The "County Farm"

#70 - How we got on old Highway 90, I don’t remember. It must have seemed a good idea at the time. There had been recreational drugs and adult beverages involved.

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                     The “County Farm” 

How we got on old Highway 90, I don’t remember. It must have seemed a good idea at the time. There had been recreational drugs and adult beverages involved.   

The cars were few and far between and none stopped to pick up two long hairs in the middle of the night on a lonely road. 

It was a dark night, that’s for sure, and with the dense forest that closed in, the cars that came down the winding road appeared out of nowhere, their headlights suddenly upon us. 

Dawn, and morning’s light, finally arrived. We got a ride.

* 

We were hitchhiking to Houston again, to go to the Cavern Club and check out the bands. The club was big enough to have two bands playing at the same time. Good bands and a lot of people. 

The club was located on the frontage road that paralleled the interstate. Our ride would pull over on the shoulder and let us out, we’d hop the fence, and it was club time. 

We finally made it to the outskirts of Houston by 11 am. Our ride exited at his turnoff and let us off on the connector road and continued on his way. 

Our choice was to walk a good ways to the entrance ramp or get back up on the interstate. Of course, hitchhiking is illegal on the interstate. 

We didn’t have time to choose.

Right away, a state trooper on the interstate saw us and drove across the infield, leaving deep ruts in the lush grass, to where we were on the connector - still illegal. 

We were arrested and soon found ourselves in the holding tank of the nearest police station. Our fine was twenty-five dollars each. We didn’t have the money. 

We had our “one” call to make to see if we could make bail. We knew our friends back home didn’t have the money, so much to our chagrin, we reluctantly called our parents. Neither of us were living at home at the time.  

Both sets of parents thought the same. Some “jail time” might do us good. That response was not unexpected, or appreciated. 

It being Sunday morning, we had to wait until Monday morning to see what the judge would do with us. Who knows, he might let us off. LOL. 

We could see the interstate from the barred windows. For the first time I got a glimpse of being - not free, trapped. It did give me something to think about. 

We settled in for the day, and night, amongst other light offenders and those who were well on their way to making jail time a habit. 

On Monday morning we were bussed down to the courthouse where the judge gave us credit for one day in jail, and the remaining twenty dollars to be worked off on the “County Farm”. It was five dollars a day if we worked out in the field, three dollars a day if we didn’t.  

Off we went to the “Farm”.  

The first thing said to us on our arrival was, “We ain’t feeding you ‘till you cut all that hair off.” 

We said, among other things, “Well then, we ain’t eating ‘till we get out.” 

I was angry and disillusioned by the whole thing.  

The view through the barred jail cell window overlooked a ripening corn field.  

Thank Heaven our bravado wasn’t put to the test. Someone bailed us out mid-afternoon. I suspect it was Bill’s parents. I never knew for sure. 

We hitchhiked home - minding our p’s and q’s and staying off of the interstate. We got home late, or early depending on how you looked at it, and hungry.

* 

Less than a year later we, Bill and I, again, got a ticket for hitchhiking on California Highway 101. You would think we would’ve learned, but I can explain. Our previous ride had let us off in the middle of nowhere late at night. After a couple hours of no cars, we got up on the highway.

The first car to come by was a state trooper, just like in Houston. Uncanny. He gave us a ticket and drove us to the next exit where there was much more traffic. That was nice of him! 

It was a five-dollar fine that I neglected to pay. A few years later I needed a California Driver’s License and had to pay the fine first. The fine had grown to fifty dollars.  

There were two more incidents that found us (not me and Bill this time) behind bars for the night. One involved a swat team and another, a helicopter. On both occasions we were in the wrong place at the wrong time and our lawyers managed to get us off. I can explain. :) Maybe at another time. 

How easy it is to get caught up in a bad situation despite our intentions. 

Perhaps I’m wiser, now. Ha Ha! That’s a good one. No, I’ve just been lucky. Knock on wood.

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