Well I'm back on Canadian soil! I'm on day 25 of a non stop hitchhiking mission. That's right, I have been hitchhiking non-stop for twenty five days [& 24 nights(do the math)]. I ran out of money somwhere back in New Mexico but the road has many apples just lying there. Low lying fruit, road apples? You know where I'm at; I'm living off the fat of the land and the fat that's left on my swollen Texas belly.
I tramped the American interstate west from Texas into Arizona and then into California. I smoked the bud and drank the gratis alcohol offered by my gracious drivers. I made it north in the hammer lane through Oregon and then Washington where I made my crossing on foot through Lynden to Langley. At the border after inspection one wonderful lady of customs said to me, "Welcome home!".
I have so much to say. I left all contact to the wayside. So much has happened. I hope to make it east and rest my weary head and then spend some time writting down this adventure in detail. Much has been left out even from the passages that were written here already in the blog.
Six Bibles to the positive, down 1 pair of jeans, 1000 tacos up, one dozen socks smoked, 3 new t-shirts abounding, 20 pounds body weight lost - gained - lost again, 3 facial beards gone, no crack inhaled, no jail time, no citations, no felonies, one written warning, one pair of Blundstone boots still humping(took the new hiking shoes back for refund) whew! Good times!
I'll be back soon.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Over the Mississippi to Port Allen
Thursday December 13th 2007
I woke up in somebody’s big open yard and I could see the house by daylight. I packed up and headed back to the gas station. Again the locals had a good long stare at me when I walked in heading for the restroom. When I came out I was greeted by a man offering a ride but he was headed north and I told him I was on my way south. I purchased a turbo sized cup of coffee and loaded it up with whitener and sugar and then made my way back down to the interstate. I set up shop down on the freeway with my bag close to the highway held upright with a few boulders; I had to use something because the big rigs blow the damn thing over when they pass. I drank my coffee and smoked some butts off to the side of the freeway. The sky was overcast but it wasn’t too cool. A truck pulled up and a bunch of prisoners got out and started cleaning up the litter along the side of the interstate, the commanding officer driving slowly behind them. The inmates wore the same uniforms as the folks in Jackson; thick horizontal stripes of green and white.
I made a short walk into the tree line to take a piss and when I came out there was a big white cargo van idling a few yards ahead of my pack. I didn’t hear the vehicle pull up and with my pack I approached with a little suspicion. I opened the passenger door and there was a big burly white chap in the driver’s seat telling me to put the bag in the back. I opened the side door and a bunch of junk came spilling out on the ground. I put my pack inside and picked up the stuff on the ground and tossed it on top as the guy apologized for the mess.
We took off down I-55 and I told my driver how he surprised me and that the connection seemed like some kind of hitchhikers valet they way he was just sitting there out of the blue, waiting. The big man’s name was Scott and he told me how he had already seen me when he pulled off to get gas and how the folks at the station were talking about the hitchhiker. He asked me what was in Baton Rouge and I told him I didn’t actually want to stop there and how I was using the name on my cardboard sign as a general pointer. He was heading to New Orleans but said he’d get me just past Baton Rouge where I could head west on I-10 to Lafayette. Scott was a service maintenance worker for The Waffle House and I told him about the funky service back in Jackson and he told me how people kick hand dryers off bathroom walls etc. He serviced many of the locations across several states and was never short of work. He pointed to an empty gun holster mounted to the center console and told me how somebody just stole his gun the day before while he was doing some work on a Waffle House. He was truly disheartened about the loss of his gun regarding the cost of replacement and the danger a stolen gun possess to society. He also showed me his badge and told me how he worked for a bail bonds company chasing crazies who skipped their bail. The guy was a real cowboy and I could picture him at home crushing beer cans on his forehead watching NASCAR. He had a wife and kids and I suggested the gun was gone for good reason and I asked Scott if he thought about slowing things down a little bit. He kind of agreed with me but proclaimed the bail bonds and bounty hunting paid exceptionally well. Stealing his gun was like taking a carpenters hammer. We had a good chat driving down the highway and passed right through Baton Rouge without a look see. The drive over the great Mississippi River on the bridge was interesting and then we touched down at a Sonic Drive-In at Port Allen. We parted ways at the burger joint as Scott opted for the drive through and I for an inside sit down.
After I gulped down my food I walked down Anderson approaching highway 10. I stood there by the side of the road watching the electric crewman installing Christmas fixtures on the light standards. I switched my sign to Lafayette and stood the pack near the roadside. After an hour of nothing the clouds started to unload and I covered my pack with a garbage bag and put on my raincoat. I stood there watching the water pool on the ground and wick up my denim pant legs. It wasn’t cold so I stayed and toughed it out. A big pick up truck pulled up and the driver said I looked like shit and that he wasn’t going to drive me to Lafayette but that he would give me a gift card for McDonald’s. He handed me the card telling me it was good for $5 and then he told me to get in and he’d drive me over to the restaurant. He took Commercial Drive heading over to Lobdell Hwy. We passed his place of work and he pointed it out to me and noted how he looked forward to clocking in and doing as much of nothing as he possibly could. When I told him I was from Nova Scotia he told me how his ancestors, French Catholic Acadians, were driven out and how they migrated to Louisiana. In a term of endearment he told me he was a “Coonass” and that his daddy was born in a swamp and his momma was born on a plantation. The guy was pure Cajun and proud of it and he told me that I’d have a good time with the locals down in Lafayette. When we got over to Lobdell I was surprised with the arrangement of the highway setup and I told my driver it was a much better place to catch a ride. The guy was really pleased to help me out and I headed straight in to Ronnie’s for a hot cup of Joe when he drove away.
I picked up a copy of the local daily rag and sat down gnawing on a cheese burger and sipping coffee. There was a write up covering the spectacular shooting stars that I witnessed the night before and how the stellar display was the Geminid meteor shower. The paper also listed more rain in the forecast which sucks hard for traveling tramps. I finished my afternoon brunch and made my way over to the on ramp of I-10 heading west. I stood there watching truck load after truck load of sugar cane go by and I killed time by counting the sweet rigs. Over the next few hours small rain showers started and stopped but I stood fast waiting for a ride. When the sun went away I felt doomed in the little port town. I walked up and down the strip a few times looking for a place to crash and occasionally dropping in at diners for coffee. There were a lot of cops everywhere and I just couldn’t scope anything out.
I walked to the south end of Lobdell Hwy where the road ends passing the cheap motels and truck fueling stations and then I entered a really odd construction zone with a chain link fence. I tossed my pack over the fence and then I climbed over it myself. I’m not certain but the ground seemed false with a purpose like it was once the town dump and had been buried and leveled. I walked through its openness and made a turn west around another portion of the property. The area was full of tractors, cranes and all types of heavey machinery. The nights temperature was dropping and the rain showers kept starting and stopping. I walked through the big piece of property with big globs of mud sticking to my soles. There was a site office trailer far in the corner and it only had a small piece of wire holding the door latch closed. I took the wire off using my cigarette lighter to bend it and then I stepped up and inside. There were four chairs inside; two with arm rests and two with out. I put the chairs with armrests on the ends and the others in the middle to lie on. It was a good little bed for the night and the trailer was warm and dry.
I woke up in somebody’s big open yard and I could see the house by daylight. I packed up and headed back to the gas station. Again the locals had a good long stare at me when I walked in heading for the restroom. When I came out I was greeted by a man offering a ride but he was headed north and I told him I was on my way south. I purchased a turbo sized cup of coffee and loaded it up with whitener and sugar and then made my way back down to the interstate. I set up shop down on the freeway with my bag close to the highway held upright with a few boulders; I had to use something because the big rigs blow the damn thing over when they pass. I drank my coffee and smoked some butts off to the side of the freeway. The sky was overcast but it wasn’t too cool. A truck pulled up and a bunch of prisoners got out and started cleaning up the litter along the side of the interstate, the commanding officer driving slowly behind them. The inmates wore the same uniforms as the folks in Jackson; thick horizontal stripes of green and white.
I made a short walk into the tree line to take a piss and when I came out there was a big white cargo van idling a few yards ahead of my pack. I didn’t hear the vehicle pull up and with my pack I approached with a little suspicion. I opened the passenger door and there was a big burly white chap in the driver’s seat telling me to put the bag in the back. I opened the side door and a bunch of junk came spilling out on the ground. I put my pack inside and picked up the stuff on the ground and tossed it on top as the guy apologized for the mess.
We took off down I-55 and I told my driver how he surprised me and that the connection seemed like some kind of hitchhikers valet they way he was just sitting there out of the blue, waiting. The big man’s name was Scott and he told me how he had already seen me when he pulled off to get gas and how the folks at the station were talking about the hitchhiker. He asked me what was in Baton Rouge and I told him I didn’t actually want to stop there and how I was using the name on my cardboard sign as a general pointer. He was heading to New Orleans but said he’d get me just past Baton Rouge where I could head west on I-10 to Lafayette. Scott was a service maintenance worker for The Waffle House and I told him about the funky service back in Jackson and he told me how people kick hand dryers off bathroom walls etc. He serviced many of the locations across several states and was never short of work. He pointed to an empty gun holster mounted to the center console and told me how somebody just stole his gun the day before while he was doing some work on a Waffle House. He was truly disheartened about the loss of his gun regarding the cost of replacement and the danger a stolen gun possess to society. He also showed me his badge and told me how he worked for a bail bonds company chasing crazies who skipped their bail. The guy was a real cowboy and I could picture him at home crushing beer cans on his forehead watching NASCAR. He had a wife and kids and I suggested the gun was gone for good reason and I asked Scott if he thought about slowing things down a little bit. He kind of agreed with me but proclaimed the bail bonds and bounty hunting paid exceptionally well. Stealing his gun was like taking a carpenters hammer. We had a good chat driving down the highway and passed right through Baton Rouge without a look see. The drive over the great Mississippi River on the bridge was interesting and then we touched down at a Sonic Drive-In at Port Allen. We parted ways at the burger joint as Scott opted for the drive through and I for an inside sit down.
After I gulped down my food I walked down Anderson approaching highway 10. I stood there by the side of the road watching the electric crewman installing Christmas fixtures on the light standards. I switched my sign to Lafayette and stood the pack near the roadside. After an hour of nothing the clouds started to unload and I covered my pack with a garbage bag and put on my raincoat. I stood there watching the water pool on the ground and wick up my denim pant legs. It wasn’t cold so I stayed and toughed it out. A big pick up truck pulled up and the driver said I looked like shit and that he wasn’t going to drive me to Lafayette but that he would give me a gift card for McDonald’s. He handed me the card telling me it was good for $5 and then he told me to get in and he’d drive me over to the restaurant. He took Commercial Drive heading over to Lobdell Hwy. We passed his place of work and he pointed it out to me and noted how he looked forward to clocking in and doing as much of nothing as he possibly could. When I told him I was from Nova Scotia he told me how his ancestors, French Catholic Acadians, were driven out and how they migrated to Louisiana. In a term of endearment he told me he was a “Coonass” and that his daddy was born in a swamp and his momma was born on a plantation. The guy was pure Cajun and proud of it and he told me that I’d have a good time with the locals down in Lafayette. When we got over to Lobdell I was surprised with the arrangement of the highway setup and I told my driver it was a much better place to catch a ride. The guy was really pleased to help me out and I headed straight in to Ronnie’s for a hot cup of Joe when he drove away.
I picked up a copy of the local daily rag and sat down gnawing on a cheese burger and sipping coffee. There was a write up covering the spectacular shooting stars that I witnessed the night before and how the stellar display was the Geminid meteor shower. The paper also listed more rain in the forecast which sucks hard for traveling tramps. I finished my afternoon brunch and made my way over to the on ramp of I-10 heading west. I stood there watching truck load after truck load of sugar cane go by and I killed time by counting the sweet rigs. Over the next few hours small rain showers started and stopped but I stood fast waiting for a ride. When the sun went away I felt doomed in the little port town. I walked up and down the strip a few times looking for a place to crash and occasionally dropping in at diners for coffee. There were a lot of cops everywhere and I just couldn’t scope anything out.
I walked to the south end of Lobdell Hwy where the road ends passing the cheap motels and truck fueling stations and then I entered a really odd construction zone with a chain link fence. I tossed my pack over the fence and then I climbed over it myself. I’m not certain but the ground seemed false with a purpose like it was once the town dump and had been buried and leveled. I walked through its openness and made a turn west around another portion of the property. The area was full of tractors, cranes and all types of heavey machinery. The nights temperature was dropping and the rain showers kept starting and stopping. I walked through the big piece of property with big globs of mud sticking to my soles. There was a site office trailer far in the corner and it only had a small piece of wire holding the door latch closed. I took the wire off using my cigarette lighter to bend it and then I stepped up and inside. There were four chairs inside; two with arm rests and two with out. I put the chairs with armrests on the ends and the others in the middle to lie on. It was a good little bed for the night and the trailer was warm and dry.
Friday, January 4, 2008
Jesse James, Jewelry & the Magnolia Night Shift
Wednesday December 12th 2007
I stood up with the forest floor clinging to my clothes. I looked around and brushed the leaves and dirt from my hitchhiking uniform and walked back to the highway. I left my pack in the ditch and made a beeline for the Wafflehouse for a wakeup. I sat in front of the till as I waited for my coffee to go and I listened to the young black girls working behind the counter. Every second word was “Motherfucker, bitch, fuck, bullshit, ho” and with my eyes popping out of my scull I looked around at the patrons but nobody seemed to take notice or even care. It was funny and I walked out with a gigantic cup of coffee and a big smile on my face.
As the ants slept in their broken beds I stood at the highway side waiting for a ride sipping and smoking. It was overcast and cool and I worried that it would begin to rain. There was no rain and there were no rides. I stood there from 6AM until early afternoon and then I hustled down a side street to see if I could catch a bus. I ate two $1 burgers at McDonalds and crossed the street and sat at a bus stop. An old fart came by and sat down beside me. He was drinking a bottle of Mountain Dew and he took a moment to tell me so. Then he told me he was on his daily walk and how at the halfway point he always purchased his pop of choice. Without saying much more he got up and walked away and then a bus rolled up.
I got on the bus and slid a $1 bill into the feeder slot and then I told the driver I was hitchhiking I-55 south. He told me he would drop me off as far down the line as he could while remaining somewhat close to the highway. A few miles down the road he had to turn but before he did he let me out directing me to the interstate. It was a solid hour’s walk on a long feeder road before I hit a ramp. There wasn’t much at the location but there was a gas station. The sun was out and it was warming up like the previous day and I felt lucky to have some shade from the tall trees close to the ramp. The spot was very calm and quiet and few cars rolled by. I was preparing myself for another overnighter in the ditch when an old blue van pulled over. There were two chaps occupying the front seats so I went for the sliding side door and hopped in the cargo bay.
I sat down in an old hotel-room type chair as there was no bench seat in the back and as we pulled on to the interstate an old fart with a heavy Louisiana accent started talking to me from the shotgun position. A little tiny dog barked and snarled from under the driver’s seat. The copilot was a big fat bastard with a cynical wit and he talked a great deal in riddles. In his slow southern drawl he introduced the driver as Jesse and himself as James. He seemed to be in pain and he moaned and groaned with his every effort. He told me how he was going to get Jesse to put a plastic bag on his hand and rub some kind of tee tree oil on his pain. Eating a big fat juicy grapefruit he offered one up to me, “Go on boy…reach in the back and pull one from the crates…there”. I got up from my padded oak chair and stumbled around in the back opening boxes full of oranges but no grape fruit. I took an orange instead and sat back down but James scoffed at me, “Boy…don’t ya know the difference…between a grapefruit and an orange?” He would look at Jesse every time he said something waiting for a comment but Jesse kept his eyes on the road wordless and virtually emotionless. The two fuckers were certainly a pair and so it went on. I went into the back again opening crate after crate of oranges until at last I found the one box that held grapefruit. I sat back down pulling myself up behind the two of them in the middle of the van. I bit into the grapefruit to start peeling the rind and the old bugger lit up on me, “Boy…what is wrong with you?...That’s not how you peel a grape fruit.” He took it from my hands and picked up a rusty old stake knife from the middle console and drew a line around the piece like the equator around the earth. He peeled a little up with his grubby fat thumb and handed it back to me. The tiny dog was nibbling and trying to bite my hands as I sat there and the southern swamp man asked me the five w’s and each time I gave an answer he’d counter with a dry correctional attitude yet loaded with sarcastic humor. I ate the tasty grapefruit and the New Orleans native tossed my peel out the window.
I broke free from sensibility and started to toss wit back at him; cranking up my retorts and talking more freely. The old prick loved it and it wasn’t too long before I felt somewhat comfortable riding with them. All along I’ve been eyeing something very odd and interesting but was too afraid to speak of it but now that James and I were having a laugh together, I thought it was time to break the ice. On Jesse’s seatbelt latch there were a handful of gold necklaces, around a jumbo fast food beverage cup in the center console there was another handful and around James’ seatbelt there were another several hundred. The shit was not gold plated junk, it was real. I piped up and in a jokingly way I asked if they by chance happened to rob a jewelry store. For the first time James did not say a word and for the first time Jesse turned around in the driver’s seat to look at me. He wore a guilty childlike grin that bridged his ears. There was a pause and the old man said that he and Jesse had to do some business in the next town and that they’d be letting me off at the next exit. They dropped me off at Brookhaven, Mississippi and I stood there in the late afternoon sun completely astounded. The road was wide and a smell of boiling corn once again flowed across the land. The folks that passed me off as they drove by all waived hello and honked their horns. There was an old pick up truck from the fifties with a girl pinched in against her daddio like old school lovers and they waived there hands and honked their entire way to the interstate as they passed me off. I stood there listening to farm machinery operating off in the distance and I felt like I was standing in a painting and that none of this could be real.
A little Toyota pickup truck pulled up and I got in the cab with the skinny dirty man driving. He looked like a miniature version of the Marlboro man and he spoke in a deep soft friendly voice. His skin looked like cracked leather and he talked about the trailer he lived in and the horses he raised on his acres. He drove a tree skid machine harvesting forests for a living. He was really tired from his long days work and he took me down the line to Magnolia.
Magnolia ain’t nothing but a wide spot in the road. Mini Marlboro said there was a gas station across the other side of the interstate but I couldn’t see it because the area was heavily wooded, even around the on and off ramps. The on ramp had absolutely no flow so I walked down to the dreaded freeway to see if it was a better place to hitch. It was better and the merging lane was long but the traffic flew by fast. It’s the type of spot a hitchhiker can get fined for staking out. The clouds came back and the sun went down so I crossed I-55 to the east side and walked up the ramp to see if I could see this gas station.
I walked in at dusk and purchased a bottle of milk and some cheap cookies and the locals hanging out gossiping caught and eye full. I walked to the other side of the gas station where it was quiet passing a liquor store located on the end of the building. I rounded the corner and sat down for my dinner. The liquor store bell rang and the young bird working inside came out and I peered around the building looking at her looking at me. She asked me if I had a light and I sensed she already had one but needed to know who the mysterious backpacker was. I lit up her smoke and the fox asked me all about my travels and why I stopped in at Magnolia. She was an authentic prick tease in the truest sense and probably the hottest thing held down in town. We talked for a spell but she returned into the shop when the evening drunkards showed up to get their cheap hooch. The local boys loved her and they stayed in the booze shop for long periods of time while buying their liquor. She chatted them all up the same, bored out of her mind, flirting the whole nine yards, locked in Magnolia like a mustang in a coral.
It was dark and I had no place to go so I walked to the back of the gas station near the storage tanks and sheds. I put the pack on the ground behind one of the wooden sheds and smoked a few cigarettes and then fell asleep on my heap with my head against the building. I woke up a few hours later to the roar of a loud pick up truck with a noisy after marker exhaust and a loud Hi-Fi thumping low. I looked up into the night and watched a few clouds drift in a mostly clear deep black sky. The constellations were in vivid bright display and I watched the most amazing shooting star display I had ever seen; the blazing streaks in the sky were very large, almost frequent in occurrence and sometimes it looked like multiples simultaneously.
It was really warm and I looked around eyeing for a place to crash. There were a lot of cars lying about the property in a non orderly fashion. It looked like a car sales lot for a second hand reseller. Closer to the road there was a big fat Oldsmobile and if the doors were open I knew the back seat would be almost big enough for me to stretch out my legs and sleep. I checked it out and the damn thing was open but the dome light lit up as I slid into the back set. Nobody noticed because there was nobody around so I took off my coat and used it as a pillow and fell asleep on the leather interior. I woke up to a great deal of noise and distant voices talking and laughing. The sleeping cars in the mysterious auto lot were waking up as people got in and started pulling away in the late night. I looked at my watch and it was just passed midnight and then I peered over the back seat to the gas station where two busses were unloading people. It was a car pool returning the late shift of workers to the garage; the folks were getting in their cars and heading home. Like a snake I slithered out of the old four door boat and crept around the vehicle out of sight and then I dashed into the tree line, the dome light glowing from the car as I didn’t close the door all the way. A cop car pulled in and the boys in blue got out and walked into the service station and I stayed in the tree line watching the workers disperse. A big black woman mumbling out loud walked up to the car I was in and she looked around suspiciously but got in and drove away after a brief engine warm up. The cars started to fade in numbers but then things turned around and more vehicles started pulling up; the next shift was collecting. The police stayed in the gas station for most of the transition and when the busses started loading up people, the coppers pulled out with the cherries flashing. They flew down the road at top speed, roaring engine, tires and all. Things settled down and the busses drove away leaving the gas station desolate and calm in the night. Again I could hear the infrequent highway traffic off in the distance on the I-55. I looked up toward the heavens for more light show effects but clouds were blocking the view.
I picked up my back pack at the shed and then I wandered into the wooded area of the property and found a clearing in a field. The temperature was getting warmer and warmer and I was wearing a T-shirt with no coat. I stomped around in the dark looking for ant hills but I couldn’t find any so I dropped my sleeping bag and rolled it out. It was too hot so I took off my jeans to try and get more comfortable. It was the warmest night I had experienced since the previous summer and I dozed off quickly.
I stood up with the forest floor clinging to my clothes. I looked around and brushed the leaves and dirt from my hitchhiking uniform and walked back to the highway. I left my pack in the ditch and made a beeline for the Wafflehouse for a wakeup. I sat in front of the till as I waited for my coffee to go and I listened to the young black girls working behind the counter. Every second word was “Motherfucker, bitch, fuck, bullshit, ho” and with my eyes popping out of my scull I looked around at the patrons but nobody seemed to take notice or even care. It was funny and I walked out with a gigantic cup of coffee and a big smile on my face.
As the ants slept in their broken beds I stood at the highway side waiting for a ride sipping and smoking. It was overcast and cool and I worried that it would begin to rain. There was no rain and there were no rides. I stood there from 6AM until early afternoon and then I hustled down a side street to see if I could catch a bus. I ate two $1 burgers at McDonalds and crossed the street and sat at a bus stop. An old fart came by and sat down beside me. He was drinking a bottle of Mountain Dew and he took a moment to tell me so. Then he told me he was on his daily walk and how at the halfway point he always purchased his pop of choice. Without saying much more he got up and walked away and then a bus rolled up.
I got on the bus and slid a $1 bill into the feeder slot and then I told the driver I was hitchhiking I-55 south. He told me he would drop me off as far down the line as he could while remaining somewhat close to the highway. A few miles down the road he had to turn but before he did he let me out directing me to the interstate. It was a solid hour’s walk on a long feeder road before I hit a ramp. There wasn’t much at the location but there was a gas station. The sun was out and it was warming up like the previous day and I felt lucky to have some shade from the tall trees close to the ramp. The spot was very calm and quiet and few cars rolled by. I was preparing myself for another overnighter in the ditch when an old blue van pulled over. There were two chaps occupying the front seats so I went for the sliding side door and hopped in the cargo bay.
I sat down in an old hotel-room type chair as there was no bench seat in the back and as we pulled on to the interstate an old fart with a heavy Louisiana accent started talking to me from the shotgun position. A little tiny dog barked and snarled from under the driver’s seat. The copilot was a big fat bastard with a cynical wit and he talked a great deal in riddles. In his slow southern drawl he introduced the driver as Jesse and himself as James. He seemed to be in pain and he moaned and groaned with his every effort. He told me how he was going to get Jesse to put a plastic bag on his hand and rub some kind of tee tree oil on his pain. Eating a big fat juicy grapefruit he offered one up to me, “Go on boy…reach in the back and pull one from the crates…there”. I got up from my padded oak chair and stumbled around in the back opening boxes full of oranges but no grape fruit. I took an orange instead and sat back down but James scoffed at me, “Boy…don’t ya know the difference…between a grapefruit and an orange?” He would look at Jesse every time he said something waiting for a comment but Jesse kept his eyes on the road wordless and virtually emotionless. The two fuckers were certainly a pair and so it went on. I went into the back again opening crate after crate of oranges until at last I found the one box that held grapefruit. I sat back down pulling myself up behind the two of them in the middle of the van. I bit into the grapefruit to start peeling the rind and the old bugger lit up on me, “Boy…what is wrong with you?...That’s not how you peel a grape fruit.” He took it from my hands and picked up a rusty old stake knife from the middle console and drew a line around the piece like the equator around the earth. He peeled a little up with his grubby fat thumb and handed it back to me. The tiny dog was nibbling and trying to bite my hands as I sat there and the southern swamp man asked me the five w’s and each time I gave an answer he’d counter with a dry correctional attitude yet loaded with sarcastic humor. I ate the tasty grapefruit and the New Orleans native tossed my peel out the window.
I broke free from sensibility and started to toss wit back at him; cranking up my retorts and talking more freely. The old prick loved it and it wasn’t too long before I felt somewhat comfortable riding with them. All along I’ve been eyeing something very odd and interesting but was too afraid to speak of it but now that James and I were having a laugh together, I thought it was time to break the ice. On Jesse’s seatbelt latch there were a handful of gold necklaces, around a jumbo fast food beverage cup in the center console there was another handful and around James’ seatbelt there were another several hundred. The shit was not gold plated junk, it was real. I piped up and in a jokingly way I asked if they by chance happened to rob a jewelry store. For the first time James did not say a word and for the first time Jesse turned around in the driver’s seat to look at me. He wore a guilty childlike grin that bridged his ears. There was a pause and the old man said that he and Jesse had to do some business in the next town and that they’d be letting me off at the next exit. They dropped me off at Brookhaven, Mississippi and I stood there in the late afternoon sun completely astounded. The road was wide and a smell of boiling corn once again flowed across the land. The folks that passed me off as they drove by all waived hello and honked their horns. There was an old pick up truck from the fifties with a girl pinched in against her daddio like old school lovers and they waived there hands and honked their entire way to the interstate as they passed me off. I stood there listening to farm machinery operating off in the distance and I felt like I was standing in a painting and that none of this could be real.
A little Toyota pickup truck pulled up and I got in the cab with the skinny dirty man driving. He looked like a miniature version of the Marlboro man and he spoke in a deep soft friendly voice. His skin looked like cracked leather and he talked about the trailer he lived in and the horses he raised on his acres. He drove a tree skid machine harvesting forests for a living. He was really tired from his long days work and he took me down the line to Magnolia.
Magnolia ain’t nothing but a wide spot in the road. Mini Marlboro said there was a gas station across the other side of the interstate but I couldn’t see it because the area was heavily wooded, even around the on and off ramps. The on ramp had absolutely no flow so I walked down to the dreaded freeway to see if it was a better place to hitch. It was better and the merging lane was long but the traffic flew by fast. It’s the type of spot a hitchhiker can get fined for staking out. The clouds came back and the sun went down so I crossed I-55 to the east side and walked up the ramp to see if I could see this gas station.
I walked in at dusk and purchased a bottle of milk and some cheap cookies and the locals hanging out gossiping caught and eye full. I walked to the other side of the gas station where it was quiet passing a liquor store located on the end of the building. I rounded the corner and sat down for my dinner. The liquor store bell rang and the young bird working inside came out and I peered around the building looking at her looking at me. She asked me if I had a light and I sensed she already had one but needed to know who the mysterious backpacker was. I lit up her smoke and the fox asked me all about my travels and why I stopped in at Magnolia. She was an authentic prick tease in the truest sense and probably the hottest thing held down in town. We talked for a spell but she returned into the shop when the evening drunkards showed up to get their cheap hooch. The local boys loved her and they stayed in the booze shop for long periods of time while buying their liquor. She chatted them all up the same, bored out of her mind, flirting the whole nine yards, locked in Magnolia like a mustang in a coral.
It was dark and I had no place to go so I walked to the back of the gas station near the storage tanks and sheds. I put the pack on the ground behind one of the wooden sheds and smoked a few cigarettes and then fell asleep on my heap with my head against the building. I woke up a few hours later to the roar of a loud pick up truck with a noisy after marker exhaust and a loud Hi-Fi thumping low. I looked up into the night and watched a few clouds drift in a mostly clear deep black sky. The constellations were in vivid bright display and I watched the most amazing shooting star display I had ever seen; the blazing streaks in the sky were very large, almost frequent in occurrence and sometimes it looked like multiples simultaneously.
It was really warm and I looked around eyeing for a place to crash. There were a lot of cars lying about the property in a non orderly fashion. It looked like a car sales lot for a second hand reseller. Closer to the road there was a big fat Oldsmobile and if the doors were open I knew the back seat would be almost big enough for me to stretch out my legs and sleep. I checked it out and the damn thing was open but the dome light lit up as I slid into the back set. Nobody noticed because there was nobody around so I took off my coat and used it as a pillow and fell asleep on the leather interior. I woke up to a great deal of noise and distant voices talking and laughing. The sleeping cars in the mysterious auto lot were waking up as people got in and started pulling away in the late night. I looked at my watch and it was just passed midnight and then I peered over the back seat to the gas station where two busses were unloading people. It was a car pool returning the late shift of workers to the garage; the folks were getting in their cars and heading home. Like a snake I slithered out of the old four door boat and crept around the vehicle out of sight and then I dashed into the tree line, the dome light glowing from the car as I didn’t close the door all the way. A cop car pulled in and the boys in blue got out and walked into the service station and I stayed in the tree line watching the workers disperse. A big black woman mumbling out loud walked up to the car I was in and she looked around suspiciously but got in and drove away after a brief engine warm up. The cars started to fade in numbers but then things turned around and more vehicles started pulling up; the next shift was collecting. The police stayed in the gas station for most of the transition and when the busses started loading up people, the coppers pulled out with the cherries flashing. They flew down the road at top speed, roaring engine, tires and all. Things settled down and the busses drove away leaving the gas station desolate and calm in the night. Again I could hear the infrequent highway traffic off in the distance on the I-55. I looked up toward the heavens for more light show effects but clouds were blocking the view.
I picked up my back pack at the shed and then I wandered into the wooded area of the property and found a clearing in a field. The temperature was getting warmer and warmer and I was wearing a T-shirt with no coat. I stomped around in the dark looking for ant hills but I couldn’t find any so I dropped my sleeping bag and rolled it out. It was too hot so I took off my jeans to try and get more comfortable. It was the warmest night I had experienced since the previous summer and I dozed off quickly.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Jackson Part III - Exit Attempt
Monday December 10th... Tuesday December 11th 2007
I tried to clean the white powder from the ceiling tiles off my sleeping bag and then I packed up and headed out on the town. It was Monday and I figured Jackson would be awake now and there would be much to do and see in the old town. I was greatly mistaken as the downtown core still held its ghost like qualities. Still I walked around a great deal and did manage a decent visit to the library. I stopped by the Sally and a guy at the desk by the name of Bubba called around town to see if I could pick up some new sneakers at other charity locations. He came up with nothing but put me on to a guy that was currently staying at the Sally and how this guy had a bunch of new shoes for sale but I didn’t stick around long enough for the sneaker pimp.
I went back out on the town looking for a locker to store my pack but the Greyhound station didn't have any. I hauled my burden all over the vacant town for the rest of the day but Jackson was truly silent. There were almost no tramps to be seen anywhere and it was easy to figure the local police force had a low tolerance for homeless people. I watched some prisoners in wide stripped uniforms cleaning the sidewalks and raking away leaves from the city's cherished properties. I started noticing how clean everything was in the downtown core and not a single cigarette butt was to be seen. The local architecture lacked any inspiration since the late 60's but still the really old buildings in the town were nice to look at, much like the ones in Memphis.
I killed the long day with much of nothing and latter that evening I sat down on some steps in front of a church eating a bag of Lays. A cop pulled up and told me to get a move on and he suggested I head across the tracks to the Sally. I thanked him and started hauling ass south to the seedy part of town. I passed the Sally and headed into a factory district of old warehouses and storage facilities. I found an obscure space between two buildings and a near by dumpster provided me with some wooden pallets and cardboard for a make-shift home. I set up my bed and smoked a cigarette before dozing off.
December 11th
I woke up and put the pallets and the cardboard back where I found it. I headed back to the library to jam up some more blog shit and then headed out of town on foot. I walked South State to the junction of I-55 and I-20 and stopped for some deep fried chicken and water at an old run down gas station. I ate the chicken walking to the intersection and when I got there, there were two young blacks flying cardboard. One chap was hitchhiking somewhere and the other was flying for money. I already had my sign on my pack with the destination of Lafayette and when I stopped to talk to the two young tramps a police cruiser pulled up and two officers got out. The two young chaps were arrested without question and they told me to head out on my way. Obvious discrimination on the behalf of the police which blew me away because one of them was a black female officer! I guess they two chaps could be previous felons but regardless it felt like a racial thing. I was grateful none the less and walked away briskly with great puzzlement on my face.
I headed up to the big truck stop on South Gallatin and dropped my pack on the fringe of the lot near the grass. I sat and smoked watching the big rigs fuel up and roll out while the sun blasted me. I drank a litre of water and then laid back on the grass for a nap but I was woken from my nap, "Mister, do you work here? Sir, Do you work here?" I jumped up and two cops had pulled up in there cruiser and were out standing in the lot looking at me and my pack. I told them I didn't work “here” and how I was trying to get a ride down the road. They told me it was private property and I had to move along. From my pocket, in a sleepy weird sun daze, I pulled out a Google map of Jackson that I printed at the library and I asked the cop for directions to I-55 and East McDowell and would it be ok for me to hitchhike there. He was reluctant to reply in a helpful manner and I persisted telling him that I just wanted to get out of town. He told me not to hang near any intersections and nowhere near private property. I asked him if I would be arrested hitchhiking and he didn't answer me but in some sort of police code he said something about me over the radio referencing the junction of I-55 and McDowell Road. I think he was trying to give me the green light with the other coppers. I put my pack to my back and started making my way to I-55 south.
It was an interesting walk through a highway construction zone that still held down some local businesses. McDowell is a great street to buy pornography and get a transmission repaired, even in the same building! It was a long haul on my beat down sweaty soul but I eventually made it passing all the funk of Jackson's peep show houses and auto parts stores. It was late in the afternoon and the sun would fade away soon but there were a bunch of gas stations and wooded areas so I didn't feel bad if I had to stay the night in my new thumb spot. There was even a Wafflehouse restaurant close by so I could get a decent coffee.
Standing in the sunset on the ramp I watched the traffic blast by higher up on the interstate. Again I hooked up with my old friends "The Ants" and I bashed them and offered them my smoldering cigarette butts. Daylight faded away and when its orange glow was gone, the giant highway lamps started flickering on and ramping up in their intensity. I made my way up a grass hill beside the highway under some high voltage power lines. I put my pack on the ground and sat against a chain link fence listening to the hum of the transformer station secured behind it. I felt beaten, wasted and very thirsty but there was no way in hell I was heading back into Jackson. I'd somehow camp it out right where I was but first I needed something to drink.
I left my pack in the darkness by the fence and scouted the area as I headed past the Wafflehouse to a gas station. I purchased two bags of chips and two 1 litre bottles of water and headed back to my pack. I sat there peering through the fence at a guy across the street raking leaves and chatting on his cell phone. He occasionally sat down and drank what looked to be beer. The groundskeeper changed my thirst for something a little more potent than the water I had purchased so I got up and headed back to the gas station. I bought a six pack of Budweiser for $3.99 and started walking back when the chap cleaning the yard hollered me over. I walked up the driveway and he offered me a beer for a cigarette. I gave him a smoke but pulled my own beer from the black plastic bag from the gas station. The guy laughed and told me how he was watching me out on the highway as he raked up his mother’s lawn and how he watched me walk back and forth to the gas station. I don’t think he initially wanted to talk to me but was just trying to keep an eye on the neighborhood by finding out who I was. We smoked my smokes and drank my beers together in the driveway as if we had been next door neighbors for years and when his mother came home I told him I was on my way. He wished me well in my travels and thanked me for the good ending to his long day. I walked back to my pack and dragged it down into the ravine behind the transformer station. It was kind of warm and the beers and the long hot day wiped me out and I fell asleep without setting up my sleeping bag.
I tried to clean the white powder from the ceiling tiles off my sleeping bag and then I packed up and headed out on the town. It was Monday and I figured Jackson would be awake now and there would be much to do and see in the old town. I was greatly mistaken as the downtown core still held its ghost like qualities. Still I walked around a great deal and did manage a decent visit to the library. I stopped by the Sally and a guy at the desk by the name of Bubba called around town to see if I could pick up some new sneakers at other charity locations. He came up with nothing but put me on to a guy that was currently staying at the Sally and how this guy had a bunch of new shoes for sale but I didn’t stick around long enough for the sneaker pimp.
I went back out on the town looking for a locker to store my pack but the Greyhound station didn't have any. I hauled my burden all over the vacant town for the rest of the day but Jackson was truly silent. There were almost no tramps to be seen anywhere and it was easy to figure the local police force had a low tolerance for homeless people. I watched some prisoners in wide stripped uniforms cleaning the sidewalks and raking away leaves from the city's cherished properties. I started noticing how clean everything was in the downtown core and not a single cigarette butt was to be seen. The local architecture lacked any inspiration since the late 60's but still the really old buildings in the town were nice to look at, much like the ones in Memphis.
I killed the long day with much of nothing and latter that evening I sat down on some steps in front of a church eating a bag of Lays. A cop pulled up and told me to get a move on and he suggested I head across the tracks to the Sally. I thanked him and started hauling ass south to the seedy part of town. I passed the Sally and headed into a factory district of old warehouses and storage facilities. I found an obscure space between two buildings and a near by dumpster provided me with some wooden pallets and cardboard for a make-shift home. I set up my bed and smoked a cigarette before dozing off.
December 11th
I woke up and put the pallets and the cardboard back where I found it. I headed back to the library to jam up some more blog shit and then headed out of town on foot. I walked South State to the junction of I-55 and I-20 and stopped for some deep fried chicken and water at an old run down gas station. I ate the chicken walking to the intersection and when I got there, there were two young blacks flying cardboard. One chap was hitchhiking somewhere and the other was flying for money. I already had my sign on my pack with the destination of Lafayette and when I stopped to talk to the two young tramps a police cruiser pulled up and two officers got out. The two young chaps were arrested without question and they told me to head out on my way. Obvious discrimination on the behalf of the police which blew me away because one of them was a black female officer! I guess they two chaps could be previous felons but regardless it felt like a racial thing. I was grateful none the less and walked away briskly with great puzzlement on my face.
I headed up to the big truck stop on South Gallatin and dropped my pack on the fringe of the lot near the grass. I sat and smoked watching the big rigs fuel up and roll out while the sun blasted me. I drank a litre of water and then laid back on the grass for a nap but I was woken from my nap, "Mister, do you work here? Sir, Do you work here?" I jumped up and two cops had pulled up in there cruiser and were out standing in the lot looking at me and my pack. I told them I didn't work “here” and how I was trying to get a ride down the road. They told me it was private property and I had to move along. From my pocket, in a sleepy weird sun daze, I pulled out a Google map of Jackson that I printed at the library and I asked the cop for directions to I-55 and East McDowell and would it be ok for me to hitchhike there. He was reluctant to reply in a helpful manner and I persisted telling him that I just wanted to get out of town. He told me not to hang near any intersections and nowhere near private property. I asked him if I would be arrested hitchhiking and he didn't answer me but in some sort of police code he said something about me over the radio referencing the junction of I-55 and McDowell Road. I think he was trying to give me the green light with the other coppers. I put my pack to my back and started making my way to I-55 south.
It was an interesting walk through a highway construction zone that still held down some local businesses. McDowell is a great street to buy pornography and get a transmission repaired, even in the same building! It was a long haul on my beat down sweaty soul but I eventually made it passing all the funk of Jackson's peep show houses and auto parts stores. It was late in the afternoon and the sun would fade away soon but there were a bunch of gas stations and wooded areas so I didn't feel bad if I had to stay the night in my new thumb spot. There was even a Wafflehouse restaurant close by so I could get a decent coffee.
Standing in the sunset on the ramp I watched the traffic blast by higher up on the interstate. Again I hooked up with my old friends "The Ants" and I bashed them and offered them my smoldering cigarette butts. Daylight faded away and when its orange glow was gone, the giant highway lamps started flickering on and ramping up in their intensity. I made my way up a grass hill beside the highway under some high voltage power lines. I put my pack on the ground and sat against a chain link fence listening to the hum of the transformer station secured behind it. I felt beaten, wasted and very thirsty but there was no way in hell I was heading back into Jackson. I'd somehow camp it out right where I was but first I needed something to drink.
I left my pack in the darkness by the fence and scouted the area as I headed past the Wafflehouse to a gas station. I purchased two bags of chips and two 1 litre bottles of water and headed back to my pack. I sat there peering through the fence at a guy across the street raking leaves and chatting on his cell phone. He occasionally sat down and drank what looked to be beer. The groundskeeper changed my thirst for something a little more potent than the water I had purchased so I got up and headed back to the gas station. I bought a six pack of Budweiser for $3.99 and started walking back when the chap cleaning the yard hollered me over. I walked up the driveway and he offered me a beer for a cigarette. I gave him a smoke but pulled my own beer from the black plastic bag from the gas station. The guy laughed and told me how he was watching me out on the highway as he raked up his mother’s lawn and how he watched me walk back and forth to the gas station. I don’t think he initially wanted to talk to me but was just trying to keep an eye on the neighborhood by finding out who I was. We smoked my smokes and drank my beers together in the driveway as if we had been next door neighbors for years and when his mother came home I told him I was on my way. He wished me well in my travels and thanked me for the good ending to his long day. I walked back to my pack and dragged it down into the ravine behind the transformer station. It was kind of warm and the beers and the long hot day wiped me out and I fell asleep without setting up my sleeping bag.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Jackson Part II - Where is Everybody?
Sunday (Night) December 9th 2007
I walked down the sidewalk passing the weird tramp but he was rambling gibberish and vibrating physically, I passed him off without trying to get some local scoop. It was late in the afternoon and I walked around the vacant ghost town into the old south section. The great King Edward Hotel stood out from the cityscape with its smog covered brick and knocked out windows. There was a chain link fence surrounding it and I wanted to jump it to get inside to check it out but it looked to be in some state of construction and may have had a security patrol looking after it.
I walked by a diner type place called the Mayflower Café but it was closed, everything was closed in Jackson. There were few people or cars to be seen. It was depressing. I walked up and down the side streets looking for signs of life and eventually I picked up some directions to the library but when I got there it was closed or just closing so I sat down on a bench for a rest. I sat next to a black chap named Earl and he told me the hours for the library and then he asked where I was from and what my intentions were. He complained about his wife but overall he was happy with his life. He just finished a swim at the pool and was resting on the bench for a cigarette before driving home. I complained about the lack of resources in the town and he pointed down a road advising me if I walked for 15 or 20 minutes west, I would eventually run into a gas station and a McDonald’s restaurant. Then he told me there was almost nothing downtown to see or do even during weekdays but there were a few restaurants I could go to during typical business hours. The electronic technician said it was time for him to head home and he told me to put my pack in the back of his truck and he’d drive me down to the gas station. As he dropped me off I thanked him for the little ride and he wished me well.
I picked up two burgers for $2 at McPuke’s and wolfed them down while making a call to my brother on a payphone. Then I walked to the gas station and purchased a single 24 ounce can of Icehouse. I found a little dark spot near an intersection and sat down to drink the beer and have a few butts. The local dogs were barking and I think it my presence causing the stir so I put my pack back on and walked down an alley way. Just then a police cruiser drove slowly down the street with a spot light beam scanning around. I made it out of the alleyway and around the building onto the next street before the heat was on me. I stashed the can of beer into my pack and walked back towards the downtown core. I passed the old Greenwood cemetery at North West Street and continued down George Street into a seedy part of town. At the end of the street there was some really loud Motown tunage blasting out of a little shack with some cars parked in front. I glanced towards a few people standing in front but kept on eyeing the three run down homes at the end of the strip. The abandoned houses looked like possible lodging and I walked into one of the back yards for a closer inspection. I put my pack in the bushes and was preparing to figure my way into one of them but decided to go back to the Motown Dive to see if I could get the local scoop.
I approached the entrance and this dude was sitting in his run down pick up with the driver’s side door open and one foot on the ground. He said, "I saw you walk by, it's $2 to get in." I asked him about the fucked up houses across the street and he pointed his finger up towards the cemetery advising me there was a building on the corner that would be more suitable. Then he said, "Buy me a beer and there is no cover charge". I asked, "How much is a beer"? and he replied, "$2". There were now Christmas tunes blasting inside and I just went with the flow and walked in with the funky black dude. The insides were very rustic and well decorated with festive cheer and many blinking lights but there wasn't a single white person to be seen. As much as I felt uncomfortable, I still felt at home though everybody was having a good long stare at the stranger. The bartender wore a black top hat and had some kind of battery operated x-mas lights flashing around her neck. She asked me what I wanted and I asked for two beers, one for my mate and one for me. She pulled out a Corona for my man and asked what I wanted so I asked for a Bud. Christmas in Hollis was blasting so damn loud I couldn't understand how much money was being demanded from me so I slapped down a fiver and the top hat gave back a buck fifty. I looked around and there was a guy dancing by himself with one hand on the bar to keep himself from falling down. He wasn't really dancing so much as swaying back and forth. There was a couple dancing slow and close on the dance floor and they looked like they had certain plans for a romp in the sack. Everybody else was seated and just chillin' to the DJ's vibe. My man with the Corona tipped a little plastic bottle of lime flavored salt into his beer and offered some for my Bud. I said, "No but if I had a Corona I'd use it" but he couldn't hear what I said and pushed the little container over to my beer. I waived my hand and he pulled it back with a smile on his face as he added another dash to his drink to demonstrate the purpose of the product.
"Bar's closing, last call" was proclaimed by the bartender in between songs. I asked for another and she took the dollar fifty that was left on the bar top. Mr. Corona man raised his voice leaning in to me and said, "4 PM to 8PM, that’s the hours. You gotta come back earlier tomorrow. 4PM to 8PM!" I nodded and dumped the Bud down my dry hatch and walked out the door following the romantics.
I walked over to North Lamar and looked at the building on the corner. There was a hole in the side of it that made me think somebody drove their car through it. I walked through the big hole into what looked to be a beauty salon. It was run down hard and looked like it had been squatted in already. There was an old upright piano up against one of the walls and I tapped a few keys to sound out its broken voice and walked over to another portion of the building that would have once been a front office. I put an old door down on the floor in the office and then I used a stick of sorts to poke out some acoustic ceiling tiles. I put the tiles on the door and rolled out my sleeping bag on top. Then I pulled an old steel chair from a pile of rubble and placed it by bedside. I covered up the filthy chair with a piece of wallpaper that I peeled down. I sat there drinking the warmish beer that I had in my pack from earlier on. I smoked some butts and talked out loud of my day with Rob, Cherry and Ray. Eventually I felt tired and gave in to the sleeping bag.
I walked down the sidewalk passing the weird tramp but he was rambling gibberish and vibrating physically, I passed him off without trying to get some local scoop. It was late in the afternoon and I walked around the vacant ghost town into the old south section. The great King Edward Hotel stood out from the cityscape with its smog covered brick and knocked out windows. There was a chain link fence surrounding it and I wanted to jump it to get inside to check it out but it looked to be in some state of construction and may have had a security patrol looking after it.
I walked by a diner type place called the Mayflower Café but it was closed, everything was closed in Jackson. There were few people or cars to be seen. It was depressing. I walked up and down the side streets looking for signs of life and eventually I picked up some directions to the library but when I got there it was closed or just closing so I sat down on a bench for a rest. I sat next to a black chap named Earl and he told me the hours for the library and then he asked where I was from and what my intentions were. He complained about his wife but overall he was happy with his life. He just finished a swim at the pool and was resting on the bench for a cigarette before driving home. I complained about the lack of resources in the town and he pointed down a road advising me if I walked for 15 or 20 minutes west, I would eventually run into a gas station and a McDonald’s restaurant. Then he told me there was almost nothing downtown to see or do even during weekdays but there were a few restaurants I could go to during typical business hours. The electronic technician said it was time for him to head home and he told me to put my pack in the back of his truck and he’d drive me down to the gas station. As he dropped me off I thanked him for the little ride and he wished me well.
I picked up two burgers for $2 at McPuke’s and wolfed them down while making a call to my brother on a payphone. Then I walked to the gas station and purchased a single 24 ounce can of Icehouse. I found a little dark spot near an intersection and sat down to drink the beer and have a few butts. The local dogs were barking and I think it my presence causing the stir so I put my pack back on and walked down an alley way. Just then a police cruiser drove slowly down the street with a spot light beam scanning around. I made it out of the alleyway and around the building onto the next street before the heat was on me. I stashed the can of beer into my pack and walked back towards the downtown core. I passed the old Greenwood cemetery at North West Street and continued down George Street into a seedy part of town. At the end of the street there was some really loud Motown tunage blasting out of a little shack with some cars parked in front. I glanced towards a few people standing in front but kept on eyeing the three run down homes at the end of the strip. The abandoned houses looked like possible lodging and I walked into one of the back yards for a closer inspection. I put my pack in the bushes and was preparing to figure my way into one of them but decided to go back to the Motown Dive to see if I could get the local scoop.
I approached the entrance and this dude was sitting in his run down pick up with the driver’s side door open and one foot on the ground. He said, "I saw you walk by, it's $2 to get in." I asked him about the fucked up houses across the street and he pointed his finger up towards the cemetery advising me there was a building on the corner that would be more suitable. Then he said, "Buy me a beer and there is no cover charge". I asked, "How much is a beer"? and he replied, "$2". There were now Christmas tunes blasting inside and I just went with the flow and walked in with the funky black dude. The insides were very rustic and well decorated with festive cheer and many blinking lights but there wasn't a single white person to be seen. As much as I felt uncomfortable, I still felt at home though everybody was having a good long stare at the stranger. The bartender wore a black top hat and had some kind of battery operated x-mas lights flashing around her neck. She asked me what I wanted and I asked for two beers, one for my mate and one for me. She pulled out a Corona for my man and asked what I wanted so I asked for a Bud. Christmas in Hollis was blasting so damn loud I couldn't understand how much money was being demanded from me so I slapped down a fiver and the top hat gave back a buck fifty. I looked around and there was a guy dancing by himself with one hand on the bar to keep himself from falling down. He wasn't really dancing so much as swaying back and forth. There was a couple dancing slow and close on the dance floor and they looked like they had certain plans for a romp in the sack. Everybody else was seated and just chillin' to the DJ's vibe. My man with the Corona tipped a little plastic bottle of lime flavored salt into his beer and offered some for my Bud. I said, "No but if I had a Corona I'd use it" but he couldn't hear what I said and pushed the little container over to my beer. I waived my hand and he pulled it back with a smile on his face as he added another dash to his drink to demonstrate the purpose of the product.
"Bar's closing, last call" was proclaimed by the bartender in between songs. I asked for another and she took the dollar fifty that was left on the bar top. Mr. Corona man raised his voice leaning in to me and said, "4 PM to 8PM, that’s the hours. You gotta come back earlier tomorrow. 4PM to 8PM!" I nodded and dumped the Bud down my dry hatch and walked out the door following the romantics.
I walked over to North Lamar and looked at the building on the corner. There was a hole in the side of it that made me think somebody drove their car through it. I walked through the big hole into what looked to be a beauty salon. It was run down hard and looked like it had been squatted in already. There was an old upright piano up against one of the walls and I tapped a few keys to sound out its broken voice and walked over to another portion of the building that would have once been a front office. I put an old door down on the floor in the office and then I used a stick of sorts to poke out some acoustic ceiling tiles. I put the tiles on the door and rolled out my sleeping bag on top. Then I pulled an old steel chair from a pile of rubble and placed it by bedside. I covered up the filthy chair with a piece of wallpaper that I peeled down. I sat there drinking the warmish beer that I had in my pack from earlier on. I smoked some butts and talked out loud of my day with Rob, Cherry and Ray. Eventually I felt tired and gave in to the sleeping bag.
Friday, December 28, 2007
Jackson Part I - Lets go to Church!
Sunday December 9th 2007
I woke up well rested in the shipping container behind the hidden church then packed up my gear and headed over to the highway on ramp to thumb further I-55 south. The sun warmed me and I stood there looking at the sandy ant hills listening to the high speed traffic blasting by and echoing off the tree walls. I brushed my teeth and spat the foamy Colgate mouth froth on the ants. Then I started smoking butts and dropping the fading shorts on top off their hill homes. Time passed and through the scheduled hitchhiking boredom I kicked off the top of the second ant hill with much less mercy than the previous day. The little buggers flowed out of the broken sand mound like an eruption. Woken from their nights slumber I placed my lit cigarette buts on the broken city. More time passed and I picked up a big plastic McDonald's straw and lit the end of it on fire, the plastic dripping off in tiny fiery balls of destruction raining down on the ants. My actions gave me equal amounts of joy and sorrow as I killed time and ants.
A maroon colored two door pulled up and the driver got out of the car to help me place my pack in the back of his automobile, it was full of junk and equally so in the front passengers seat. It took a few moments to get moving down the road and I thought the fella must be living out of his car. He told me how he passed me off earlier but got to thinking about me down the highway and decided to head back and pick me up. He had a nice leather bound bible on his side of the dashboard and excused himself for making cell phone calls trying to reach a friend to provide a Sunday prayer for them.
Rob was very intrigued with me and in between cell phone call attempts he asked a great deal of my travels. He was amazed of my odyssey on the open road; with no true destination, in harms way and living by the mercy of strangers. He pulled off the interstate several times trying to use gas station pay phone's to break his blessings of incommunicado. He eventually got through to this person and blessed them and prayed for them over the cell phone network allowing his attention to focus fully on the tramp he was traveling with. Rob continued to ask me if I was hungry and I kept telling him it was too early for me to eat and that I would enjoy a coffee. At the gas station where he finally issued the blessing to his friend he purchased a big cup of Joe for me.
We sped down the highway with the common destination of Jackson, Mississippi as he told me a portion of the life story of "Sam the Sham" of "Wooly Bully" success and how he turned his life over to Jesus and eventually began to spread the word on the streets. Rob told me the singers real name was Domingo Samudio and how he lived a life of fame, wealth and debauchery ending up broken down & searching. My ride also spoke how Sam was a great public speaker and how fortunate Rob was to work with him on several occasions. He tried to paint a canvas of a wild man gone straight to give me some kind of inspiration. Rob asked me if I could hold off on food for a while and he invited me to got to church with him in Jackson, I said, "Yes, of course".
We drove into Jackson and passed through it heading out to one of its suburbs to a Baptist/Universal church. We were early so Rob drove around the suburb killing time telling me about his police officer daughter and how they do not talk so much anymore. He kept staring into the police cars when they passed, longing to make some kind of miracle connection. He left his estranged daughter several voice mails advising her he was in town and she could call him, she never did. We pulled up to the church and I combed my hair and brushed my jeans down with my bare hand but I looked at Rob and I didn't feel too far out of line as he too had denim on.
I was introduced to some folks in the church and we were then seated. A band of musicians were formed on the stage and the prayer hems were thrown down in old country pop style live music. I watched and listened and imagined the lead male singer being a country music star like Garth Brooks or something. The band played on and occasionally a few cries were sent out for acknowledgment and the calls were returned with amens. Eventually the paster took the reins and unleashed a holiday blessing for all and asked for us to receive the lord. Some folks walked up to the base of the stage kneeling and giving into their calling while I sat in my seat, the heathen that I am. When things wrapped up I met a few more brothers and sisters exchanging handshakes and hugs but it was time for lunch. Rob invited me to an all you can eat pizza brunch affair with another couple from the parish and a few moments later we all met up at the restaurant.
I filled my plate a few times at the pizza buffet and we all sat together at a table together talking. The couple we met up with from the church filled their two boys pockets with change holding them up at the electronic gaming machines while they asked me a great deal of questions of my quest. Like Rob, they too were equally fascinated with the strange drifter and I think they assigned me with a metaphysical biblical quest to explain my actions. They were great people and we all got along so well as I played up my new found religious purpose, as there were/are some parallels to a Jesus like figure when you start using the comparison as a measuring stick. The couple invited me and my ride to their home, they had an x-mas gift for Rob and they wanted to share an important book with me. Rob and I drove to the family suburban home following them in his car. We pulled in and they showed me the kids bedrooms and how Cherry was a faux painter and finisher. She was currently working with her husband Ray designing and building from scratch religious quotes from the bible and framing them in ornate distressed custom frames and mattes. Cherry was very prom queenish with open eyes and a bright voice but she was pure and honest and she had no problem raising deep reflective issues and questions, she was definitely no prom queen, though she was terribly easy on the eyes. Her husband Ray was more reserved and a tad bit stern and he also had a look of a jock. Just like his wife, the false barriers came down after a short period of talking and he too was a solid man no longer conforming to the insatiable greed of society. Rob seemed to be their bastard church friend of hard times and now on the mend. They seemed to treat each other like old high school buddies and they used their faith as their common ground and foundation to be equal, it was beautiful, they were wonderful people. The couple gave me their copy of Rick Warren's "The Purpose Driven" in hard cover, which pissed me off a bit because hardcovers are so heavy but I took it on in my load like it was a burden of solid gold. The four of us, Cherry, Ray, Rob and I sat down at the kitchen table together holding hands and each of them sounded out a prayer for me and wishings of goodness and safe travels hopping that I find my true purpose in life. Cherry wrote an inscription in the Rick Warren book:
"To Shawn
From Cheery & Ray
Shawn,
It was such a blessing for our paths to cross. May God's hand + voice guide you. After you have fallen in love with Jesus, nurture that relationship. We pray protection & direction over you.
[in smaller print]
"He must become greater. I must become less." John 3:30
Covered with His grace,
Cherry
[in even smaller print]
(you can always tell a tree by its fruit)"
Well folks, you just don't meet people like that everyday while you're a hitchhiking tramp like me. They were warm and sincere and in my heathen ways I greatly thanked them. Rob and I hit the road for another church date, this time it was a visit to a very large x-mas production at the biggest church on their side of town. The production involved hundreds of performers playing over a three day period with an orchestra and the whole bit. It was being tapped and edited for local cable 10 broadcast and we were their so Rob could meet his youngest daughter who was currently living with her mother's parents. It was strange hello and goodbye visit and I could see further that Rob had indeed been a very bad man placing a tremendous amount of distance between him and his family. I leaned more to the belief that he was indeed living out of his car over in Memphis. We headed out after the brief encounter leaving the grand production behind in church parking lot dust. He drove me downtown in old Jackson, Mississippi and asked if I was certain this is where I wanted to be. Rob gave me a medium sized Tupperware container full of cash and change, grabbed me tight hand in hand and as I had half my ass hanging out of the passenger door of his car he started to pray very hard for the heathen hobo. I gave him a big daddio hug out on the street and thanked him a great deal for the wonderful encounters and the food and money. The whole day was an amazing experience for me and I made certain he knew how important their generosity was to me. He drove off as I loaded up my pack to my back spinning around on the sidewalk looking up to the sky searching for east, west, north and south. I brought my eyes back down to the sidewalk and just off in the distance was distressed looking mental patient of a tramp ahead of me.
I woke up well rested in the shipping container behind the hidden church then packed up my gear and headed over to the highway on ramp to thumb further I-55 south. The sun warmed me and I stood there looking at the sandy ant hills listening to the high speed traffic blasting by and echoing off the tree walls. I brushed my teeth and spat the foamy Colgate mouth froth on the ants. Then I started smoking butts and dropping the fading shorts on top off their hill homes. Time passed and through the scheduled hitchhiking boredom I kicked off the top of the second ant hill with much less mercy than the previous day. The little buggers flowed out of the broken sand mound like an eruption. Woken from their nights slumber I placed my lit cigarette buts on the broken city. More time passed and I picked up a big plastic McDonald's straw and lit the end of it on fire, the plastic dripping off in tiny fiery balls of destruction raining down on the ants. My actions gave me equal amounts of joy and sorrow as I killed time and ants.
A maroon colored two door pulled up and the driver got out of the car to help me place my pack in the back of his automobile, it was full of junk and equally so in the front passengers seat. It took a few moments to get moving down the road and I thought the fella must be living out of his car. He told me how he passed me off earlier but got to thinking about me down the highway and decided to head back and pick me up. He had a nice leather bound bible on his side of the dashboard and excused himself for making cell phone calls trying to reach a friend to provide a Sunday prayer for them.
Rob was very intrigued with me and in between cell phone call attempts he asked a great deal of my travels. He was amazed of my odyssey on the open road; with no true destination, in harms way and living by the mercy of strangers. He pulled off the interstate several times trying to use gas station pay phone's to break his blessings of incommunicado. He eventually got through to this person and blessed them and prayed for them over the cell phone network allowing his attention to focus fully on the tramp he was traveling with. Rob continued to ask me if I was hungry and I kept telling him it was too early for me to eat and that I would enjoy a coffee. At the gas station where he finally issued the blessing to his friend he purchased a big cup of Joe for me.
We sped down the highway with the common destination of Jackson, Mississippi as he told me a portion of the life story of "Sam the Sham" of "Wooly Bully" success and how he turned his life over to Jesus and eventually began to spread the word on the streets. Rob told me the singers real name was Domingo Samudio and how he lived a life of fame, wealth and debauchery ending up broken down & searching. My ride also spoke how Sam was a great public speaker and how fortunate Rob was to work with him on several occasions. He tried to paint a canvas of a wild man gone straight to give me some kind of inspiration. Rob asked me if I could hold off on food for a while and he invited me to got to church with him in Jackson, I said, "Yes, of course".
We drove into Jackson and passed through it heading out to one of its suburbs to a Baptist/Universal church. We were early so Rob drove around the suburb killing time telling me about his police officer daughter and how they do not talk so much anymore. He kept staring into the police cars when they passed, longing to make some kind of miracle connection. He left his estranged daughter several voice mails advising her he was in town and she could call him, she never did. We pulled up to the church and I combed my hair and brushed my jeans down with my bare hand but I looked at Rob and I didn't feel too far out of line as he too had denim on.
I was introduced to some folks in the church and we were then seated. A band of musicians were formed on the stage and the prayer hems were thrown down in old country pop style live music. I watched and listened and imagined the lead male singer being a country music star like Garth Brooks or something. The band played on and occasionally a few cries were sent out for acknowledgment and the calls were returned with amens. Eventually the paster took the reins and unleashed a holiday blessing for all and asked for us to receive the lord. Some folks walked up to the base of the stage kneeling and giving into their calling while I sat in my seat, the heathen that I am. When things wrapped up I met a few more brothers and sisters exchanging handshakes and hugs but it was time for lunch. Rob invited me to an all you can eat pizza brunch affair with another couple from the parish and a few moments later we all met up at the restaurant.
I filled my plate a few times at the pizza buffet and we all sat together at a table together talking. The couple we met up with from the church filled their two boys pockets with change holding them up at the electronic gaming machines while they asked me a great deal of questions of my quest. Like Rob, they too were equally fascinated with the strange drifter and I think they assigned me with a metaphysical biblical quest to explain my actions. They were great people and we all got along so well as I played up my new found religious purpose, as there were/are some parallels to a Jesus like figure when you start using the comparison as a measuring stick. The couple invited me and my ride to their home, they had an x-mas gift for Rob and they wanted to share an important book with me. Rob and I drove to the family suburban home following them in his car. We pulled in and they showed me the kids bedrooms and how Cherry was a faux painter and finisher. She was currently working with her husband Ray designing and building from scratch religious quotes from the bible and framing them in ornate distressed custom frames and mattes. Cherry was very prom queenish with open eyes and a bright voice but she was pure and honest and she had no problem raising deep reflective issues and questions, she was definitely no prom queen, though she was terribly easy on the eyes. Her husband Ray was more reserved and a tad bit stern and he also had a look of a jock. Just like his wife, the false barriers came down after a short period of talking and he too was a solid man no longer conforming to the insatiable greed of society. Rob seemed to be their bastard church friend of hard times and now on the mend. They seemed to treat each other like old high school buddies and they used their faith as their common ground and foundation to be equal, it was beautiful, they were wonderful people. The couple gave me their copy of Rick Warren's "The Purpose Driven" in hard cover, which pissed me off a bit because hardcovers are so heavy but I took it on in my load like it was a burden of solid gold. The four of us, Cherry, Ray, Rob and I sat down at the kitchen table together holding hands and each of them sounded out a prayer for me and wishings of goodness and safe travels hopping that I find my true purpose in life. Cherry wrote an inscription in the Rick Warren book:
"To Shawn
From Cheery & Ray
Shawn,
It was such a blessing for our paths to cross. May God's hand + voice guide you. After you have fallen in love with Jesus, nurture that relationship. We pray protection & direction over you.
[in smaller print]
"He must become greater. I must become less." John 3:30
Covered with His grace,
Cherry
[in even smaller print]
(you can always tell a tree by its fruit)"
Well folks, you just don't meet people like that everyday while you're a hitchhiking tramp like me. They were warm and sincere and in my heathen ways I greatly thanked them. Rob and I hit the road for another church date, this time it was a visit to a very large x-mas production at the biggest church on their side of town. The production involved hundreds of performers playing over a three day period with an orchestra and the whole bit. It was being tapped and edited for local cable 10 broadcast and we were their so Rob could meet his youngest daughter who was currently living with her mother's parents. It was strange hello and goodbye visit and I could see further that Rob had indeed been a very bad man placing a tremendous amount of distance between him and his family. I leaned more to the belief that he was indeed living out of his car over in Memphis. We headed out after the brief encounter leaving the grand production behind in church parking lot dust. He drove me downtown in old Jackson, Mississippi and asked if I was certain this is where I wanted to be. Rob gave me a medium sized Tupperware container full of cash and change, grabbed me tight hand in hand and as I had half my ass hanging out of the passenger door of his car he started to pray very hard for the heathen hobo. I gave him a big daddio hug out on the street and thanked him a great deal for the wonderful encounters and the food and money. The whole day was an amazing experience for me and I made certain he knew how important their generosity was to me. He drove off as I loaded up my pack to my back spinning around on the sidewalk looking up to the sky searching for east, west, north and south. I brought my eyes back down to the sidewalk and just off in the distance was distressed looking mental patient of a tramp ahead of me.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Freaky Rides, Genada & Ragtime
Saturday December 8th 2007
I woke up in the renovated room and opened the curtain to let in some light. The workers outside were making a great amount of noise sliding debris down a wooden ramp into the garbage bin below. I cleaned up and packed my stuff. Down at the check out I met a third family member and when I asked for my $5 dollar return she refused saying that I didn’t pay the full fee. I was exasperated but the lesson was learned and I threw up my hands and walked away.
I walked to the main intersection just minutes away where the BP gas station was and just up the road there was a restaurant with lots of cars in the parking lot. The joint was called the “Kettle” and inside there were many people eating and talking. There were three waitresses and the cute Latino served me my coffee and menu. I ordered scrabbled eggs with bacon and biscuits and when it was served I was shocked by the presentation. The plate looked like an image you’d see in a food guide with perfect placement, balanced proportions and even a sprig of parsley on the side. It tasted just as good as it looked and the waitresses bombarded my cup and kept it full the whole time. Including the tip it was very cheap in price and I walked out prepping my cardboard sign for a new destination.
I was very fortunate that interstate 55 was almost parallel to Elvis Presley Blvd and here at my junction was the first major on ramp for the area. The sun was out in full glory and I had to strip off some layers of clothing to compensate. The highway ramp was wide, long and curvy. I had no problem setting up my trade and stood there comfortably trying to understand the change in weather.
About 10AM I had just a T-shirt and jeans on and still I was too warm and it started to get humid at lunch time. My belly was full, I was well rested and the sun was on my face. Things were good and I felt a little down about leaving Memphis behind with a cold cloudy memory. I was flying Jackson on the corrugated cardboard and smoking cigarettes in the sun. The rapid flow of Fed-EX planes roared on the take-off tarmac just a few miles away and I wondered if weekends were harder times to get a lift? A Budget Rental truck drove by with, “DON’T PACK CAT & DOG IN SAME BOX”.
A freak of nature called Mike picked me up in his Silver Dodge truck and he spat tobacco into an empty plastic Coke bottle. He asked me were I was from and then told me the southern women like it wild. He insinuated they like it in the ass and then asked me if I liked giving it to them in the ass. He was completely harmless but it was obvious a hitchhiker was an opportunity for him to get out of the closet. Mike was a full scale creep and he kept mixing anal sex bombs into the conversation as we moved down the highway. I had to tell him I was “normal” and didn’t share the same ideas he had and he responded in a friendly way saying, “That’s OK”. It was a short ride of weirdness for about 30 minutes and then we headed off the highway in a very good location with gas stations and a restaurant and he told me that he drove out of his way because this was the best place to get a ride from. As we drove down the exit ramp the car in front slowed too fast and my sexually perverted driver commented on the 18 wheeler right behind us, “ I like it in the rear but not like this, he he”. I looked at him and he spat some more into the Coke bottle with a wicked grin on his face. I thanked him for the ride as he let me out at the gas station in Hernando, Mississippi.
I picked up a cold pop and then walked over to the on ramp in the shade of some tall evergreens. There was a soft breeze loaded with the scent of the trees and it was nice to be in the shade. The on ramp had two lanes merging on an incline and was a real good spot to thumb. I looked around as I waited and there were no cigarette butts or any type of garbage around the highway. A silver two door car drove by slowly and I watched the driver turn around in his seat looking at me. The Mercury stopped a distance up the ramp and then the reverse lights came on and it crept back towards me as I walked up to meet it.
This old fart Charley was driving and I got in putting my pack in the back seat. I asked him how far he was going and he told me, “away’s…100 miles or so”. He had a Santa Claus look to him but without the uniform he was just and old retired dude. He had a big bulge of a belly and skinny legs down to the gas and brakes. He was wearing and old button down shirt, tan shorts and moccasin type loafers. He gave me the creeps more than any other ride and I couldn’t believe I’d get two freaks back to back in one day. His problem was that he didn’t speak. He had absolutely nothing to say and when I prompted him with old classic topics like the weather, he’d just mutter a few words back and retain silence. Every ride that ever picked me up had some thing to say or something on their minds. The ones that didn’t have a burning set of issues were always intrigued by me and asked lots of questions.
Charley was old and quiet and that was just the way he was but he could have turned up the radio or something? He did tell me a bit about smoking cigarettes and how he once smoked 3 and a half packs a day and when he quit he never really stopped purchasing them. Now he smokes a pack a day but never inhales and has been doing this for 7 or 8 years. I watched him as he smoked this way confirming his refusal to inhale. He freaked me out a bit more because he scratched his crotch area a lot and I guess it is possible he didn’t even know he was doing it. He seemed like a nice old chap but the silence and the scratching drove me nuts. It was a long drive down the highway to the drop off.
Charley, like Mike, had no amenities at his highway exit so he drove me to a place called Grenada that had all kinds of activity. It was sunny and very warm and I stood at the on ramp inhaling a scent of cooked corn on the cob watching the fluffy clouds drift through the blue sky. The temperature was like a hot summer night and nothing like I’d ever experienced during day light. The on ramp, once again, was a cherry with a long winding road and wide shoulder. I stood there killing the remaining day’s sunlight watching some road side ants. There were two big mounds of dirt the size of basket balls and I kicked one of them open and watched the little crawlers scramble all over. I threw my lit cigarette butts on them for added effect. I was bored and stood there for hours killing what was left of the Saturday daylight.
Night fell in full force by 5PM and I walked up a side road to a remote and isolated church. I surveyed the property and discovered a large shipping crate that looked like it would hold four personal water craft like Seadoo’s. It was divided into 4 equal sections and had a lot of carpet lining. I tossed my pack in and then headed back to the glowing lights of gas stations and restaurants.
There were lots of crickets and toads making noises in the grass and there were even a few mosquitoes buzzing around here and there as I walked. I headed into a cool looking joint that had a pink fluorescent sign called “RAGTIME”. I was greeted by some young foxes when I first walked in and one of the gals tilted her head to the side a bit and asked, “Bar?” I said yes and the other young lady motioned with her hand opening it forward.
I sat down next to a middle aged couple and they refused to make eye contact so I focused on the televisions above the bar. The bar tender was some young college looking dude with a sloppy teenage skateboard hair cut. I ordered from the side dish menu a bowl of seafood gumbo and some homemade fries. I drank a Budweiser and watched some college football. There was a JVL gaming machine beside me at the bar and it took me back to Toronto and my past electronic component hawking days.
I pushed the ashtray away when the food arrived and the young bartender emptied it out. The gumbo was out of this world and I dipped the fries into it and then finished the bowl off with a spoon. There was a Serious Satellite feed playing John Hammond doing a cover of Tom Waits “Cold Water” and I remembered the concert at the Horseshoe in Toronto when I helped the old fart get the lyrics right to “Gun Street Girl” by belting them out in his face as he stumbled over the words. Hammond did thank me for it though.
I inhaled another Bud and the bartender offered me the remote control to the TV and a cigarette from his pack of Marlboro’s. I smoked his tobacco, avoided the remote and then asked for the check. The whole thing was just over 10 bucks including tip, not bad for a low budget tramp killing time. I walked back to the hidden church and the big shipping crate and there I set up shop for the night.
I woke up in the renovated room and opened the curtain to let in some light. The workers outside were making a great amount of noise sliding debris down a wooden ramp into the garbage bin below. I cleaned up and packed my stuff. Down at the check out I met a third family member and when I asked for my $5 dollar return she refused saying that I didn’t pay the full fee. I was exasperated but the lesson was learned and I threw up my hands and walked away.
I walked to the main intersection just minutes away where the BP gas station was and just up the road there was a restaurant with lots of cars in the parking lot. The joint was called the “Kettle” and inside there were many people eating and talking. There were three waitresses and the cute Latino served me my coffee and menu. I ordered scrabbled eggs with bacon and biscuits and when it was served I was shocked by the presentation. The plate looked like an image you’d see in a food guide with perfect placement, balanced proportions and even a sprig of parsley on the side. It tasted just as good as it looked and the waitresses bombarded my cup and kept it full the whole time. Including the tip it was very cheap in price and I walked out prepping my cardboard sign for a new destination.
I was very fortunate that interstate 55 was almost parallel to Elvis Presley Blvd and here at my junction was the first major on ramp for the area. The sun was out in full glory and I had to strip off some layers of clothing to compensate. The highway ramp was wide, long and curvy. I had no problem setting up my trade and stood there comfortably trying to understand the change in weather.
About 10AM I had just a T-shirt and jeans on and still I was too warm and it started to get humid at lunch time. My belly was full, I was well rested and the sun was on my face. Things were good and I felt a little down about leaving Memphis behind with a cold cloudy memory. I was flying Jackson on the corrugated cardboard and smoking cigarettes in the sun. The rapid flow of Fed-EX planes roared on the take-off tarmac just a few miles away and I wondered if weekends were harder times to get a lift? A Budget Rental truck drove by with, “DON’T PACK CAT & DOG IN SAME BOX”.
A freak of nature called Mike picked me up in his Silver Dodge truck and he spat tobacco into an empty plastic Coke bottle. He asked me were I was from and then told me the southern women like it wild. He insinuated they like it in the ass and then asked me if I liked giving it to them in the ass. He was completely harmless but it was obvious a hitchhiker was an opportunity for him to get out of the closet. Mike was a full scale creep and he kept mixing anal sex bombs into the conversation as we moved down the highway. I had to tell him I was “normal” and didn’t share the same ideas he had and he responded in a friendly way saying, “That’s OK”. It was a short ride of weirdness for about 30 minutes and then we headed off the highway in a very good location with gas stations and a restaurant and he told me that he drove out of his way because this was the best place to get a ride from. As we drove down the exit ramp the car in front slowed too fast and my sexually perverted driver commented on the 18 wheeler right behind us, “ I like it in the rear but not like this, he he”. I looked at him and he spat some more into the Coke bottle with a wicked grin on his face. I thanked him for the ride as he let me out at the gas station in Hernando, Mississippi.
I picked up a cold pop and then walked over to the on ramp in the shade of some tall evergreens. There was a soft breeze loaded with the scent of the trees and it was nice to be in the shade. The on ramp had two lanes merging on an incline and was a real good spot to thumb. I looked around as I waited and there were no cigarette butts or any type of garbage around the highway. A silver two door car drove by slowly and I watched the driver turn around in his seat looking at me. The Mercury stopped a distance up the ramp and then the reverse lights came on and it crept back towards me as I walked up to meet it.
This old fart Charley was driving and I got in putting my pack in the back seat. I asked him how far he was going and he told me, “away’s…100 miles or so”. He had a Santa Claus look to him but without the uniform he was just and old retired dude. He had a big bulge of a belly and skinny legs down to the gas and brakes. He was wearing and old button down shirt, tan shorts and moccasin type loafers. He gave me the creeps more than any other ride and I couldn’t believe I’d get two freaks back to back in one day. His problem was that he didn’t speak. He had absolutely nothing to say and when I prompted him with old classic topics like the weather, he’d just mutter a few words back and retain silence. Every ride that ever picked me up had some thing to say or something on their minds. The ones that didn’t have a burning set of issues were always intrigued by me and asked lots of questions.
Charley was old and quiet and that was just the way he was but he could have turned up the radio or something? He did tell me a bit about smoking cigarettes and how he once smoked 3 and a half packs a day and when he quit he never really stopped purchasing them. Now he smokes a pack a day but never inhales and has been doing this for 7 or 8 years. I watched him as he smoked this way confirming his refusal to inhale. He freaked me out a bit more because he scratched his crotch area a lot and I guess it is possible he didn’t even know he was doing it. He seemed like a nice old chap but the silence and the scratching drove me nuts. It was a long drive down the highway to the drop off.
Charley, like Mike, had no amenities at his highway exit so he drove me to a place called Grenada that had all kinds of activity. It was sunny and very warm and I stood at the on ramp inhaling a scent of cooked corn on the cob watching the fluffy clouds drift through the blue sky. The temperature was like a hot summer night and nothing like I’d ever experienced during day light. The on ramp, once again, was a cherry with a long winding road and wide shoulder. I stood there killing the remaining day’s sunlight watching some road side ants. There were two big mounds of dirt the size of basket balls and I kicked one of them open and watched the little crawlers scramble all over. I threw my lit cigarette butts on them for added effect. I was bored and stood there for hours killing what was left of the Saturday daylight.
Night fell in full force by 5PM and I walked up a side road to a remote and isolated church. I surveyed the property and discovered a large shipping crate that looked like it would hold four personal water craft like Seadoo’s. It was divided into 4 equal sections and had a lot of carpet lining. I tossed my pack in and then headed back to the glowing lights of gas stations and restaurants.
There were lots of crickets and toads making noises in the grass and there were even a few mosquitoes buzzing around here and there as I walked. I headed into a cool looking joint that had a pink fluorescent sign called “RAGTIME”. I was greeted by some young foxes when I first walked in and one of the gals tilted her head to the side a bit and asked, “Bar?” I said yes and the other young lady motioned with her hand opening it forward.
I sat down next to a middle aged couple and they refused to make eye contact so I focused on the televisions above the bar. The bar tender was some young college looking dude with a sloppy teenage skateboard hair cut. I ordered from the side dish menu a bowl of seafood gumbo and some homemade fries. I drank a Budweiser and watched some college football. There was a JVL gaming machine beside me at the bar and it took me back to Toronto and my past electronic component hawking days.
I pushed the ashtray away when the food arrived and the young bartender emptied it out. The gumbo was out of this world and I dipped the fries into it and then finished the bowl off with a spoon. There was a Serious Satellite feed playing John Hammond doing a cover of Tom Waits “Cold Water” and I remembered the concert at the Horseshoe in Toronto when I helped the old fart get the lyrics right to “Gun Street Girl” by belting them out in his face as he stumbled over the words. Hammond did thank me for it though.
I inhaled another Bud and the bartender offered me the remote control to the TV and a cigarette from his pack of Marlboro’s. I smoked his tobacco, avoided the remote and then asked for the check. The whole thing was just over 10 bucks including tip, not bad for a low budget tramp killing time. I walked back to the hidden church and the big shipping crate and there I set up shop for the night.
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