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May 16, 2007 In 1967, alter hitchhiking more than 10,000 miles around the U. S. and Mexico, I returned to Chicago, where I then lived. Recounting my experiences to František von Säkkingen, a muscle-building youth from Czechoslovakia, I must have stirred his imagination, because he said he wanted to try it himself. So away we went, without further ado, back onto Highway 66, which led from Chicago through St. Louis, Oklahoma City, Amarillo and Albuquerque to Los Angeles. We caught our first ride in Cicero, Illinois, a suburb of Chicago. Two or three days later, we had made Amarillo, Texas, where it was very cold for that time of year, April or May, about 39 degrees Fahrenheit. All we had was a couple of bedsheets, but we lay down anyway in an open field, a good 100 or 150 feet from the highway, trying unsuccessfully to sleep. Apparently the sheets were visible from the highway, and eventually a highway patrol officer came over to us very angrily, as if we had been doing something utterly unforgivable. He reprimanded us roundly, and made us get up and start walking, but he didn't arrest us or ticket us. The first time I had passed through Amarillo, months earlier, I had been picked up outside of town by a gay man looking for a one-night stand. He propositioned me only when we had arrived at his apartment. I declined his advances politely, but he was decent enough to let me sleep in his place on the couch that night nonetheless. Anyway, the next day after being reprimanded by the officer, František and I found ourselves in Borger, Texas, then a small wild-west-type of town. In those parts, Texas is as flat as a sheet of plywood, and anything that grows there does so only under the influence of irrigation. I think they specialize mainly in cattle around there, with maybe some string beans and alfalfa. There were a bunch of hell-raisers and roughnecks hanging around town, and we fell in with them. They all wanted to get drunk, but at that time, that part of Texas was dry, so we all piled into a couple of jalopies belonging to the local crowd, and drove quite a few miles to the Oklahoma state line, where liquor was available. This was all years before I stopped drinking, in 1982. Then we all came back to Borger, drank a lot of beer, told jokes and exchanged stories. The next morning, František and I left Borger, and shortly thereafter a man in a pick-up truck gave us a ride. This would turn out to be a 1000-mile ride to Venice, California. The only problem was that we all had little money, but by a variety of stratagems, like pawning watches and begging, we managed to scrape up gas money. Somewhere along the way I lost František. I can't recall what happened. I just know I haven't seen him since. Alter knocking about in California for a couple more weeks, I returned to Chicago the second time. ------------ About the author Thomas Keyes: I have written two books: A SOJOURN IN ASIA (non-fiction) and A TALE OF UNG (fiction), neither published so far. I have studied languages for years and traveled extensively on five continents. Email: udikeyes@yahoo.com Comment on this article here! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
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