivers still could pull over in a safe manner to pick you up.

I Address the Reader Only Once

When writing a novel, it’s tough enough figuring out if the first or third person will be used in the narrative. Also difficult is deciding how close do you want the reader to get to the author. Should he or she be acknowledged directly?  I did so just one time in the book.  Turn to page 283.  Roger, Otto, Detroit, and Paul McCartney have just gotten let off in the middle of the night at what is described as “the last exit before the desert,” in a heavily wooded area of south-central California. They are heading north along I-15 toward Las Vegas.The quartet has a good buzz on their heads thanks to their previous driver.  But now the starkness of the situation hits them all at once. “We sized up the vast canyon’s degree of severity.  Our elevation was ‘high, very high.’ The only hint of life was the glare of a Shell station on the far side of the interchange.” That’s when I, author Kenneth Lobb, felt the need to turn to the reader. “Not a lick of traffic came by in either direction.  I’m not talking about the entrance ramp, dear reader.  But I-15.  Nothing. Zero.” Maybe I was suddenly lonely and needed a friend. More likely, I wanted to emphasize that the nothingness around us wasn’t just on the local roads, but included the interstate as well.  Everything was silent and non-moving. It was a vast void of emptyness. No wonder within a few minutes Paul McCartney unrolled his sleeping bag and went to sleep in the shoulder of the ramp.

Roger the Writer, Not the Reader

Another strange thing to talk about is how when Roger (i.e. Kenneth Lobb) starts out on the trip, he’s a writer but not a reader. That's a flip from the norm. He’s been keeping a daily journal for quite some time, but keeps reading material at arm’s length. Just by virtue of typing out this story in day-to-day format shows that. “I never read any Huck Finn books, but I knew the themes,” Roger says while being camped out at the Mississippi River. But how did that pan out? It doesn’t seem to follow the usual scheme of events—being a writer but not a reader. But that is true. I was always writing . . . always had the need to express myself, to jot something down. That’s probably because I never had the friendship outlet or the security bond with my parents to express all I felt I needed to express—even with Otto. There was always something more that needed to be said, to be pondered, to be withheld from the verbal realm.  So I turned to writing it down. It never occurred to me I needed to know another person’s (i.e. author’s)  viewpoint before I could properly “join the conversation.” It didn’t strike me until I hit Hanford Library and decided that I'd better start reading (it didn’t happen THAT starkly, by the way, but it’ll do as a good point of reference). However, I believe I actually said to Otto, as Roger does to Otto on page 219, “I’m going to write a book someday if I ever find a subject.” Otto actually said back to me, “Don’t forget to put me in it.  Mention this ice could water foundtain, why don’t ya. This spouritn’ stream eased this kid’s dry innards.”

Contemplating the Library

One of the biggest admissions I make in the book is that Roger has never read a book in his life. Well, actually, he’s read one—he did a book report in sixth grade on The Babe Ruth Story. He only did that because he was forced to by his teacher. As he talks to Otto, Roger almost seems to be flaunting the stark admission. He’s almost proud that he’s never read a book. This is a true statement. I never started to read on a consistent basis until I was in college. I caught up rather quickly, I believe, and still read about 25 books a year to this day. So you can say I caught up and then some. But I put this part into the book because it seems that much of America is comprised of non-readers—people who slip by in a lazy manner without taking the time to crack a book or learn anything. So I threw my own dirty secret in there, hoping to shake the cobwebs off some peoples’ brains via a like-minded pea head. The moment at the library in Hanford, California on Day 24 is shown as a spark of discovery, a light bulb going off.  “I never comprehended a library before.  Its purpose eluded me. Every one always seemed like a museum of paper, with tedious compilations of esoteric details.  But I found out something: If you put in the effort, books’ll meet you half way.  They called out.  They felt exciting to handle and touch.” Otto adds, “What you read adds up. You gotta get your head together in a place like this once in a while. Most words last longer than the author does.”

"It's All the L.A. Area."

When the guys are in Wyoming and catch a ride with lonesome Bill, he describes his home region: “Have you ever heard of Santa Monica? It’s one of those neighboring towns to L.A.  You don’t know where one stops and the next one begins.  All the town run into each other.  We just call it the L.A. area.” That’s what I tried to convey when we got there—the jumble of sights piled on top of one another—as the guys finally arrive there starting on page 228. “Houses and more houses assaulted the senses, increasing proportionately with exits, billboards, cars, construction, and a coffee-lemony smell.” It sparks the guys to skip the glob altogether and park themselves at Disneyland for a few days, and then go to Huntington Beach. Roger, however, uses his feud with Otto to backtrack into the jungle.  On Day 31 he invades more of the area they missed:  The Hollywood sign, the movie lots of Burbank, Beverly Hills. “I got to Wilshire Boulevard and hailed down a guitarist in an old Rambler. But in the process he screwed me up.  He brought me to a tight, curving ramp on the Glendale Freeway, which was the wrong freeway. I fought my way onto the Long Beach Freeway, but before I knew it I was on the Santa Monica Freeway and headed in the wrong direction again.” That is the L.A. area, where one town runs into another. Definitely one of the most challenging spots I’ve ever hitchhiked.

Exchanging Letters With Paul McCartney's Handlers

Here’s what I sent to Paul McCartney at his townhouse in New York on February 3, 2015, along with a copy of my book:

Dear Paul, When I was 17, a friend and I hitchhiked cross-country from New Jersey to California and back. On the trek back, we got picked up by a driver in California who also carried two other hitchhikers: a guy I came to call ‘Detroit,’ and a guy whom I call ‘Paul McCartney.’ (he looked like you, and acted like you—a Beatle haircut, bohemian and free-spirited, always humming music) I would like you to have a copy of the book, so you can enjoy yourself as portrayed in literature—accurately, I believe! A cool thing about these two characters (Detroit and Paul McCartney) is they appear a SECOND time in the story, further down the road. That had never happened to me before in 25,000 miles of hitchhiking. So enjoy the ride. The two sections are pages 278-287 and then on pages 324-349. Thank you.

Here’s what his handlers wrote back to me on February 13, along with my returned book:

Dear Mr. Lobb, Unfortunately, due to complications that have arisen in the past, we have a firm policy not to accept, review or forward unsolicited material to Sir Paul McCartney.  Also, please be advised that neither Paul McCartney himself nor his representatives have reviewed your request and that Paul McCartney is not aware that you have sent your unsolicited request to our office.  We hope you understand.

Yours truly,

-MPL Music Publishing Inc.

WPU Soundtrack Album

Fooling around a few years ago, I compiled a We Picked Up soundtrack album, using 21 songs which are mostly named in the book (but some that aren’t) which help categorize where the guys were at in their travels, or songs to help explain their emotion or mental state.  The lineup is:  1)  “I Feel the Earth Move” by Carole King  2) “Indiana Wants Me” by R. Dean Taylor  3) “Nama” by the Rascals   4)  “Questions 67 & 68″ by Chicago   5) “Signed, Sealed, Delivered I’m Yours” by Stevie Wonder  6)  “Hello, Mary Lou” by Rick Nelson  7)  “Navajo Gift Dance Song” by Traditional Native Voices   8)  “Strangers In the Night” by Frank Sinatra  9)  Theme From “Bonanza”   10) “Do You Know What I Mean” by Lee Michaels  11) “I Left My Heart in San Francisco” by Tony Bennett  12) “Do You Know the Way to San Jose” by Dionne Warwick   13) “Surfer Girl” (vocals only version) by the Beach Boys   14) “I’ve Got Enough Heartache” by Three Dog Night   15)  “99 Miles From L.A.” by Art Garfunkel  16) “Bring the Boys Home” by Freda Payne  17)  “Maybe I’m Amazed” by Paul McCartney  18)  “Wichita Lineman” by Glen Campbell   19)  “Don’t Come Home A-Drinkin’ (With Loving on Your Mind)” by Loretta Lynn  20) “Honeymooners” theme song by Jackie Gleason, and 21) The Stars and Stripes Forever (Sousa) by the Grendadier Guards Band.  It’s an eclectic mix, granted, but isn’t a trip across America the same?

The Gas Stations

If this were a book about driving cross country rather than hitchhiking, the various gas stations we visited might’ve played a more prominent role.  It’s not much of a smattering, but I can think of six different stations I mention:  Amoco, Shell, Texaco, Mobil, Esso, Chevron, and Union 76.  Looking at these companies’ histories reveals quite a bit about American big business’ greediness. Amoco, originally called the Standard Oil Company of Indiana, was founded in 1910. In 1998 British Petroleum bought it and it became known as BP Amoco.  Quickly enough, though, the Amoco moniker was removed all together, though the company continued to abide by Amoco’s grading system. Shell, headquartered in Houston, Texas, is part of Royal Dutch Shell in the Netherlands and one of the largest companies worldwide. Since 1999, the word ‘Shell’ no longer appears on the yellow shell. Texaco began in 1901. For many years it was the only brand of gasoline being sold in all fifty states. It had a catchy motto, “Trust your car to the man with the star.” Mobil was also birthed at the beginning of the 20th century in the United States.  Through much of the 1940’s and 1950’s it was the biggest selling brand of gasoline. It merged with Exxon in 2001, though is still sold under the name ‘Mobil’ or ‘On the Run.’ Esso, meanwhile, was a phonetic spelling of its pre-1911 name, Standard Oil (SO=Esso). In 1972 the brand was replaced in the U.S. by Exxon after it bought Humble Oil. Ironically, the Esso name is still used worldwide, but not in the U.S. Chevron, based in California, is the third-largest oil company in the world. Chevron is engaged in every aspect of the oil, gas, and geothermal energy industries, including exploration and production; refining, marketing and transport; chemicals manufacturing and sales; and power generation. It acquired Texaco in 2000. Finally, Union 76, known for its orange ball with blue numbers, is owned by Phillips 66. After merging with Conoco, the gas was known as ConocoPhillips. For decades it was only a western brand, but has slowly infiltrated the northeastern market.

Charles Atlas

Did you pick up the reference to Charles Atlas? It’s on page 292, when Roger and Otto are in the Mojave Desert with ‘Ted and his mother.’ The old Ford breaks down and needs to be pushed by hand to the approaching gas station. I write, “It was a sweating, stinking affair. My back and legs practically buckled. Pushing uphill on the interchange ramp was a feat worthy of lifetime membership in the Charles Atlas He-Man’s Club.” A quick look at Wikipedia says, “Charles Atlas, born Angelo Siciliano (1893 – 1972), was the developer of a bodybuilding method and its associated exercise program that was best known for a landmark advertising campaign featuring Atlas’s name and likeness. It has been described as one of the longest-lasting and most memorable ad campaigns of all time.” I’m not sure if that included what I remember as the “He Man’s Club” —maybe that comes from my remembrance of the Little Rascals comedy reels which I accidentally mixed in. (True enough . . . what I was thinking of was from 1937, titled ‘The He Man’s Women Hater’s Club’). But whatever, the sentiment to superhuman strength is there. I certainly remember the Charles Atlas fitness program designed for the “97-pound weakling” who gets sand kicked in his face at the beach by a bully, decides to take action by signing up for the body building regimen, returns to the beach, and beats up the bully to the admiration of all. The point is, that’s the kind of strength it took to push that dead car through the desert.

"I Feel the Earth Move" by Carole King

The community chorus my wife and I sing in, at Northampton Community College in Pennsylvania, is practicing a medley of songs for its spring concert titled, “American Pop Forever.”  We sing a verse and chorus each from about forty songs, from the so-called great American songbook.  Most of these songs don’t go very deep into the catalog, as can be inferred. But one song I love is “I Feel the Earth Move” by Carole King. As you know, that’s the opening song in my book, first out of the gate, kind of a theme song for the whole book. It helps to alert the reader that, “This isn’t a buddy book. It’s for everyone, and we're on the move. It’s about endurance, strength, and overcoming.” It also shows just how animated and passionate Roger is about music. Otto can only watch and say, “Go, hepcat, go.” The song sounds fresh and alive today as it did when it came out in 1971, “the new one by Carole King,” as I write.  It has an aggressive beat, banging hard on the piano, words probably referring to the libido, at a time when women weren’t so open about their sex drive. Carole King was at a point in her career of making a name for herself as a performer, after remaining relatively hidden as a songwriter with her ex-husband Gerry Goffin throughout the 1960’s. She wrote numerous great songs. Tapestry was her second solo album. This hard-driving gem, actually the flip side of the 45 “It’s Too Late,” has an external and internal framework that a travel story needs, and a hippie-organic optimism, helping to make the album one of the biggest sellers of all time. It’s perfect for the opening musical number of the book.

My Impressions of California

As we started out for California, I had a healthy skepticism about what we’d find there. My parents always talked it down, as in, “Oh, those California people think they’re so great, and they’re not.” They defended our Jersey home turf (largely because they knew nothing else). I wasn’t that rigid, but as we progressed westward, I maintained a strict show-me attitude of, “California is going to have to demonstrate some great things before I cast my lot.” I got tired of hearing drivers talk it up—I’m specifically thinking of the female psychology student in Illinois who dropped us off at Starved Rock State Park, who said, “California is the closest thing we have to a utopia.” Talk like that wore on me fast. Could what she described be true? The curiosity was there. It turned out what I saw I DID like. Starting from the Sierra Nevada mountains, and the campsite I proposed for ourselves across the border, near Truckee (which Otto  nixed), I slowed turned over. The sense of individualism and freedom, the wide-open spaces, the cultural diversity, the mountains and coastline, the enormity of lifestyles, opinions, and attitudes, began to add up for me. The day after Disneyland (page 237) I looked in the mirror and said, “Admit it, Winans—you like ‘Fornia.  Fess up.  It’s grown on you. Admit it” That became my opinion. It took a few weeks, but I was won over in a big way, which resonates to the current.  California is still one of my favorite states and favorite places to visit—even if it seems like you’re on perpetual vacation.

Examples of Ugrading

Putting chunks of narrative and turning them into dialogue helps speed things forward. As the guys enter the Big Sur campground on Day 15, Otto says to Roger, “Know what, it might look better if we get in with a group that has its own campsite, instead of comin’ in and outta the woods.  That way we good legit. We don’t wanna be tossed out by our collars.” All that was originally narrative, kind of laborious to describe, without tension. I changed it to dialogue after looking at it for years, and the result is a vast improvement. Then there’s the sharpening of words. When we were in Santa Cruz, hiking uphill to the college (which we never found), I wrote about the pain I was feeling. “I felt queasy, burdened, sore.  No clue were given as to dormitories.  Otto and I would be considered trespassers. I lumbered through the dark with increasing agony. Mist stung my face. My biceps were sore. Otto walked ahead slowly, as if rigor mortis was about to set in.” That was expanded from about two sentences to seven. Needed to flesh that one out more. Then on the morning of Day 35, after we had witnessed the Buddhist wedding, we wake up and discuss Christianity vs. Buddhism. It’s a healthy back and forth exchange, with Otto concluding, “It’s all one God anyway.” Roger adds, “Approach and perspective, that’s it.  The way, the truth, and the life.” So I'm able to give the edge to Christianity but without dissing another faith.

A Hack Like Me

A hack writer like myself sure learned a lot about writing over the course of forty years.  How can you not? Just the longevity alone gives you practice. (As Henry Miller once wrote, 'Even a bad novelist needs a place to sit down and type.') By letting the manuscript sit for stretches at a time, sometimes years, makes the material spring back at you in a fresh way. Take it from me, I know. When you take it out again, it’s as if you’re dealing with the story for the first time. But the groundwork is done, what a relief. The beginning, middle, and ending are firmly in place. Similarly, when you age a manuscript like this, you immediately see the upgrades that are needed. You notice verbs that need to be more specific, sentences that should be tightened, ideas that need sharpening, the philosophical thrust which needs to be clarified and deepened. All this wouldn’t have happened if I got the novel published in the 1970’s, like I originally hoped. It would have been a lousy piece of literature, a pale replica of what it became. Henry Miller and another literary heavyweight, Norman Mailer, would have laughed at me.

Shocked Into Becoming a Christian

The incident that helped me to embrace Christianity more than anything else was not the night of love and sharing at the Salt Lake City Bible study—important as that was. The clincher came the following night, when we had that harrowing ongoing horror with the cowboys in Wendover, Nevada. Escaping that town unscathed did more to inspire my faith than anything that’s ever happened to me, before or since. It’s because we thought we were dead. We needed a miracle and got one. Though it’s not true the mean cowboy stepped into an animal trap and left to go to the emergency room (I embellished that), everything else was true, including our fear. Coming out of the fellowship mission in SLC may have built up my faith. But it needed a test.  It surely got one the following night. The events of the Bible study were still fresh in mind as we decided to hitch through the night. After the cowboys started tracking us we brought Jesus into the proceedings quite early, like when Otto says, “Jesus God, I’d like to get the heaven out of here.” After we scooted under the wooden trestle to hide, we both prayed as hard as we could “(“I must’ve said that prayer 17 times.”). We prayed to be safe, to stay hidden, and not be injured. And it worked! We came out alive! We both felt sheltered by the blood of Jesus Christ. We gave the Almighty total credit for the deed when it was all over. That’s part of the reason for the extended dialogue on pages 109-110, “giving thanks.”

Keeping It Simple, Stupid

From the beginning of the trip to the end, I was hellbent on keeping things simple, to travel light, meaning to hold what items we brought to an absolute minimum. We brought no tent, only sleeping bags, of course. But the dictum went far deeper than that. Roger’s first complaint to Otto, in fact, is when he enters his bedroom at home and sees tons of items sprawled all over the floor, saying, “I thought we were going to show the world what roughing it really means.” Roger and Otto obviously had already talked about the hazards of clutter and extra weight, but Otto has a tough time complying. His backpack surely weighs more than Roger’s two bags put together. He’s not as spartan as his friend. Roger is far from done with the “travel light” mantra however. Since the Great Salt Lake he wears no underpants, calling them “mangy.” At least twice he is shown reducing what is in his bags. Once is in Hanford (the time he discovers Abbie Hoffman’s book stolen). The other comes in Huntington Beach. The latter purge he eliminates one of his two bags, explaining to Otto, “I needed a reduction in aggravation.” That meant a lot of his extra clothes. Later, in Las Vegas, he buys a new, smaller Jeri-Pak to replace the Yucatan bag which got soaked with gasoline. After cleaning out “torn maps, crumpled napkins, and snack crumbs,” he declares, “As long as I arrive home with my diary, I don’t care if I arrive home nude.” Now that’s going all the way. Clutter author Brooks Palmer writes, “It’s pointless to hold onto things that no longer support you. They take away from you, rather than give you energy. You ask yourself, ‘Is this piece helping me, or hurting me?'”

The Lesson Roger Never Learns

From beginning to end, the one lesson Roger never learns is not to be overconfident. He never shows uncertainty about his abilities, self-reliance, or bravery, even when it’s to his detriment. They get a ride with a tractor-trailer and he’s convinced they’ll be in California in two days. He delivers a baby almost nonchalantly. He stands his ground in Wendover against the cowboys until it’s almost too late. He can’t understand why Laura Gywnne doesn’t take a romantic interest in him. In Utah he sees a car with Jersey plates, and automatically thinks they’ve bagged a ride all the way across. The big hopes turn into some pretty big pratfalls. He takes his share of hard knocks. That's his learning curve. Hopefully readers understand the difference between youthful innocence and being a cocksure bastard, of which the latter he’s not. It is quite an optimistic standpoint, though. That’s the power of having faith. Roger always wants to go for it, latch onto the highest ideal. For that quality, I think he's worthy of praise. I want readers to root for him and like him.

Roger's Diction and Otto's Slang

Right from page 1, with the subject being the police, Otto says, “Hitchhiker’s best friend, ain’t they?” Roger responds, “Oh, definitely.  Never around when you need them.  Always there when you don’t.” Right from the start I take a chance by not quoting which character says what.  By doing so, I am setting up the pattern for all future dialogue.  I am asking you to follow the premise that Otto is the guy who talks in slang and Roger is the guy who doesn’t.  The second time Otto speaks he says, “Stop worryin’ about them cops, will you?” and the pattern is reinforced, if not confirmed. I’ve established a way to distinguish the two. Not that Otto is less educated, because he’s probably got the higher IQ. Even with his down-home, folksy dialogue, he is often more reflective and philosophical. Roger is more ‘proper’ in his speech, but lags behind in the realm of maturity. So it’s an interesting dynamic which slowly flip-flops over the course of the story, when Roger outstrips Otto in the maturity department. But can you still figure out who is who as the story proceeds? Two spots I worry about is Day 7, when the guys are stuck in the boonies of Colorado and have an exchange concerning drivers who clearly see them but don’t stop. There wasn’t enough slang to throw in there for Otto, I guess. Another spot I worry about is the long banter following the scare at Wendover after they escape the cowboys.  That, because it’s simply long. Still, I resist putting in a lot of “Otto said” and “Roger said” as we go along so not to insult the reader. Make the reader work a little bit. The characters should be clear enough so they don’t need to be constantly identified.

Was It Really 40 Days and 40 Nights?

It would be nice to think so, but it wasn’t.  The actual crossing was about 36 days, there and back. Four or five more days were tacked onto the end by going to the Jersey shore.  If you want to say that made it forty days even, okay.  But that’s not how I look at it.  To be technical, it wasn’t that cut and dry.  The days at the Jersey shore, to me, didn’t count. What was magical to me as a writer was that after I added the day at Hearst Castle, added the day going to Hollywood, and added the overnight stay at the Grand Canyon, when I got to the last long ride, with ‘Davey’ from Iowa to New Jersey, and counted afresh at the number of days, that rounded out to forty, exactly.  Cool!  At that point in my writing I had forgotten to pay attention to the number-of-days thing.  But since at the start we made a big deal about going 40 days and 40 nights, and since it now weighed in right at forty (again, without me trying to), I resurrected the idea and made it somewhat more prominent that “this trip was exactly 40 days and 40 nights.”  Yes sir. Made it Biblical.  Made it politically correct. Made it more entertaining and amazing.

The Most Impressive Thing About California Was . . .

To me, one of the things that impressed me most about California was not the beach nor the mountains, beautiful as they were.  It was how cars stopped for pedestrians while crossing the street. This happened wherever we went, but most prominent in the small towns, like Hanford. Being a Jersey guy where vengeful people in vehicles would just as soon run you over than spit at you, to demonstrate how they were king, cars stopping for pedestrians seemed unlikely and far out there. It gave off the air that things in California were different, that perhaps collective society DID give a damn about the individual, that maybe from this simple act, there were were other customs to be found in which preconceived notions like “being first is best,” “fast is better than slow,” and “frantic is better than mellow,” would be turned upside down and done the right way, for the sake of the soul. It surprised me when I first realized how much this meant to me. As a 17 year-old, of course I was in awe of the recreational lifestyle, the marvelous Spanish architecture of the houses in the hills, the physical fitness of the people, the gorgeous women. That aside, what got my attention was how cars were patient enough to stop for you in crosswalks (and in some cases, while jaywalking). It was a nice lesson which came from out of nowhere and has stuck with me all these years. I hope it’s still true.

The Old Sot

Maybe it was the confrontation with the old sot in western Nebraska that really began to set Roger apart from Otto. This was after Rick Nelson’s ride on Day 6, as the guys were getting out to “the beginning of nowhere.” They find competition from an older, craggy hitchhiker, an old sot with a bad attitude. He’s mean and not getting a ride, mainly because there’s so few cars and he looks scary. The old sot suggests to Roger and Otto they take turns hitching. Roger and Otto can have it first while he gets himself coffee. Roger agrees without consulting Otto, and Otto lashes out, “What did you tell him ‘yeah,’ for, Roger?  This is a free country. He can’t throw us off here. Now he’s gonna come back in an hour and expect to take over.  No way, sons.  I ain’t gonna!” It takes every second of the hour, but the guys finally get a ride with Vicky and Marti, “as the clock hits zero.” Roger had predicted they would get a ride before the hour was up, going on faith. In doing so, he sidesteps a potential fight with the sot. Otto begins to wonder, no doubt, “Who is this wunderkind who is bold and brash and wants to rule things his way?” Perhaps that’s the point when his leadership seems overtaken. A small splinter between the two is created that goes beyond the spat they had the previous evening (as to whether to eat at McDonalds or The Little Red Barn).  From there on out, there is less “we” and more “Otto and I,” individually speaking.

The Older, Delirious Hitchhikers in Colorado

Looking at the two 30-something brothers that we talked with from the curb in Colorado on July 3, who acted delirious, with “eyeballs rolling loosely in their heads,” underscores a previous point I was trying to make about the two forms of hitchhiking.  There’s the group that WANTS to be out there, who are hitchhiking because that’s their choice.  It’s their preferred mode of travel. They want to thumb for the experience, to broaden their wavelength. Then we have people like the brothers, who were born in Delaware but coming via South Carolina, on their way to North Dakota to start a new life for themselves.  They were hitchhiking because it was the only option left to them. They had only pennies between them.  They had to hitch because they didn’t have the resources to do it any other way. I hope that contrast comes out in my writing. “My heart leapt out to them as I realized the differences.” (page 70) I innocently asked them how long they’d been traveling. The answer came back, “since the first of May" (meaning, over two months).  Otto and I covered approximately the same distance (2,000 miles) in one week. They were flabbergasted, but kept their pride. They smelled like grease and oil, and walked across the state of Kentucky without getting one ride.  They slept during the day and hitched at night. Incredibly, despite all their hardships, I stated, “They weren’t complainers and possessed a sense of self-sufficiency I hadn’t seen much in other people.” So they still get points for bravery. Despite all, they had something which most other people don't have.

Paul McCartney—Twice

The character of ‘Paul McCartney’ appears twice, giving us a nice encore of his broad, scattered, likable personality. Damn, I tried to draw Paul as accurately as possible.  Not with saccharine and whipped cream, but with grit, stamina, and openness like I’ve always imagined he has in abundance.  I tried to make him creative and spontaneous, as shown by the way he lives utterly in the “now.” To others he’s absent-minded, but no. He’s just tuned into a different channel.  He’s comfortable in his own skin (“I can cuddle up and go to sleep anywhere.”) I tried to make him decidedly non-American—a quasi-British Canadian who is always saying, “aye.”  I tried to make him otherworldly, as when he  gazes around at everything except what’s immediately in front of him. I tried to make him Beatles-like, with a Beatles haircut that needed the right combing style. Also by saying, “It looked like he could sit down at the piano right now and bang out, “Why Don’t We Do It in the Road?” I tried to make him non-materialistic, as shown by his lack of concern for having no money. And he has a philosophy: “Whatever the media does, you do the opposite. They always get it wrong.” He likes to smoke reefer. He is the one who identifies Acapulco Gold on page 281.  He’s one of the few characters Roger really identifies with and likes unconditionally, as evidenced when they say goodbye, and Roger waves, “Keep the venture rocking, man!” I’m hoping Paul McCartney himself would approve of the way he’s portrayed in the book.

The Stunt Actor

Another interesting dude was the muscular stunt actor who picked us up in his El Camino on I-5 as we headed into Southern California—the guy drinking a full can of V-8 Juice.  I first describe him as “hairy,” and fill it out more by saying, “He was short and bulky with long arms and big hands.” Truth is, he looked more like an ape than a human being. He was "one of the homeliest people I’d ever seen," all one muscle with long, stringy hair.  Add to that his severe broken nose and thoroughly-scarred forehead. That's why he was good for the job he had in Hollywood. Yet he was one of the gentlest and most polite human beings, a thorough gentleman, saying, “My avocation is stunt work.  But my vocation is to pick up every  hitchhiker I see on the highway.  That is my labor, my brothers, my way to serve.” His soul was deep. He had a serenity about him I didn’t see in many people. He kept stunning us at every turn with his deep, eloquent voice and philosophical observations. I was drawn to him. I would have loved to say I’d noticed his work on TV and the movies, but the work he did was not the stuff that lands your name on a theater marquee. I wish him blessings. That is, if he’s alive today.

The Wavy-Haired Hippie

And then what about the ‘wavy-haired hippie’ mentioned at the start of Day 3?  We found out later her name was Judy. She was far-out there, as demonstrated by her attire:  “She wore a crushed red leather vest and necklaces of seashells, and no shirt underneath.”  Nothing means nothing.  Underneath the vest was bare skin. If we cared to look, we could’ve enjoyed her breasts perking out behind that necklace. But we hardly paid it any mind. The reason?  It wasn’t that uncommon. She was letting it all hang out as an expression of who she was as a 1970's American—free. By us not saying anything, nor paying it any mind, means we supported her choice, let it become part of the milleau. I even questioned her bothering with us, and she said, “I figure hitchhiking is more art than science. So I thought I’d give it a whirl.” Plus the fact she was driving with a two year-old son aboard kind of quashed any thoughts of amorous activity. Her ride was more Statement than Display. That was hippie behavior for you. Otto kind of skewed the picture by wondering if she was an undercover agent . . . no way. She was straight out of Haight-Ashbury, probably very anti-authority. The fact she set us up for the night in Chicago with her former boyfriend, Chip, gave her extra kudos. If you give it your attention, you can really do an exegesis on each of these passing characters.

Sexual Humor

I tried to lace We Picked Up with as much sexual humor as the story would allow.  Though much of it is subtle rather than bawdy, there are quite a few lines that still make me erupt with laughter.  At the risk of tooting my own horn, following are four examples from the early days:  Roger contemplating sexual activity at truck stops. “It was fun to scan across the scores of shining, stately trucks and speculate about the number of bare waitresses.” (page 7) The guys shower in a Chicago apartment that has no panes in the window above a bathtub. “I hope that family across the air shaft enjoyed their breakfast with my organ hanging out the window the whole time.” (page 23)  With Archie the drunk, “Hey, Arch—isn’t your wife going to be upset about losing your job?” “Not at all.  She loves me.  Haven’t you ever had somebody that loves you?  Why, when I get home she’s going to take me into the bedroom and rape my fucking body.”  (page  30)  Trying to pry information out of Otto as to whether he got laid or not with Alvah, the Navajo girl. “Come on, man, let the world know: Did you insert your wanger into that beautiful body or not?” “He-he-he!  He-he-he!”  (page 64).  I’ll list more when I can. The more wry the humor, the better.

Should Roger Have Gone to Whittier?

The main question from the previous post is a conundrum that haunted me for over 40 years, as I continued to shape and bend the story into a novel.  Should Roger have gone to Whittier, California, on Day 32 with Otto, for Otto to pursue his interest in Kelly Cooper?  My answer always has been yes. I’ve always regretted not going, and have tried to reason it the other way. But I wind up with the same conclusion. What the heck did it matter, in the big picture, if we went? What was my glitch? The guys worked in a timeless zone and had a wide open agenda. Sure, the trip back across the country was planned and even set in motion, you could say, but what was the big deal? Who was paying us?  Who was setting the rules?  It would have turned Roger into the subservient role, but it only temporary.  As I churn the circumstances over and over, especially in my reflections on the succeeding days, Roger should have swallowed his fucking pride (as it says on page 296) and let the sidetrip unfold.  It would have saved a ton of hardship and misgivings between the guys. It might’ve proved my original point that his so-called thirst for this girl was frivolous. Then again, it could’ve reaped sexual benefits for me. “For all I knew, we could’ve still been there, playing doctor with those girls.  I could have pulled down the elastic of a girl’s panties, reached for paradise and maybe even found it.  Instead, I encouraged this . . . hellraking.” It was because I was too much of a prima donna. Pride got in the way. I had to have things my own way. Something along the miles empowered me. Plus the backwater story of engaging this particular girl (because Otto was spurned by Denise Latourette) was too clear in my mind. I blocked it, and had my reasons. But the more generous gesture would’ve been to let it happen. That one’s not on Otto; it’s on me.

Otto's Jealousy of Roger

One of the tactics I use to build tension throughout the book is Otto’s growing jealousy of Roger.  Otto perceives himself as the leader.  He probably was when we started out. This, despite all the “we” talk that attempts to put them on level footing. Otto really directed our moves and decided how fast we were going to explore each new environment. But as the story fans out, all the extraordinary stuff keeps happening to Roger. It leaves Otto with nothing to do but whistle in amazement (I wanted to say it left him holding his dick in his hand, but I never witnessed that). This would include delivering Starla’s baby; having a relationship with 4 year-old Cecelia in Santa Cruz; getting struck by lightning at Yosemite; and running bare-assed through Big Sur Gorge (which Otto decined to do). By the time the guys hit Southern California, Otto’s feeling burnished indeed. After Roger walks away with the championship Stud trophy in their competition for Cindy and Denise Latourette, leaving Otto behind in the sand without Denise (even though Roger had nothing to do with her absence), that’s the last straw. That sets up the confrontation over visiting Kelly Cooper in Whittier, which Roger refuses to do.  By now Roger is confident enough to dictate his own actions, and calls Otto’s bluff. Roger sees the incident for what it is—a ploy to return Otto into the leadership position. He seems to transcend Otto’s limited framework and is ready to strike out on his own if need be.  I’m glad that didn’t happen, by the way. But that's the way of two pride-filled teenage boys.

The Spirituality Level

I’ve tried to go a long time without saying this, but maybe I’d better, just to make things clear: We Picked Up is meant to be a spiritual book without saying, “This is a spiritual book.”  I mean, it’s obvious, isn’t it? For me, the characters’ every step takes on spiritual dimensions. It’s a book about wholeness; it’s about where mind, body, and soul intersect. That’s the channel I attempt to keep the story dialed into. So much of how we live our lives (me included)  is done with smoke and shadows. We build ourselves a giant iceberg of experience, but through fear, only show the tip to ourselves and to others. Only a small percentage remains visible. Ask any actor—it’s really tough to “be yourself.” This story tries to show there are no limits to Self. It intends to reveal all—the quest, the revelation, the desire, the fear, the fulfillment, the heartache; the whole bounty of life. But it does so while staying connected to God and oneself. Rev. Paul Rademacher, author of A Spiritual Hitchhiker’s Guide To the Universe, says in an online interview that on one level, "Spirituality is about intentionally trying to reconnect with those parts of ourselves that we have pushed off.” That nails the aim of We Picked Up. That’s why the narrator says early on, “Call it what you want: sowing our oats, testing the waters, going for the gold, letting it all hang out, whatever. We wanted to do something big, and it had to be now—in this lifetime.” There’s a presence I’m trying to generate, a sense of “now” which equates simultaneously to vulnerability and openness. But when you’re seventeen, you don’t describe it in those terms. The characters explore their own internal worlds by traveling cross country and back. They’re looking more inward than outward. As Rademacher would say, I’m trying to show there is no difference between the dichotomy of material world and spiritual world—that the former is completely infused into the latter.

Where's the Alcohol?

As far as that other vice, alcohol, there isn’t much to be found in We Picked Up.  Archie the Drunk on Day 4 certainly liked his Southern Comfort and nearly caused major havoc. But he is an outside force. As far as Roger and Otto go, neither has much urge to indulge. The whole realm of booze really didn’t cross our minds—not to mention the fact that we were four years underage in 1971.  If anything, Archie’s behavior turned us away from any such thoughts. "Scared us straight," must be the expression. Cindy Latourette at Huntington Beach seemed ready to tip booze. But Roger narrates on page 244, “When she found out I didn’t imbibe, she didn’t hold it against me.  If anything, it increased my stock.” As with many of the other temptations in the “sex, drugs & rock ‘n roll” handbag of excess, you’d be hard-pressed to name the incident when Roger has a beer.  That comes on the way home in the Mojave Desert.  Ted and his fat mother are sitting with a broken down Ford station wagon at a parking oasis.  The first time Ted offers a beer, Roger drinks Coke instead.  But the second time he offers, Roger accepts. The incident passes without further description. I can’t think of a single other place where either of the characters take a drink.

The Sexy Bits

Which part of the book is sexiest?  I’d say there are two nominees: skinny-dipping at Big Sur; and the day at the Grand Canyon with Gwen. Both get my rocks off (that’s why I wrote them). But by using restraint and not being too graphic, I hope to make it look like it could be acceptable reading for all (PG-13 maybe?). With Big Sur, it’s just wonderful sights at a swimming hole with its amazingly natural and secluded backdrop. There is no touching, only fantasizing via the visual. There is plenty of full nudity. I add the mantra at the end, “That is society as it should be.” At the Grand Canyon with Gwen, there’s embracing in erogenous zones of course, but it’s not random nor extraneous—there’s some real feelings being expressed. Roger’s feelings for Gwen are real; the feeling is mutual, and there is hope for them at the conclusion of the story via Gwen’s emotional letter. Notice Roger comes into the book a virgin and goes out a virgin. But safe to say, "There’s some sexual growth along the way.” Of course both Roger and Otto are horny young males . . . otherwise they wouldn’t have had their contest to see who could bag the most girls. But again—even in the contest, a point wasn’t scored for a home run, only getting to first base. One kiss minimum. That makes my story on an infinitely tamer scale than, say, Kerouac. But let’s keep things in perspective: Roger is at least seven years younger than Kerouac in novels like On The Road.

Otto Confirms His Wedding Vows

It occurred to me that when I laughingly turned Otto’s public proclamation in Salt Lake City at the Fellowship Mission of being a Christian into a type of wedding vow (Day 9), by saying all those “I do’s,” that later in the book the idea of being married to Roger comes to light again in more dramatic fashion.  The guys have just made up in Las Vegas with those three famous words, “We picked up,” and continue heading north on I-15 on the return leg.  In the mountains of southern Utah, Roger lies to the cavalier business man by saying they camped out in Griffith Park when really they were in Huntington Beach.  For that gaffe, the cavalier businessman tosses the guys out of the car, perhaps a bit too rudely.  Shocked at his own stupidity, Roger figures this might REALLY be the end of him and Otto . . . “this was deal killing . . . last straw material . . . exit-inducing.” Instead, Otto laughs.  “I’m your hapless bride, Winans," he says. "I finally understand my role.  I’m stuck with you, for better or worse, richer or poorer.  Were married. You make every moment dramatic, turn every step into suspense, but at least it ain’t borin.’ I’m wondering what you’ll pull next.” I was further shocked by his tolerance, and said, “I promise our next ride will be our best.”  That’s when the old school bus stops, and the guys are on their way to the Grand Canyon.