On The Road Again 1 of 3

On The Road Again 1 of 3
 
Day One


It was a hard rain pounding against the windshield of the motor home, as I made my way through the semis and their loads to the diesel pumps. Thankfully, the pumps were under cover and I was able to refuel and shielded from the driving rains that were tumbling from the low-lying clouds.

I noticed her when I went inside to pay for the fuel at the desk. She appeared to be in her early twenties, and judging by the backpack and dripping poncho, she'd been hitching her way through the storm my I give you a lift yes thanks paying my bill, we turned to make a mad dash to the motor home.

This is certainly no weather to be caught out in, I remarked as we studded there waiting for a couple of rigs to move through the lane.

You've no idea how right you are, she laughingly said.

Where are you headed to?" I asked.

Eventually, to Eugene, Oregon, adding, I'm a senior this year at the University, and classes start in a few weeks.

Well, I don't make as fast a trip as the big rigs do, I said to her, But, I'm heading out to Portland to see some friends and you're welcome to share a ride with me and my motor home, if you'd like.

She looked at me a bit askance as she pondered my out-of-the-blue offer for a ride.

I'm 60 years old, widowed, and have spent the better part of this year, roaming the country, seeing friends, dealing with the loss of my wife. Another soul in the motor home would be welcomed company for the long trip that lay ahead. I've got grandchildren that are her age, so the only thing on my mind was a neighborly offer of help.

Won't your wife mind? She asked.

 My wife died last year but even if she were here, she wouldn't have minded me offering you a ride, saying to her, adding, but it's your choice.

OK, was all she replied, following my lead on the run to the motor home?

I got her gear squared away and pulled away from the pumps to a parking area. I gave her a quick run-through on how to use the toilet while I drive, the water pump, etc., making sure she was comfortable with the procedures.

We hit the road, grabbing a spot on the turnpike, for the westward journey. We were in Central New York State, not far from Utica, where she was visiting some friends at the University there.

What is your name Jenny but preferred to be called by the shortened version, Jen. She was 20, a ward of her grandparents who have raised her since her parents were killed in a plane crash when she was 4 years old. Her memories of them, were vague, her grandparents the only parental influences in her life from that point on. They didn't know that she was hitching across the country, thinking that she had caught a ride with friends both to Utica, and, for the return trip.

I held out my hand to her and said that I'd be proud to be her 'friend', laughing as I did so. She grabbed my hand, shook it, and laughingly told me that she'd be proud to have me as her friend.

In answer to her questions about the routing and time for the trip out to Oregon, I answered her in detail, explaining that we'd make about 400 to 500 miles a day, depending on the weather, traffic, etc.

It should take us about 5 or 6 days, I went on to explain.

I saw a flicker of concern cross her face and intercepted her thoughts about the overnights required.

The couch in the living area of the motor home opens up into a pull-out double bed I said to her, that's where you'll sleep.

The rest of the trip, that first day together, was all about getting into each other's head, finding out about the other.
She became very comfortable with my laid-back attitude, a left-over from my years as a drummer with various groups, some of note, most, not. We pulled into a campsite in Ohio that night, and after getting hitched up at the utilities at the site, I gave her a run-through on the motor home, its features, and its conveniences. She was particularly enthralled with my satellite system which not only provided me with TV signals but was my Internet connection, as well.

I showed her how the shower worked, and pulled the privacy curtain which separated the bath area from the living and kitchen area of the rig. She emerged, a half-hour later, looking radiant from the hot, steamy shower, her hair still wet.

I made us a quick dinner of shrimp scampi and a salad watching her devour it as if it were her last meal. No leftovers for this girl, that was for sure. We topped it off by finishing a bottle of wine, and watched a little cable news, catching up with the rest of the world, retiring around 10 that evening, each to our own bed. I had made hers up and mine, of course, was in the rear bedroom.

Coffee will be ready by seven, I said to her, and we'll pull out of the campsite by eight, saying good night to her.
Day Two


She became quite the traveling companion, getting used to the rocking motion of the motor home as I drove us down the road when she went to the fridge to get drinks, or whatever. She got her 'sea-legs' quickly.

Around two in the afternoon, I looked over at her, asleep in the other captains' chair, and reaching into my driver's compartment on the side of my seat, I found my pipe, and fired it up.

I smoke ganja, and have for years, finding it a soothing source of relaxation as I motor down the road. The aroma awakened her, and looking over, she laughed.

I've died and gone to heaven, she laughingly said. You look so straight, weed would have been way down my list of things you did.

It is for most people, except my closest friends.

Any chance, you'd share some of that with me?

Not only will I share it with you, girly, I replied, but you get the honor of preparing the next bowl.

And so she did. And so we did.

It was a happy duo that checked into the next campsite in Illinois that afternoon.

We both showered and unhooking my tow vehicle, I drove us into town and bought us a nice steak dinner. She reluctantly accepted my offer to pay for dinner, feeling uncomfortable at accepting both a ride, and in her mind, room and board.

By nutbuster