Dan Cremins

Hitch

Hitchhiking can be hazardous to your health. Trust me, I know. On a beautiful day in May, a key to a bank’s safe deposit box fell into my possession. An uncle of mine whom I never knew left me the key in his will, along with a letter saying that the box held a hundred-thousand dollars worth of diamonds. There was only one catch: the bank was in Los Angeles. At the time, I lived in Pennsylvania, and since I couldn’t afford a plane, train or bus ticket, hitchhiking seemed like the logical solution.

The first person to pick me up was a man by the name of David Creek. David was a comedian on his way home from a show. He dropped me off in front of his house, and within an hour I had another ride. This time the man’s name was Dan Farmer. Dan had mentioned that he worked in politics. He spoke about the upcoming election passionately, but he never said what it was he did. It was only after he brought up Senator Johnson’s race against William Elrich when I finally asked.

“Well,” he said, “I’ve been working directly for Senator Johnson. I don’t know if there’s a technical term for what I do, but I call myself a Saboteur.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I basically run around town and tear down all of Elrich’s signs and put up Johnson’s. It’s fun. It feels like I’m a spy or something.”

“Hmm, you must like Johnson very much, then.”

“Oh, hell no! That guy’s a fascist. I’m voting for Elrich.”

A girl by the name of Crystal picked me up in Baltimore. As it turned put, she was a prostitute. She kicked me out of her car when she realized I was looking for a ride and not a “good time.”

Alex Dover picked me up in Virginia driving a blue Honda Accord. Alex was somewhat of a wild card. He kept asking me if I wanted any gum and continuously sang the theme song to Gilligan’s Island. But Alex was a good guy. He always had a smile on his face, even if that face looked like a tractor ran over it a few times.

Albert Finch was a lonely old guy in a ‘57 Buick Century. He picked me up somewhere south of Denver. He was driving home from his wife’s funeral when he picked me up, and told me his sob story along the way.

“You’ll never know loss,” he said, “unless you lose something worth more to you than yourself.” We reached Al’s house just before 9 P.M. He served me dinner and gave me a bed to sleep in. I’m sure he wanted me to stay longer, but I couldn’t put the diamonds out of my mind.

Michael White was a cowboy from Texas who would not shut up. He talked about his job, his farm, his horse and, most of all, his vision. “Have you ever had a vision?” he asked. “I have this vision of a future where cities no longer exist, just country and farmland. It’s doable, but I need your help. So what do you think, wanna help? Of course you do. This is a great future. Do you have any friends who could help as well? Maybe someone who picked you up before me? I’ll stop at the next pay phone and give you a quarter. You can call some buddies of yours. Tell them to come on down to Texas. We’ll make this vision a reality.” That was the longest thirty minutes of my life.

Chris Filmore drove a bright red Ferrari. I’m not sure what model it was, but god damn was that thing fast! Unfortunately, it wasn’t at all comfortable, and as there was no space to put my bag, I had to sit with it on my lap. The ride wasn’t so bad, but the journey with Chris, which lasted about five minutes, was a nightmare. He blew through a red light minutes after picking me up. While trying to evade the police, he ran over a stop sign, hit a dog, and smashed his $300,000 car into a parked Jeep. “I’ll get out here,” I said.

Ron Eckard picked me up in the good city of Las Vegas. He drove an old, green van. I say it was green, but approximately 2/3 of it was brown with rust. It had no heating and no back seat, but I insisted I sit in the back. Ron didn’t exactly smell too well. That was a choice that I obviously didn’t think through, since every time he took a sharp turn I slammed into the wall.

Ron didn’t say a word after he picked me up. I knew he didn’t want me sitting back there. He kept eyeing me in the rear-view mirror. There were two black duffel bags sitting beside me. On another sharp turn, the heavier one slid right into my kidney. “Don’t touch that!” Ron screamed. Soon after, he stopped for gas. After he stepped out, I looked at the two black bags, and opened them. One, the heavier of the two, was filled with guns. The other had pretty much every drug in existence.

Not far outside Las Vegas I told Ron that it was my stop, but he ignored me. Further on, I insisted that I get out, saying “We’ll be passing my house soon.” Still nothing. I had officially started to freak out. I didn’t want to spend another minute with him. When he stopped for gas about an hour later, I just had to make a break for it. He went in to pay, and I ran. Just down the street, I saw a cop and told him what I had seen and kept on running. Within five minutes, I heard gunshots. I didn’t bother to look back or ask someone where the shots were from, I just ran.

Finally, there was Joel. No last name, just Joel. He was happy to take me to Los Angeles, since that’s where he was heading. “Two minds with one thought,” he said. “I’m doing exactly what you’re doing, only with a car. About two week ago, I just decided to drive. I don’t really have a destination. When I get to L.A., I’ll probably just keep driving.” I told Joel about the diamonds, and a look of discontent came over his face. “Well,” he sighed, “it’s your life. Just don’t let the money own you. I don’t know. I guess since my parents were poor, I never really cared about material things. For me, the journey is what’s important, not the destination.”

At L.A., I stepped out and shook Joel’s hand. “It’s been fun,” he said and drove off. I found the bank and stared at the arching doorway. Then I stared at the safe deposit key in my hand. There was an old, homeless woman sitting on a bench nearby. I approached her and said “Excuse me, this is for you. Just open the box with the number that’s on the key.” She had no idea what she was about to get. “So now what?” I asked myself. “Where do I go now?”

The answer was simple: back home.