Monday, January 29, 2007

My January Journey V

When I got to the small city of Raton...just over the New Mexico border...I stood for hours and never got a ride. I couldn't figure out why.

After I wandered into a hospital with trembling hands and a very red face, I was told about the "gun-toting hitchhiker."

"Well" I said, when I was warmed-up enough to talk again, "I'm a fifty-one-year-old hitchhiker without so much as a jackknife."

Two people from the hospital drove me over to the local convenience store where I ate and drank coffee until the sun rose again.

During that time, five cops from various jurisdictions came in and got their nightly refill of java and donuts.

We discussed the bad hitchhiker and they all promised me that I would get a ride out in the morning.

Whatever that meant.

When the sun rose, I walked up to the interstate and got a ride from a preacher's kid. He dropped me off in a town called Las Vegas, New Mexico.

I waved goodbye to him and then noticed the big red and white sign that said: "Correctional area. Don't pick up hitchhikers."

I stopped and my shoulders slumped. I considered crying.

Then, right on cue, a man in a white pickup truck drove past me, stopped and then began to back up...

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