This little town north of San Luis Obispo has been nothing but a void since I've been here. I put my thumb out but no one stops. They put on their blinders and ignore me like some uninteresting geological feature. Just another hill in the landscape. I can't say it's been inspiring. The romantic vision of hitchhiking quickly leaves you and all you feel is this inescapable sense of hopelessness.
You begin to ask yourself what you're doing wrong. How can I increase my chances? Where will I sleep tonight if I can't find anything else?
It's self-destructive and only makes it harder on you. You no longer smile at passing drivers, you don't wave. You stand there. Eyes staring into the distance, unable to look away from the distant horizon that seems to constantly mock you and your inability to chase it down.
Yesterday, I fell into such a funk. The morning had started off positively. I had survived the cold night before and found myself a short walk to Starbucks. I used the time to research the area and weigh options. After several hours of intensive digging, I decided on an option that enthralled the explorer in me. There, a couple miles north of Atascadero, was a Greyhound bus station. It offered me a way out of this little town between everywhere I wanted to be. The goal was set, the plan pushed forth into motion.
I found the bus stop for the area, the San Luis Obispo Regional Transit Authority line connected all the cities in this area, including my destination. The city of Atascadero had no Greyhound station, but the city north of it did. That city was El Paso de Robles, or Paso Robles for those with time management issues. The bus even dropped me off right in front of the station itself. Finally, a way to leave!
The trip there was pleasant, filling my mind with thoughts of the tropics and warm sandy beaches with crystal clear blue waters. All I had to endure was a couple days on a bus. Truly, this was going to be my next step on my journey!
Finally, I found myself in front of the station, poised to start the trip to the beaches of Miami. Alas, it was not to be.
The website I had used failed to mention the hours for the station. I had always assumed that Greyhound bus stops were 24 hours. After all, the website for booking it said the bus came in at 7pm that night!
The station was closed for the day. The station was only open for about 4 hours everyday, Monday to Saturday. And with the holiday weekend, it wasn't going to reopen until Tuesday. It was a devestating blow to my self-estime.
Defeated, I walked to the nearest business area, hoping to formulate a plan. I connected to a local wi-fi, got the lay of the land and found a Starbucks on the other end of town. I gathered my strength and began the 2 mile trek to the other side. My pack constantly forcing each step to be heavy, forcing my arms to loose their circulation. I could hear my heart beat in my ears, I could taste the sweat pouring off me, I could sense the heat making my body work harder and harder to just keep going.
It took what little strength I had to get to the Starbucks and try to hope one of the only 4 people who hosted on couchsurfing had gotten back to me.
But a strange thing happened. An occurence.
It's a sort of thing you only see in movies, things you don't expect ever really happen.
Out of no where, a voice calls out to me.
"Hey!"
I look around but can't pinpoint the source. But once again, it hails me. "Hey! Hey!"
I look at people in their cars and on the side to see where it came from. Finally I see an arm waving me over. Confused and curious I approach the creator of the Hey.
It was 2 men, both in their mid lives, who had beckoned me over.
"Hey man, where you going?", the Hey man said.
"Just trying to get north to San Fran.", I replied.
"San Fran, huh? Well, shit man, go inside and grab yourself a glass!"
I felt a bit befuddled and he pointed to a big pitcher of cold beer.
"Anyone hitching their way through has gotta have a beer, man!" He said.
Well, crap, I thought. That seems awfully generous. I went inside, grabbed myself a glass and found myself in the company of Norm and Jeff. Two tramps who've been here in Paso Robles for several weeks. They too had traveled here and found themselves stuck, but decided to make the most of it. They sat me down and told me they saw me coming to Starbucks, "You and your awesome preacher's hat.", he said.
Norm was man of medium stature and bulky build. He was a Navajo Indian, a self-described man of the world. He had been traveling since he owned a motorcycle at the age of 15 and a half. He was joined on his right by Jeff, a thin man with a full beard and cap reminiscent of Caddy Shack. Both of them were celebrating. They were enjoying the gifts the universe had brought to them on this day.
Earlier, Norm had been handed $100 by a lady. They proceed to use this oppurtunity to celebrate life and have themselves a party. They told me all about themselves, what they were about, what they were doing. They called Paso Robles "The Vortex" because of how easy it was to get stuck here.
Now they tell me.
[Jeff on the left, Norm on the right]
They'd been here for some time, Norm had been here 3 weeks and Jeff had been here a couple months. They'd both decided to live the life of a nomad, giving up the lives they'd had before. Jeff was actually an ex Sous Chef from Las Vegas. He had worked from Caeser's Palace to Luxor and more. He'd been around the western United States for some time, but settled here after a few months.
Norm was Navajo, he had been adopted at a young age but was very entrenched in the beliefs of the tribe, he said.
Both were jovial, greeting everyone who walked by, engaging people in conversation left and right. They seemed carefree and happy; something I hadn't been since I got here.
They wanted to know why I was traveling, I told them I wanted to see the world, to travel and just learn all the stuff they don't teach you in school. They told me that was pretty freakin' sweet. We drank 2 pitchers of beer, sang Monty Python songs and discussed the finer points of hitch-hiking.
"Don't go to Sacremento. You'll never get out of there, man." Norm said.
"Yeah and don't go to Orange county." Jeff added. "The cops will kill you for trying to hitch."
"And if you ever go up north to Mt. Shasta, you GOTTA drink the water from this stream up north of the town.", said Norm. "It's seriously the best water you'll ever taste. It's from a glacier and filtered from all the volcanic rock!"
They told me they had a camp and a lot of people like us went that way to sleep. They told me I was more than welcomed to join, so I figured, what the hell?
We stopped at an AM/PM to grab another 12 pack and we sat in a parking lot, drinking beer and discussing life in general. They called me the Hunter S. Thompson of my generation... a very flattering if probably not accurate description of me. They told me I was wise beyond my years and found it surprising that someone so young had figured out what took them years to discover. We must've sat there for hours, listening to stories, talking about cops and watching them get more and more buzzed and stoned.
Finally, Jeff wanted to sleep and I was inclined to agree. It gets cold here and I was tired as hell. Finally, we made our way back to the camp, a set of tree between the on-ramp and a river. We layed down our mats, climbed into our sleeping bags and fell asleep beneath the canopy of oaks and the stars above them.
I woke sometime around 7 and walked into town, finding the Starbucks there didn't even have internet access. It was down for some reason. It would seem then that fate brought me there to meet Norm and Jeff, the two vagabonds of Paso Robles. I told them I was going to try and hitch out of town and they wished me luck on my travels. Norm even gave me his email address, which he checks "about once a month."
People still aren't stopping to pick me up. But I realize now, I was concetrating too much on the destination and not the journey. It took a couple of vagabonds to teach me that one.
So for now I'll move on, trying to get somewhere. Hopefully I can find someone cool enough to take me to my next layover.
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