I sat on the guardrail, beside the westbound ramp to Interstate 84, for almost five hours, yesterday. And as car after truck after big truck passed by me, I got colder and colder and colder.
I finally pulled out some hand-hotties that Lisa had given to me, shook them up and stuffed them in my mittens and in my shoes. They really made a difference. Then I covered my legs with my raincoat and pulled my hood over the knit hat on my head.
The sun dropped lower in the sky and I wondered if I would ever get a ride out of Ontario, Oregon.
And then I did.
A young man in a sporty red car, from Washington State, pulled over and picked me up.
He works for a high-profile company in Washington.
As we traveled down the road, we talked about God, the End Times and, of course, Troy Fisher.
He has heard about the case and he has the same opinion that I do: Troy Fisher is guilty.
And if anyone knows about computers, it is this man who picked me up.
In the end, he took me to a very nice hotel and bought me dinner. He headed back on the road toward Seattle and I padded down to my room, munching on homemade cookies.
I will get back on the road, today.
Yes, you're right: I haven't told you everything.