Traveling light
When we set out, I had no idea it would turn into a summer on the road. Honestly.
We gave the phrase “traveling light” a new meaning. Simply hitchhiking away from the familiar, leaving behind roads and houses that we recognized, and sailing off on a grand adventure with just the clothes on our backs, and twenty five dollars in our pocket. From northern Wisconsin we made our way south, then east, meandering through state after state, begging meals at Burger King and Dairy Queen, offering to pick up the parking lot trash in the hot sun for a chicken sandwich, fries and a drink. We lived on the kindness of strangers; we slept curled in the corners of backseats, jolted awake by turns and braking… a surreal world of lights in darkness, and the swoop of semi trucks as they passed too close for comfort.
Down through the late summer haze we traveled, to the Florida Keys, burning our skin in the blinding sun and our feet on the hot pavement. We swam the sugar sand beaches of Panama City in our clothing until the lifeguards chased us off. Someone bought us some beer, and when one of the bottles crashed to a gas station driveway, things quickly turned ugly. Police had more tolerance of vagrants back then, and we got off with just a warning to leave Ft. Lauderdale.
The road and the rides led us through the tiny villages of Alabama, dark faces peering from porches and eyes that never left us for a moment. The heat was like a hand pushing us, and we swam through wet air toward the mountains. Somewhere near the Mississippi line, a trucker picked us up. At a rest stop, he climbed down to gas up, and we saw a small gun in his glove compartment. We never dreamed he would use it on us.
We gave the phrase “traveling light” a new meaning. Simply hitchhiking away from the familiar, leaving behind roads and houses that we recognized, and sailing off on a grand adventure with just the clothes on our backs, and twenty five dollars in our pocket. From northern Wisconsin we made our way south, then east, meandering through state after state, begging meals at Burger King and Dairy Queen, offering to pick up the parking lot trash in the hot sun for a chicken sandwich, fries and a drink. We lived on the kindness of strangers; we slept curled in the corners of backseats, jolted awake by turns and braking… a surreal world of lights in darkness, and the swoop of semi trucks as they passed too close for comfort.
Down through the late summer haze we traveled, to the Florida Keys, burning our skin in the blinding sun and our feet on the hot pavement. We swam the sugar sand beaches of Panama City in our clothing until the lifeguards chased us off. Someone bought us some beer, and when one of the bottles crashed to a gas station driveway, things quickly turned ugly. Police had more tolerance of vagrants back then, and we got off with just a warning to leave Ft. Lauderdale.
The road and the rides led us through the tiny villages of Alabama, dark faces peering from porches and eyes that never left us for a moment. The heat was like a hand pushing us, and we swam through wet air toward the mountains. Somewhere near the Mississippi line, a trucker picked us up. At a rest stop, he climbed down to gas up, and we saw a small gun in his glove compartment. We never dreamed he would use it on us.
Perhaps ugly words were spoken. Maybe he was sick of two unwashed hippies in his truck. I am not sure what caused him to wave that gun and tell us to get out, but the next thing I knew, we were standing in the light of early dawn, watching the truck roll away with our meager possessions, including my shoes. It wouldn't be until San Antonio that someone threw their flip-flops out their car window to me as I danced on the hot pavement.
Comments