55 Rides To Cross The Country -pt 2

#15rp - . . . it was clouding up to rain. Which it did just as a young couple picked me up, smiling as they said, “they didn’t want my guitar to get wet.”

Welcome to Before I Forget . .

I’m glad you are here. Thank you for your time.

part 1

55 Rides To Cross The Country – pt 2

It was an easy walk getting back to the freeway from where we stayed over. I got rides to Indianapolis, on Interstate 70, then a good ride past Columbus Ohio, to Zanesville, almost to Interstate 77, where I planned to go south. I was pretty close to my grandparent’s house.

It was late afternoon, and it was clouding up to rain. Which it did just as a young couple picked me up, smiling as they said, “they didn’t want my guitar to get wet.” They were going to the girl’s family cabin at a nearby lake. They invited me to stay the night. I had dinner and a good night’s sleep.

Next morning after breakfast, they drove out of their way a few miles to drop me off on Interstate 77. They were very nice, and I was grateful. I was rested and well fed.

A couple of rides and sixty miles later, I was in Parkersburg, West Virginia, where I picked up State Hwy 50 east. It was just about noon. My grandparents lived in Bridgeport, only sixty more miles.

At this point in my trip, I was over three-quarters of the way across the country, five nights out from L.A., and at ride number eighteen.

I got to my grandparent's house, just a stone’s throw from the highway very late. And having arrived unannounced, instead of waking them, I went to sleep on the porch swing couch, where my grandmother found me early the next morning.

She took me for a hobo, or some such, looking for an easy spot to bed down. I guess I guess I fit the bill.

Then she recognized me. It made for a good laugh, even more so in a way as I had slept crooked on my left leg and could hardly walk. It was numb for a couple of hours before it came around fully.

It was good to see her and Pop after many years.

I stayed with them a week, liking the small-town feel. I saw a few aunts and uncles I hadn’t seen since I was a child. I was kind of hoping a job might develop where I could stay for a while.

WHERE TO NOW?..

But it came time to move on. Goodbyes, and then Uncle Charlie dropped me off midday at the city limits and I was headed for parts unknown. I would see them again the next year on my motorcycle trip south to see my family in Louisiana.

The next three days were a blur. Hitching on the interstate had been easy compared to the numerous short rides I was getting now. My ride count rose sharply.

I had decided to fast for a few days, thinking I would save a few bucks.

The first night out I spent on Hwy 50 deep in the forests of western Maryland. It was desolate. Getting through Washington, D.C., and Baltimore, took most of the next day.

I spent much of the next night with a group of partiers partying somewhere on the Jersey Shore boardwalk. On Interstate 95 the next morning, along the New York City skyline, which I found amazingly huge, a guy who had missed his exit was backing up on the freeway. We barely missed him.

A Yale University student named Dave, picked me up outside of New Haven.

He said if I was looking for a job, I should look up Brian, who ran the Eastward Ho Country Club golf course in Chatham, Massachusetts, on Cape Cod. He might be needing help now that many of his workers had left for the fall semester at school or away for the winter.

It sounded like a really good idea. It was just a couple hundred miles away. Now I had a proper destination. I felt relieved.

I got off of I95 at Hwy 1 leading down to Long Island Sound. A young woman with a mentally challenged little boy picked me up. She was going to Mystic, a beautiful picturesque New England fishing town.

Two young gals going to Pawcatuck (not Pawtucket,) on the Connecticut and Rhode Island border, pulled over to give me a lift.

They invited me to a dinner with some of their friends, and a place to stay for the night. It was just a few miles away, on the Pawcatuck River.

It had been a long two and a half days since I had eaten, and I was famished. I ate a lot of spaghetti and slept soundly.

THE HOMESTRETCH

The next morning, I made it up to Providence, where I picked up Interstate I195, eastward to Hwy 6 in Massachusetts, leading to Cape Cod. Crossing the Cape Cod Canal towards evening, I was on the last leg of the trip to Chatham, and the golf course.

I got a ride from a fellow going to Provincetown at the northern tip of the Cape, and he went out of his way a few miles to take me toward Chatham, advising me that the town would be pretty much closed down for the night. Not knowing what I would find upon arrival, I decided to get out at a crossroad outside of town. I thanked him and he turned around headed back to the highway. He was nice.

It was now dark, and after a long day and numerous rides, I decided to bed down where I was. For the first time on the whole trip, I pulled out my sleeping bag and slept at the edge of the woods.

Up early on a very cool and crisp morning, I hiked the short distance into town. It had one traffic light, blinking yellow. I went into a small bustling with life café full of fishermen and construction workers and ordered toast and a lot of coffee.

I had twenty dollars, the same amount I had started with.

After getting directions to the golf course, I headed for the road I needed and stuck out my thumb.

I got a ride from a construction worker headed to Orleans, the next town north, a few miles away. The Country Club was on the way, and he dropped me off.

I saw no one looking like club personnel, but it was still early. A group of golfers were out on the first tee. I hung out at the maintenance building and was playing my guitar when a man pulled up. I said, “Hi, I’m Ron. I’m looking for work. Dave said to see Brian.”

“You’re hired!” said Brian.

And just like that, I landed the best paying job I ever had, in a beautiful place on a highland overlooking Pleasant Bay to the north, a barrier island and the Atlantic Ocean to the east.

My trip took fifty-five rides and nine days, plus the week stay at my grandparents. It would be four years before I made it back to California.

This story was first posted on Jan. 11, 2023.

Thank you for reading Before I Forget . . !

For my new Subscribers - a post from April 26, 2024,

Image by Me

See you next week, my friends. : )