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.