40 Years Hard Labor

There’s no denying that since the trip took place in 1971, and this is 2014, the manuscript was a 40-year labor of love, give or take a few years.  I started this with my original diary and assorted recollections. The earliest manuscripts sprang from there.  I first started sending the book to publishers in the late 1970’s, perhaps six or seven years out, and the rejections poured in.  I almost caught on with Penguin Viking in 1983 . . . it was read by three different editors. But in the end, “I regret to tell you, Mr. Lobb . . . blah, blah, blah.”  Somehow, I felt compelled to push the envelope forward. After I finished every new draft I’d always think, “This is the one—now it’s finished.” But after another round of rejections I’d tuck the manuscript away for a few years, to let it season.  When I’d pull it out for inspection with fresh eyes, I’d think, “Now I know why this bundle of trash got rejected, you hack—there is so much more work to be done.”  And I’d go at it some more.  There's something to say for persistance when you don't have the talent. My “official position” is that I’m glad it took so long to get published, because the quality wouldn’t be nearly as high.  Pulp writers like myself use time as our ally.

The Safety Latch

If you read closely, you’ll see Otto and I had one constant rule concerning safety while hitchhiking.  After getting in, we would take a moment to study the door handle mechanism, how it opened, how to get out quickly.  On Day 1 with trucker driver Tom Pavallow, I write, “Out of habit only did I locate the door handle.”  That's because it was standard procedure on EVERY ride, no matter how benign the driver’s personality.  We had to know how to get out of there, if need be.  Alas, on Day 36 we finally got to execute this emergency procedure. We rode into Cheyenne, Wyoming, with the drunk cowboy in street clothes, who got annoyed that we didn’t think much of his companionship at the Frontier Days festival and who says, “You guys is better bullshitters than I am!  Now come on!  I ain’t gonna let you out of this car until you say’s I can buy you a drink.” That was a scary moment. His anger was building fast.  We might’ve exited the car successfully, but you know it was just the beginning of a night of hell.

Duffy's Real Name was Rocky

Here’s an interesting twist:  Duffy’s real name was actually Rocky.  Duffy is the bully from Day 21 who beats the pulp out of Roger after Roger acts too cavalier and over-confident around him and his hoodlum friends.  But how can you use the name ‘Rocky’ with a straight face?  You can’t.  That franchise is owned by Sylvester Stallone.  Didn't want to step on HIS toes. I didn’t want the reference about toughness to be THAT close. Also, Rocky is kind-hearted. Duffy was nasty to the core.  True, “my” Rocky came about five years before the first film about the Italian Stallion was released in 1976. But as soon as Stallone hit it big, I was keen to change the name.  That would be leading the reader too much, being too suggestive.  Duffy is another name from my childhood, so it worked out.  He was a neighborhood bully who used to terrorize us younger kids on his bicycle, riding out of the woody playground with menace and meanness.  So as soon as the Rocky movies started to come out, I was more than happy to change my character’s name to Duffy.

There Weren't Always Chapters

There weren’t always chapters in this book.  It was originally conceived, and executed, as one long unwavering piece without separation, from opening sentence to final epilogue.  Maybe it wasn’t exactly like Jack Kerouac’s endless single scroll for the initial version of On the Road, but close to it.  (No resemblance intended to our common approach.)  It’s just that I thought this travel story, which floats along in a linear way, needed to be presented in its purest form.  My wife was the one who suggested, “You’ve already written it in diary form. Why don’t you split it up into chapters by day?  It’s too much to take your way.”  That seemed reasonable. My manuscript in all its various editions went from a short length of 140 pages to a top-heavy 700 pages, before settling in at under 400 (currently 376). Chapters would make it easier for people to bite off. Slowly I came around to that viewpoint. So I chopped it down.  That made sense because I wanted to highlight the idea that this trip was “40 days and 40 nights,” sort of Biblical in nature. By showing that the trip rounded out into EXACTLY forty days seemed noteworthy . . . something I could highlight. So I divided it into 40 chapters.  Done deal. Maybe it’s even too abstract in its current form, but my chapters are in place.

The Two New Hitchhikers

Let me deviate from talking about my book so I can jot down another entry pertaining to real-life happenings in the world of hitchhiking.  To help commemorate my book signing on Monday, I saw not just one but TWO hitchhikers on the road in the past two days! This is remarkable because it’s been years since I’ve seen any sort of thumbing activity. We didn’t pick up either guy and let me explain why. The first was as we made our way from church to the book signing. We passed a young man on the I-78 entrance ramp in Bloomsbury, NJ. He was tall and formidable, with a large backpack (no sign), standing openly in the correct manner; obviously an earnest long-distance traveler. With Andrea in the back, we had no room for him. The second guy was on PA-378 south of Bethlehem, during a freezing rain. He was walking with traffic, definitely soliciting, arm held out, with money waving from his fingers. We couldn’t see his face, plus he was wearing a hoodie—so no pickup. I’d never seen a hitchhiker displaying money like that. As I reflected, it seemed like those are the two modes of thumbing: People who are purposefully on the road as an intentional way to reach a destination, and those who would never be out there except as a necessity, someone who has swallowed their pride and dignity and has no other options. The first maintains boldness in movement through the generosity of the hitchhiking network . . . the second is out there because there’s simply no other way to get there.

Adding New States

One of the main reasons I was excited to take the trip was to add to my total number of states. To pile 'em up. Funny, I wasn’t so interested in exploring these new lands nor learning what they had to offer, per se. But to build up the number, to increase the amount—now that was incentive! That’s the juvenile in me coming out. When we started out, I had ten states: New Jersey, Pennsylvania, New York, and Delaware; plus the six New England states, the latter obtained on a family camping trip in 1966. But my younger brother also had Maryland, giving him eleven. That irked me, the older sibling, to no end. So burning past him on the ledger board was huge, which we did early on as we sailed through West Virginia and hit Ohio. By trip’s end I still only had 22 states. Not a tremendous amount, but certainly most in my family, and seven more than Otto. Does that make me King?

Ken's Book Signing

My book signing at Moravian Book Shop in Bethlehem, PA, last Sunday, November 30, 2014 (about six miles from where I live), was more than just an author sitting behind a table with big, publisher-supplied We Picked Up posters on either side of a pile of books.  It was more than talking about hitchhiking to both the indoctrinated and curious newbies who would never have thought of such a thing.  It was a culmination, a peak moment to be savored, a celebration of a life achievement. I proudly scribbled down my name on 17 books I (an interesting number considering the numerology in the book). Many people came out to support me, and I give the biggest thanks to my younger brother, Welles.  He acted like a mini-MC, pulling people toward the table, saying, "This book will grab you from the first page and you won't want to put it down. I've read it twice and there's still more to get out of it."  He articulated for me what would have been hard to do myself.  He made the book sound like a golden nugget under the Christmas tree, mentioning prominently that its pages contain the full range of emotion that hitchhikers go through: the waiting, the frustration, the fear, the exhilaration, the freedom, the camaraderie, the loneliness, the excitement, the spontaneity, the joy, the wisdom. My wife, Wonza, beamed from afar, but also did her share of mingling with the shoppers on a busy black weekend day.  Chris Calvano sat with me for quite a long time as well, and I appreciate his support—the only book he's read from cover to cover in quite a long time. Those are the types of readers I had hoped to attract with this book. A book to get this country reading again. Overall it was a beautiful afternoon, exhausting when it was over, but fulfilling.