Off To the Road 4: On the Road

They sent Bob's body to his parents in Fargo. He had grown up on a farm; but his parents had moved to Fargo when Bob was in high school.

"Aha," thought Rocky, "Bob was a DUDE, living in town and all."

Still feeling down, thinking about the 'dude' was just an attempt to lighten up his mood. He was no longer a boy.

Jake just could not take being there at all anymore. He did go out into the field the next day but was just gone the morning after that. The son and daughter did not eat with the men after that. He didn't see the son at all and saw the daughter only once, from a distance.

The next few days Rocky was in the field, going back and forth, forth and back, day after day, hour after hour, minute after minute. On Saturday, it started to rain, so they got off a little early. On Monday, it still raining, they had to clean out the pig and horse barns, since the fields were too muddy to work. On Tuesday, it still raining, he had to change oil on all the self-propelled combines.

Still raining on Wednesday, the farmer said, "Well, there is a bin of flax clumping up against the walls in the elevator and won't come down. Since you can't go out into the field, you might just as well go up there and knock'm loose. Just be careful you don't get buried under that flax."

Inside the grain elevator was a pull elevator that could take someone to the top. It was just large enough for one person to ride. One moved the elevator by pulling a rope raising the platform a little with each pull. There was a lock on the elevator, but releasing the lock and the rope at the same time would cause the elevator to descend at a controlled rate. If that happened up at the top, with no one on board, one would have to use the ladder that was right by the elevator; but it was a long way down.

He went down into the bin, twenty five feet down. He knocked on the flax built up on the walls, causing flax to cascade all about him, releasing so much dust in the air he could hardly see at times. He kept doing this for about six hours until there was no flax stuck to the walls above the surface of the flax in the bin. The next day his lungs were burning. He could barely breath; he could not work; in fact, he could barely walk. He did not do anything on Thursday nor Friday except doze on and off in his bunk.

Saturday morning he was assigned to mow the lawn around the house. That afternoon he got paid as usual, but the farmer said, "You were sick for a day and a half. I should dock you for that; but I'll pay you anyway; I'm not sure why."

This angered him.

That afternoon he just pored over his maps again. He decided to go see California. He would go through Montana, Idaho, Washington, Oregon, and then on down to San Francisco, maybe even as far as Los Angeles. He was alone for a bit in the evening; so he put his clothes and things into his new suitcase, then putting the suitcase back under his bed.

All evening, he was as quiet as a door mouse. All evening, he was as busy as a dog trying to dig up an old carcass. All evening, he was angry as a paper bag full of bees, about the farmer's comment, making plans, thinking of different cities he would see.

In the middle of the night, he left, walking out to highway 10, hitchhiking West. Since this was in the days before the interstate highways, he went through the middle of all the towns along the way; Jamestown, Cleveland, Medina, Dawson, Steel, Sterling, Bismarck, Mandan, New Salem, Glen Ullin, Richardson, Gladstone, Belfield, and in the midst of the Badlands, Theodore Roosevelt's stomping grounds, Medora, and finally Beach, just before the Montana border. Most of the rides he got was from one city to the next. The longest ride being from Cleveland to Sterling, a woman with five kids was driving and said she needed a sanity check after putting up with all the kids, driving from Minneapolis to her parent's farm.

"My husband had to go on an overseas business trip for a month or so, and I decided to take the kids to see their grandparents, my parents, on their farm in Sterling," she said, "Where are you going?"

"I'm off to 'Cal-er-forn-i-a'", he said with an exaggerated tone.

"Oh, Lucky you. We lived out there when we first got married. Then came back to Minneapolis just cause it was a bit closer to home."

"We lived in the Cities for a while when my dad got out of the Navy right after the war. I was just two or three then, so I don't remember it at all. Then we moved to a farm in central Minnesota."

Most of the time, the driver was just some farmer going into town, often telling stories about when he was in the service during the war, They would hitchhike - "But it was different in those days," they often would say, or something to that effect, "people watched out more for each other."

One farmer warned, "Invisible motives make visible actions; You've got to watch out for yourself; ALWAYS."

He ate in Mandan, bringing his cash down to thirty five dollars. In Beach, it was just getting dark. He got picked up before sunset and went to Round Up Montana. There was a bar next to the highway, with loud music coming from it; he was too young to legally drink; but he went in any way, ordering a hamburger. People in definitely western garb filled the bar. Every one was wearing boots and jeans; some having plain work shirts on, some having fancy western shirts on, many wearing cowboy hats. Across the street was a corral with loading ramps next to the railroad tracks.

After eating, he crossed the highway to have a closer look. Next to the corral were stacks of hay and straw bales. He crawled up on one of the stacks, snuggling between the bales on top, falling asleep in no time. The next morning, the sun shining bright, he was going to cross the highway to go get something to eat, when a car approached. He put his thumb out. The car stopped to pick him up. That day was much like the day before, going mile after mile on highway 10, going though towns not remembering their names, crossing prairies and over hills; the hills getting higher as Rocky went west. That night he just slept in the cars as he rode.

In the morning, they came over a pass, and there was Missoula lying in a bowl-shaped valley, the hazy fog sitting at an angle, the sun shining off it like some sparkling fairy tale city. When getting into Idaho, he thought Lake Coeur d'Alene was the most beautiful lake he ever saw, though it did remind him of Lake Koronis by Paynesville, Minnesota, having seen that lake one-fourth of July, though no reflections of the mountains could be seen on Lake Koronis.

The sun was high, the sky clear, the temperature being over 100 degrees by the time he got to Spokane, Washington.

"I live near the Palisades Park," the driver said, "so I'll drop you off near there."

He rested in the park for a while, then started walking North on Trails Road to Sunset Boulevard. There were women pushing baby carriages going by. The sun was beating down. He was in good shape, but the heat was getting to him. He rested several times before getting back to the highway. Some guy on a motorcycle picked him up, taking off with a roar.

Down the road about twenty miles, he was dropped off. Discovering he was on the road to Seattle, wanting to be on the road to Portland, Oregon, he returned to Spokane. When he got to Portland, he wondered around for a while, exploring the city. He stayed overnight at the downtown Portland YMCA. There was a giant sized chess game there for tournament playing, with bleachers around it. He ate breakfast there. When he sat down, he took off his jean jacket that had a letter on it that he had gotten from playing football in high school, putting the jacket on the back of his chair.

Walking toward US99 going through Portland, he went by a store front with the sign: ASTRLOGAMAGE.

"What is that," he wondered.

He must have wondered it allowed, because a passer by said, "He's a wizard."

Tempted to go in, he decided, "No he'd better just keep going for now, after seeing the giant sized chess game, it was enough sight seeing for one place."

He got back out on the highway. Getting into a car that had stopped for him, he remembered that he had left his jacket at the YMCA. The car that had stopped for him took him to Eugene. A whole family with about five kids were in the car. When they got to Eugene, the kids clamored, "Let's go to the peak; Let's go to the peak." They took him up to a lookout over the city, and broke out a lunch, offering Rocky to join them. He did, thanking them for their generosity. The city sprawling, crawling into the distance below them was a spectacular backdrop to their lunch. Afterwards, they dropped him off on US99 on the south side of town.

A couple young guys picked him up just outside Eugene. They were on their way to a golf tournament in southern Oregon. He didn't know anything about golf, but the oldest one hired Rocky to Caddie. After nine rounds, they said they were going to try to pick up some girls, did he want to come along? He decided he had better keep going, so they dropped him off downtown, near a bus station. Having a few extra dollars, given to him for caddying, he checked to see how much a ticket to Crescent City was. The ticket was seven dollars. He decided to get a ticket. The bus left, just as it was getting dark. He slept on the bus but woke up with a sudden bump and a crashing sound. The bus had gone around a hair pin curve too close, sideswiping a mountain. The bus driver stopped, checked the damage, and continued on his way, saying, "Nothing bad happened folks, just settle down and relax."

"Relax?" Rocky thought, "I wonder if they will be able to get my suitcase out of the luggage compartment," the hatch to that compartment being on the side of the bus that had hit the mountain.

He got to Crescent City, California late in the afternoon, his suitcase being successfully retrieved; he went down to see the sea. There was a freighter out a few miles going south, this being he first ship he had ever seen. Walking down the street, going around a corner, he saw another ship, a Navy ship tied up at a pier. He could not get close to it, the ship being behind a chain link fence about a quarter mile from the water's edge. Walking further, seeing many small boats in the harbor, he wondered how anyone could afford to own one of those. Even though he had no idea what the cost was, and would have been shocked to know.

He had now seen the ocean and was now excited to continue to San Francisco.