(from earlier this year when I was hitchhiking through Kentucky)
I take a quick tour of Richmond, then walk west a few miles to reach the highway that leads to Irvine. Thirteen minutes pass and a dusty SUV pulls over.
The driver hops out, pulls out a knife, and starts sawing on a rope that runs through the vehicle and around the top.
“Sorry, I was hauling a mattress earlier.”
A black and mild hangs from his mouth. He gets rid of the rope and opens the back hatch. The vehicle is full of furniture and bags and tools. He darts back and forth from the back passenger door to the hatch to rearrange things so my backpack will fit.
”I do maintenance at an apartment complex—they throw out all kinds of stuff.”
We go to the front and get in.
Kevin. Late fifties. White hair. Tanned skin. Strong body odor. The black and mild smolders in a cup shaped ash tray.
We get on the road and he starts talking and doesn’t stop. Here are a few of the many things he is going to do once he has time:
move a woman down from Philly; start a tobacco / coffee store; get the correct permits from all the government agencies; clear off his land; buy a thousand acres from his neighbor; build a barn; move other woman down from Maine; fix the air conditioner; fix his RV; open a diner; find a couple rednecks to work for him; roast his own coffee and sell it at gas stations.
When I can get a word in, I ask him to drop me off in downtown Irvine so I can get another ride before dark, but he insists on taking me to his house on the far side of Ravenna so that if I decide to stay the night, I’ll know where to go. I’ve already decided against it. He mentioned something about having to get the A/C fixed because he feels bad leaving his dogs in his hot house all day. And if his house is anything like his car…I don’t want to sleep in a hot dumpster with a bunch of dogs. He’s a nice guy and I appreciate the ride, but that doesn’t mean I want to spend the night with him. I like my tent just fine.
We reach his property, which is overgrown with weeds, bushes, and kudzu. We roll the windows down and I can smell the house from the road. He parks at the head of an overgrown path to show me the RV he wants me to sleep in, but he says he’ll have to run an extension cord to the house so it’ll have electricity.
He drives me back to Irvine. I try to get out, saying again I’m hoping to get another ride since there’s a little daylight left, but he insists on taking me down a dead end street because he knows of a camping spot by the river. It’s the wrong road and we can’t reach the river. We go back to town and he’s still talking about finding the river spot. We come to a stop sign.
”This looks like a good spot.” I start to open the door. “I appreciate the ride.”
”Wait, let me take you up here, get you back on the main road.”
We drive through the town again and he’s still talking a mile a minute about all this random stuff that doesn’t mean a thing to me.
“Right there’s good.”
I point to a liquor store and consider reaching over and slamming the transmission into park if he doesn’t stop. He starts to say something about driving me somewhere else, but I cut him off.
”Pull in right there.”
”Okay.”
He stops. I thank him for the ride and get out. He’s still in the parking lot when I round a nearby corner.
The day is nearly done. By the time I reach a decent hitching spot on the edge of town, the sun is gone and dusk is on. I hold up my sign for Stanton, but nobody stops. I give up around nine and walk a few miles north.
I stop and sit on a rock wall and eat dinner: a granola bar and a few Slim Jim’s. I set off again, and after another mile or two, I cross a large field and find a semi-flat spot to set up camp. There’s a marshy pond nearby, and it stinks. My head is wet with sweat and the mosquitos swarm me like gnats on rotting fruit.
Inside the tent, I’m safe from the bugs, but not the swampy stench. After a while I grow accustomed to the smell and drift off to sleep.
