My Hitch-hiking Journey from California to Massachusetts in May of 1971
On May 10th, 1971 I stuck out my thumb at Green River Junction in Riverside County, California and bade farewell to my best friend Kevin, passing up three rides at the forked on-ramp headed back toward Orange County from whence I came. The fourth ride took me as far as Corona, and I was on my way East. I traveled with back-pack, sleeping bag, and an autoharp. By nightfall I was standing in Barstow, with several other wanderers doing the same as me; hitch-hiking.
Dawn broke the next day over the Painted Desert in Arizona, and my ride passed through snow covered mountains in Flagstaff, and into Albequerque, New Mexico. Then I went to Roswell, stayed a couple of nights in Artesia, and hitched into Lubbock, Texas where I boarded a Greyhound bus (as thumbing would land you in jail if caught doing so in the Lone Star State), taking it as far as Erick, Oklahoma as it is just over the state line. It was midnight, so I asked the Night Watchman at the local Sheriff's office if I could sleep in the jail until morning. He said yes, locked me up for the night, and the Sheriff then came to release me when it was daylight; no charges filed.
I stuck out my thumb on the highway and was given a long ride all the way into Virginia next. After hitching my way around the DC beltway and by-passing Baltimore, I stayed up all night drinking coffee at a 24-hour diner in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania and fell asleep on a traffic island near Harrisburg the next morning. I walked along railroad tracks in Chambersburg, and eventually hooked a ride toward Binghamton, New York. I crashed for a couple of days in Gloversville and then crossed into Massachusetts. At a Howard Johnson restaurant, I met a couple who had an organic farm in Williamsburg, and they let me stay for the night on the living room floor before I caught a ride that brought me into Chatham on Cape Cod.
There was introduced to a fisherman and his wife, with whom I stayed for a month or so, and then I landed a job at a barrel and box factory in East Harwich. I celebrated by new-found employment by drinking a bit too much red wine so I fell out the back end of a Jeep near Chatham Light, where a policeman found me. He tried to drive me home, but I couldn't describe how to get to it. So, I was put in jail (the "drunk tank") and had to sign a statement admitting that I was intoxicated in public before being released.
In June, I joined The Fisherman's Players of Cape Cod in North Eastham for the Summer season. The first play they performed was The Night Thoreau Spent in Jail. In September I went to the Orleans Arena Theatre to work with the director of that show to start a Winter program there, but nothing came of it. So, that is when I decided to take the Steamship Authority ferry to Nantucket Island; my intended destination when I put out my thumb at Green River Junction in California. It was October 4th, 1971 and I stepped off the boat at Steamboat Wharf with a large black wooden box atop my shoulders, and walked up to "The Little Crooked House on Broad Street" to rent a room on the 3rd floor for a mere $50.00 per month.
I was inspired to travel over 3000 miles across the continental United States, in reverse direction to that taken by settlers from the original 13 colonies after independence from Great Britain in 1776, by a picture post card of Nantucket's cobblestone Main Street that was sent to me by my grandmother while visiting her friend in 'Sconset on the island. This was just the beginning of my adventure!
Dawn broke the next day over the Painted Desert in Arizona, and my ride passed through snow covered mountains in Flagstaff, and into Albequerque, New Mexico. Then I went to Roswell, stayed a couple of nights in Artesia, and hitched into Lubbock, Texas where I boarded a Greyhound bus (as thumbing would land you in jail if caught doing so in the Lone Star State), taking it as far as Erick, Oklahoma as it is just over the state line. It was midnight, so I asked the Night Watchman at the local Sheriff's office if I could sleep in the jail until morning. He said yes, locked me up for the night, and the Sheriff then came to release me when it was daylight; no charges filed.
I stuck out my thumb on the highway and was given a long ride all the way into Virginia next. After hitching my way around the DC beltway and by-passing Baltimore, I stayed up all night drinking coffee at a 24-hour diner in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania and fell asleep on a traffic island near Harrisburg the next morning. I walked along railroad tracks in Chambersburg, and eventually hooked a ride toward Binghamton, New York. I crashed for a couple of days in Gloversville and then crossed into Massachusetts. At a Howard Johnson restaurant, I met a couple who had an organic farm in Williamsburg, and they let me stay for the night on the living room floor before I caught a ride that brought me into Chatham on Cape Cod.
There was introduced to a fisherman and his wife, with whom I stayed for a month or so, and then I landed a job at a barrel and box factory in East Harwich. I celebrated by new-found employment by drinking a bit too much red wine so I fell out the back end of a Jeep near Chatham Light, where a policeman found me. He tried to drive me home, but I couldn't describe how to get to it. So, I was put in jail (the "drunk tank") and had to sign a statement admitting that I was intoxicated in public before being released.
In June, I joined The Fisherman's Players of Cape Cod in North Eastham for the Summer season. The first play they performed was The Night Thoreau Spent in Jail. In September I went to the Orleans Arena Theatre to work with the director of that show to start a Winter program there, but nothing came of it. So, that is when I decided to take the Steamship Authority ferry to Nantucket Island; my intended destination when I put out my thumb at Green River Junction in California. It was October 4th, 1971 and I stepped off the boat at Steamboat Wharf with a large black wooden box atop my shoulders, and walked up to "The Little Crooked House on Broad Street" to rent a room on the 3rd floor for a mere $50.00 per month.
I was inspired to travel over 3000 miles across the continental United States, in reverse direction to that taken by settlers from the original 13 colonies after independence from Great Britain in 1776, by a picture post card of Nantucket's cobblestone Main Street that was sent to me by my grandmother while visiting her friend in 'Sconset on the island. This was just the beginning of my adventure!
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