Tales from the Road

by Mark Kneeskern

(Editor’s note: We introduced Mark in our August issue and invited him to contribute writings from the road as he currently uses his thumb as his primary mode of transportation.)

Almost cut my hair …
I amble to the roadside and it’s the first day of school again. An exciting moment. A nervous moment. Lessons await in the classroom of the world. I’m much older now, not riding the bus, instead traveling in multiple cars with random strangers. I’ve got my best “Back To School” clothes on … a button-up shirt with wild colors and patterns from top to bottom, shorts with deep pockets for my notepads, pens, markers and digital camera. I’m vying for the attention of drivers instead of cute classmates.

In lieu of a “trapper keeper,” I’m holding a cardboard sign shaped like a house. It reads “ON MY WAY HOME,” because each time I go somewhere, I feel like I am simply heading to another home. I suppose it’s partly because half the year I live in a bus and much of the rest of my time is spent in a tent. Home, for me, is a state of mind more than anything structural. I’m heading to my folks’ place in Southeast Minnesota. That’s 1,026 miles from Salida, give or take a few inches. My plan for today is to travel north to Steamboat Springs, visit my friends Joe and Sue for a night, and continue north in the morning. It’s ten thirty a.m. and I should be there well before sunset.

Why the confidence? Because this is Colorado! Experience has taught me that this state is one of the finest places to hitch. Last year when I hitched from Steamboat to Salida it took only five hours.

I almost cut my hair and trimmed my beard for this trip. I always have, fearing that long hair and a crazy beard might scare some people off or become a target for jocks, but in actuality, I find common ground with just about anybody I meet, and a hairy, bearded guy most often just looks cuddly, right?

So, here I am at the edge of town with my furry face, my colorful shirt and my sign, thinking complacent thoughts. Herons and geese fly over my head and the Arkansas River surges in the background. A bicyclist pumps past, saying “If I had an extra seat …” A Hummer goes by and I don’t even bother wasting my energy. An hour later, my confidence is melting under the summer sun like butter on a scoop of mashed potatoes. I missed my ride to school. The sign isn’t working … my long hair is only making me hotter than I would be otherwise … the corners of my smile begin to feel maniacal.

OK … breathe … stretch … use my mantra. “The next ride is an eventualism …” Repeat ten times. A truck is pulling over! It’s Seth from Weathervane Farms in Buena Vista – someone I know. He didn’t actually recognize me, he just picks people up sometimes. Seth has a load of Planters Trace Mineral Supplement from the company U.S. Soil – an amazing plant-available fertilizer mined from an ancient lake bed near Wellsville, CO. Seth tells me a story about a hitchhiker he once picked up. The man delivered cars for rental companies, then had to find his own way back home, so he hitched to save bucks. He had written “NICE GUY” on the front of the sign which he held out. On the back, written in reverse so the driver could see it in the rearview mirror, he wrote “REALLY.” Apparently it worked well for him. I may have to try that one day. I’d like to think I wouldn’t be lying.