Yesterday...

I got released from the hospital at 1:00pm. They brought some antibiotics and some stuff to keep things flowing good to my room. Let me hang out and get lunch, take a shower, etc. They were in no hurry to kick me out. But, a hitchhiker's gotta hitchhike.

Gear up. Past the desk. Stop to thank everyone for their help. Elevator to the first floor. Maps to find the onramp. Down the road.

Fourty minute walk. Had to stop and rest. Kinda weak and shaky from the ordeal. Hit a Love's near the ramp. Had no reason to be there so I rested up for a few and bailed.

Under the overpass. Down the ramp. Good spot. Gear down. Thumb out. Smoke lit.

Seven minutes later a uhaul pulls over. "Where ya goin'?" Greensboro but just hoping to hit Atlanta today. I'm headed up the 75." "Wanna throw that in the back." "Yeah, that would be cool." 

He hops out, meets me in the back. Opens the door. Nothing but a washing machine in the box in there. Toss my pack and hoody in. Take my water with me.

We hit the interstate. Introductions. He tells me I'm the first hitchhiker he's picked up. "I'm going that way, you're going that way, just makes sense." He tells me about the only time he hitchhiked. Germany. There with his wife for Oktoberfest. 

An hour later he drops me just south of Byron, GA. Gear out of the back. My thanks. He heads out. Up the offramp. Cross the road. Down the onramp. Gear down. Thumb out. Smoke lit

Maybe eight minutes later a truck pulls over. "Hey man! Toss your stuff in the back and get in! I'm going to Athens." "Sweet!" 'I won't have to deal with Atlanta. I'll be out in the country where people will pick me up. Awesome!' Gear in the back. We hit the road.

We shoot the breeze for a bit. Mostly him talking and me listening. "I'm gonnna stop up here and get a beer. Hope you don't mind." "Not at all." "I'll get you whatever you want." "I don't really drink anymore but shit, I'll take a beer."

He reaches behind the center console and pulls out a half full raspberry something or other drink and a glass. Pours some in the glass. Hands me the can. "I haven't drank out of it." 

At this point dude is perfectly coherent. Doesn't seem buzzed at all. Clear words. Clear thoughts. Driving like a pro. I'm stone cold sober. (Weed didn't seem very appealing after the ordeal of the last few days.) I'm pretty good at detecting peoples level of drunkenness. No sign he's even got a buzz.

I've traveled now for Thirty-two years. I drank like I was drinking for three people for a lot of it. Quit when I was thirty-eight. So thirteen years ago. 

Still have a couple extreme teas when the road starts to hurt to much and I feel like singing Bright Lights by Matchbox 20 in my tent at the top of my lungs in the middle of the night.

Before you freak out about drinking and driving... For a long time whenever I would hitchhike through the south, everyone who picked me up would offer me a drink. And if I refused the mood changed and the ride got shorter. They really took offense to it. It wasn't even that they wanted me to get fucked up.

There were so many days where by 11:00am I'd had three or four rides, and was so drunk I had to crash in the bushes. This was also in my musician, partying like a rockstar days, so I didn't really mind most of the time. But damn! Sometimes you've had enough for a while.

My friend Ed from South Carolina explained it to me once... "Most peole in the south grew up very poor. Like dirt floors in the house poor. So they're happy that they have the little bit of wealth to buy that bottle, and the only thing that makes them happier is sharing with someone."

So yes, I am against drinking and driving. 

But I'm not dumb enough to not understand that everything in this world is multifaceted.

Back to Chris. He's been an electrician his whole life. Started illegally at sixteen. Works for one of the largest electrical companies in the country. Takes home $4,800 a week. He points out some huge buildings he's built as we're driving along. "We had two hundred and fifty electricians on that one..."

I'm taking little sips of what's left in this can. He's not hammmering it down either. Everything's running smooth. I'm stoked that in two rides I'm gonna be in Athens from Cordele. And I've only waited a total of about fifteen minutes.

We stop at a drive-through liquor store. He gets a pint of captain morgan and a coke. Nothing outrageous.

Back on the interstate. He takes a drink. Hands it to me. I take a sip. "You want some of this coke?" "Nah. I sipped hundred and fourty proof liquor straight here in the south for years."

We keep driving. He keeps talking. I keep listening. Another drink. Another sip for me. On we go...

We blow the turn off through Macon. No big deal. I've had a thousand rides where we were lost in conversation and missed a turn. We're almost to Atlanta. I plot a new route. Keep maps open so I can keep us on track. That little fuck up added another hour to the trip. 7:30. I don't want another hour of riding today.

All of a sudden dude is blind drunk. I don't mean drunk. I mean blind, fucking, drunk. We've hit rush hour. 

He's getting real close to cars when we stop. Then not moving until I say something 'cause were stopped a couple hundred feet back and traffic is moving. He's slowly weaving into other lanes on both sides of us.

At this point it's bad, but it's not that bad. Traffic is moving slow. There's plenty of space between cars. 'If he can hold it together long enough to get to the 85 I'm good. I'll get out there.

Nope. It went from bad to worse. He moves over to the fast lane. Stops behind a car. Doesn't move when that car takes off. Starts talking about. "I'm mad at this bitch." And floors it. Stops again. Only moves when I raise my voice at him. Slowly weaving back and forth between the lane next on the right of us and the emergency lane.

"I'm fuckin' mad at you too.", he slurs. I raise my voice again. "What the fuck are you mad at me for! We were friends a minute ago!" "I'm sorry. I'm sorry.", he slurs.

At this point I had two thoughts... 'I'm not sure I can take this guy if shit goes south.', and 'I gotta get the fuck out of this truck, hopefully with my gear.'

BAM!!!!! He hits the center divider. We go up it almost to the top. He barely recovers. Stops in the emergency lane which is only half a lane, so we're half in the fast lane. Not good bro. Not fucking good at all.

Gloves off. "What the fuck are you doing!!!" "I'm sorry I'm sorry", he mumbles. "We gotto get the fuck over!!! You're way too fucked up to drive!!!" "Ok. Ok. Can we go now?"

I look, but I can't see much of what's behind us. Plus I'm in survival mode and just waiting for the crash when we get hit. I know it's coming.

"Yeah!" He eases over through four lanes of traffic real slow. Looking back, I'm pretty sure everybody behind us saw what happened and stopped. No cars passed us as we moved to the side of the road.

We stop. "Shut the truck off." "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I grab my phone, hoody, and water and bail out. Put my stuff on the other side of the guard rail and haul ass into the back of his truck ro grab my pack while checking my pockets to make sure I have everything.

Up on the back bumper, reach in and yank my pack out. Step down. Put my pack on the other side of the gaurd rail. Up to the passenger's door. Yank it open.

"You need to quit driving!!! Your way too fucked up and you're gonna kill yourself or somebody else!!!" I've been yelling. I'm almost screaming at him by this point. Drill sergeants would've probably shit themselves if they heard me. I'm madder than a kicked bee hive.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry." "Stay off the fucking road!!!" I shut the door. Hop the gaurd rail. Gear up. I hop the gaurd rail again and snap a picture of his truck, and one of his plate up close. Back over the gaurd rail.

'Now I gotta figure out where the fuck I am and where the fuck I'm going.'

I walk about fifty feet into some shade. We're right next to an offramp. 'Yeah, I gotta do it. I can't have him killing somebody out there." He's still stopped. Pull my phone out. Dial 911. Nothing. No ringing. Nothing. I hang up and call again. Still nothing. 'Weird. Well, fuck it we'll let fate decide.'

I look around... 'Is that a bus station?' Start walking down the ramp. 'It is a bus station! Sweet!' It's the only place you can go coming down this ramp. 'That's pretty lucky.' Through the parking lot. Over to the ticket machines.

I kept my Marta card when I came through here a month ago. Tap the machine. Load a trip. Figure out what I gotta do to get to the 85 and as far out of town as I can. Have a smoke. I need one at this point.

Didn't have much time to plan since the train I needed was leaving in six minutes. Through the gates. Downstairs. Check the sign. On the train.

'What a fuckin' ride! What the fuck was that?!'

A train and three busses later I'm near the 85 in Gwynnett. The busses have been late. I missed the last one , but saw that the second one would drop me where I was going. I'm on the last runs of the night.

It's 10:30pm. I'm  beat and hungry. I hit a huge Asian, South American, and a few other countries grocery store. I've got forty-five minutes before they close. I just want something I can grab and go.

Pack in a cart. All the stuff you can grab is gone for the night. "Excuse me sir. Can you take your pack up front?" "Yeah, of course." Pack and cart dropped with a security gaurd. I csn carry what I'm gonna buy.' And I'm not pulling that pack out if I don't have to. A smile and a thumbs up from the security gaurd.

All I could find was some pound cake. I wasn't in a real experimental food mood after four days in a hospital. Grabbed an orange juice and headed for the register. 'Is that rice pudding? Aaaw yeah! I love that stuff.' Grabbed one.

Through the line. Retrieved my cart with my gear in it with a thank you to the security gaurd. Head for the door.

There's rows of shoping carts blocking the doors. Just enough space to get out the door. Gear up. Cart pushed into the outside row. Lots of people from other countries. All seem happy to see a traveler. 

Maps.

There's nowhere to camp. I'm in concrete jungle. I see a park a block up next to the 85. It looks like there's some trees in one corner I can easily get into and out of sight. Cross the parking lot. Up the street.

Hit the park in short order. Go in the closest entrance. More like up a small hill between the bushes.

'Oh. This is a cemetary. It's been a long time since I slept in a cemetary.' Back out. Up the sidewalk to the 85 onramp.

Where the wall ended and the fence started there's a couple feet I can walk through. Head past the mausoleum toward the trees I saw earlier. I see a couple grave stones up ahead. 'I'm not fucking with that. I'm not here to be disrespectful.' Back to the mausoleum. It's the only spot giving any cover.

Gear down. Walk around checking sight lines. Find a flat spot. 'Gonna have to get out of here real early.' Tent up.

'What the fuck? Is this grass growing on concrete?' I couldn't push the stakes in more than about half an inch. Angled them almost level with the ground. 'Close enough.'

Rainfly stayed off. Too hot still. Gear in. Me in. 'At least it drier up here.' Cigarette. Earbuds in. Old Mission Impossible playing on my phone. 'Im not feeling the weed tonight.'

Some rice pudding, orange juice, and a couple big slices of pound cake. 

Twenty minutes later... 'Can't sleep.' Weed vape.

I couldn't tell you when I passed out, but it was quick.

I Guess I'll Have to Add a Third Crazy Hitchhiking Story to My Collection...