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.