TIME FOLLOWS ME

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE GUY WITH NO NAME/"COFFINS BEST PRICE"

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

GUY WITH NO NAME/"COFFINS BEST PRICE"

Highway 5 seemed to split valleys and mountains carved out of the dark green woods of Oregon. The trees were dense and as thick as a Navajo rug, but a comfort to sleep on at night. The pine needles I gathered to make a bed under my sleeping bag. I was loosing all sense of time. I was now taking rides that went into the night. For some reason I had a sense of urgency to get north, to get to surroundings that were a little more familiar.

I developed a bit of a repartee with my drivers who stopped and picked me up. The questions started, "Where ya goin'?"

"Just headed up the road to Vancouver."

"Well, that's a long way."

"Some", I said.

If the guy smoked I would ask if I could roll my Drum Tobacco cigarette? I would crack the window a little, and watch the road ahead, watching the thin line of smoke trail its zigzag way out and over the crack at the top. The drivers would tell me stories and I liked asking questions abut what they did, what kind of town they lived in, whatever they wanted to tell me, really.

I drove on until the guy had to turn off the highway, where I would thank him and get out after wishing him safe travels. Occasionally, a woman would pick me up. I remember a girl in a Mustang. She seemed pretty cool and we talked as the radio blasted out tunes, rockin' that Mustang and us onwards.

My sleeping spots were happenstance. I would get off the main thoroughfare and walk a few yards into the woods and sleep under cover of trees. Occasionally, I found a small stream and filled my water bottle for the next day ahead. I didn't make a fire 'cause I didn't want to attract attention and I didn't want to start a forest fire either as it was very dry here all summer people told me.

I had a ritual of staking my spot by pissing in a couple of different places at the edge of my site. I kind of thought it might keep the wolves and bears away. For some reason I had this in my mind, probably from a Farley Mowat book, "Cry Wolf." Also, if I marked my spot, like the wolves and coyotes I would surely come back this way again is what I believed. I remember driving by Mount Shasta and seeing snow covered peaks. It seemed to come out of nowhere and then disappear again in the rear view mirror.

Got moving early in the morning and picked up rides all day. The rain came in the afternoon then dusk settled in. I became fairly soaked as my poncho ground sheet didn't protect my legs and the driving rain went in under the hood and started to trickle down my back. I knew I was approaching Salem and continued to hitchhike. Lots of people passed me and there was no point in trying to sleep, as I would have got even more soaked.

Finally, I saw this rather large cube truck pull past, the guy just hit the brakes as he saw me and I could see the glow of the red brake taillights pumping. I don't know how he was able to see me. It was coal black, raining cats and dogs. I hoisted my knapsack off the gravel and made a run for the truck. As I was getting closer I started to read the sign on the back and sides of the truck. It read, "COFFINS ALL SIZES. COFFINS, BEST PRICE!" Now this was a comfort.

Startled as I was I had to make a quick decision. "What would I do if the driver turned out to be a real freak? Should I even consider jumping in and asking questions later? Should I talk to him, get one good eyeball on him and then decide what to do?"

I swung my leg up onto the running board skirt and wrapped my hands around the chrome door handle. I depressed the round lock button with my thumb. The door swung open easily.

"Howdy, glad you stopped, really appreciate it."

The cabin light dimly illuminated the cab, dingle balls ran in a row above the window, and I could make out a silhouette of the youngish face of a guy in his early 20's. "So, this is what a coffin truck driver looks like", I said to myself. "He doesn't look too scary."

"Where you goin'", I asked?

"I'm making a trip to Portland on a delivery, hop in."

This guy seemed OK and definitely wasn't scary looking or sounding, so I said, "Sure, thanks."

I settled into my seat and placed the pack on the drive train between us.

"Hey, what made you pick me up?"

"I knew no one would pick you up at this late time of night."

"You're right about that. I've been standing out here for hours it seems."

The guy with no name was friendly as apple pie, and we talked over the low tunes coming out of the dashboard radio. I felt lucky in a way that I was still moving north to Portland, Oregon which seemed to me to be a hop, skip and a jump to the border. I was glad to be out of the elements and the truck heater kept the windshield free of condensation, and warmed my legs and boots that were chalk full of rain. We drove through the night with the windshield wipers beating the water away like two hands swatting away water beetles. Driving with this Dude gave me knew meaning to the term graveyard shift. We arrived into the damp, still, sleeping city of Portland and the guy let me off on the road that bypasses the city and continues on into Washington, State.

"Thanks, I appreciated the ride a lot."

He smiled and waved me on my way adding, "Good luck!"

I stood under the freeway turnpikes that circled above me, taking in this total maze. Portland was a big city, but I had no intention to staying here. The sun was coming up from the east cutting into the foggy mist, making it glow orange. I stood still, feeling good and refreshed.