In August and September 1972, my friend Bruce and I went on a two-week cross country trip from Cleveland to the west coast and back. We traveled by thumb, which is to say that we hitchhiked our way one ride at a time. Click HERE to read a short introduction about our fantastic journey. You will also find links to Part I and Part II of my story.
This is the third and final part. It starts where Part II ended - on the side of the road in Bakersfield, California.
This is the third and final part. It starts where Part II ended - on the side of the road in Bakersfield, California.
We left Grand Canyon National Park in a VW bus - the same bus that brought us to the park the day before. Bruce and I expected the two couples we were riding to drop us in Williams, Arizona, where we would catch a ride west. Imagine our surprise, then, when we learned that they were heading to California and would drive us to Bakersfield. There they would head south and we would go north. Good fortune strikes again!
The drive to Bakersfield, about 500 miles, took the better part of that day. By early evening, we were standing on the northbound side of I-5 with our thumbs out. It was Friday of the first week of our cross-country trip.
Bats, by nature, live in colonies – sometimes small colonies, sometimes extremely large ones. Little did we know that we were standing in the flight pattern of a very large colony of bats making their way from the coast to the trees or caves they lived in. Suddenly, the sky was filled with bats – a dark moving cloud. It sent shivers down my spine. Do you remember when Indiana Jones uttered the words, “Why did it have to be snakes?” Well, bats were my snakes. I don’t know why, but they were. Fortunately, the bats stayed aloft, more intent on getting home than checking out a couple of hitchhikers by the side of the road. This photo, from the internet, dramatizes my "traumatic" experience, at least as I recall it almost 50 years later!
The drive to Bakersfield, about 500 miles, took the better part of that day. By early evening, we were standing on the northbound side of I-5 with our thumbs out. It was Friday of the first week of our cross-country trip.
Bats, by nature, live in colonies – sometimes small colonies, sometimes extremely large ones. Little did we know that we were standing in the flight pattern of a very large colony of bats making their way from the coast to the trees or caves they lived in. Suddenly, the sky was filled with bats – a dark moving cloud. It sent shivers down my spine. Do you remember when Indiana Jones uttered the words, “Why did it have to be snakes?” Well, bats were my snakes. I don’t know why, but they were. Fortunately, the bats stayed aloft, more intent on getting home than checking out a couple of hitchhikers by the side of the road. This photo, from the internet, dramatizes my "traumatic" experience, at least as I recall it almost 50 years later!
San Francisco
A salesman picked us up, and we rode with him to San Francisco, a few hundred miles northwest of Bakersfield. Along the way, he bought dinner for us – the only ride we had who treated us to a meal. We arrived in San Francisco quite late but still managed to find a youth hostel that had two beds – one dollar a night for each of us. Bruce and I forked over three dollars each (from our meager funds!), as we planned to spend the weekend in "The City by the Bay."
A salesman picked us up, and we rode with him to San Francisco, a few hundred miles northwest of Bakersfield. Along the way, he bought dinner for us – the only ride we had who treated us to a meal. We arrived in San Francisco quite late but still managed to find a youth hostel that had two beds – one dollar a night for each of us. Bruce and I forked over three dollars each (from our meager funds!), as we planned to spend the weekend in "The City by the Bay."
When the lights go down in the city
And the sun shines on the bay
Ooh, I wanna be there, yeah, in my city
~ from Lights by Journey
And the sun shines on the bay
Ooh, I wanna be there, yeah, in my city
~ from Lights by Journey
The hostel was in the general area of North Beach and Fisherman’s Wharf. Bruce and I rode the trolley or hoofed it to the places we wanted to see, and one of those places was the famously crooked Lombard Street (photo at right). Near midday we bought a loaf of crusty bread and some cheese at an outdoor market. It was our lunch and dinner that day.
We must have found a tower to climb or perhaps located a vantage point atop Nob Hill, as I snapped that panoramic photo of the bay above. If you look closely, you will see the Golden Gate Bridge in the background.
We must have found a tower to climb or perhaps located a vantage point atop Nob Hill, as I snapped that panoramic photo of the bay above. If you look closely, you will see the Golden Gate Bridge in the background.
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As we wandered the streets on Sunday, we happened on a craft fair in a park. I bought a couple of items – a small ceramic vase and leather pouch. You know what? I still have both! This is a recent photo of my treasures, which is why the quality is better that the 45+ year old pictures I took with my Kodak Instamatic camera.
We had made it to the west coast in less than a week and checked off the second of two places that were on our bucket list (the Grand Canyon was the first). It was time for us to start our journey home. But first we needed to get to Lake Tahoe, the third and last place on our list.
We had made it to the west coast in less than a week and checked off the second of two places that were on our bucket list (the Grand Canyon was the first). It was time for us to start our journey home. But first we needed to get to Lake Tahoe, the third and last place on our list.
Lake Tahoe
On Monday we headed up I-80 to Truckee, California, where CA-267 goes south to the northern end of Lake Tahoe. We covered the 200 miles to Truckee with a single ride. It was late afternoon when we stepped out of the car on the road that goes into Lake Tahoe. There was little traffic, so we decided to sleep there that night and hitch a ride in the next morning.
August had turned to September and we must have experienced a modern-day ice age, because it was exceptionally cold that night. So cold, in fact, that we shivered in our sleeping bags even though we wore all the clothes we had packed and woke to find frost on our sleeping bags!
Bruce and I caught a ride to Lake Tahoe in the morning and were dropped somewhere along Crystal Bay. We found a spot to camp that night on the side of a tree-lined hill near the lake. The weather was sunny but cool – cool enough that I had to wear a jacket, which you might make out in this photo of me.
No Kindle or cell phones – no access to the outside world – so we spent the day enjoying the scenery as we hiked a bit among the trees and relaxed by the lake, where we listened to the waves lap against the shore. In the evening we built a small campfire to heat our dinner of canned food and keep us warm. Bruce and I staked out separate places on the hill to bed down for the night. Soon after the sun went down, we put out the fire and went to sleep.
In the morning I woke to an interesting story. Bruce had slept a bit downhill from the fire, and in the middle of the night he was awakened by a sensation of extreme heat below him. That campfire we put out? Well, it wasn't; it had smoldered below ground, and then burned its way downhill to where Bruce was sleeping. "Finding" warmth from Bruce's body above, the fire had surfaced and BURNED A HOLE IN HIS SLEEPING BAG! I had a good laugh until I remembered that he had borrowed my sleeping bag. Bruce had a harrowing experience and I was out a sleeping bag. Oh well. We made sure the fire was out before we left Lake Tahoe late morning, with another good story.
Busted!
We thumbed a ride from Lake Tahoe to near Reno, and then headed west on I-80 to Winnemucca, a small town in northern Nevada. Our ride dropped us near a gas station on the west side of town. I decided to use the pay phone to call my parents – it was time to let them know I was okay and on my way home. My dad answered the phone and our conversation went something like this:
Me: Hi Dad. I wanted to let you know that I'm ok and should be home in a couple of days.
Dad: Uh huh.
Me: We’re at a gas station in Nevada filling the car with gas.
Dad: Yeah? Whose car?
Me: Oh…you know.
Dad: (silence)
Remember that Bruce's parents knew we were hitchhiking...but mine didn't? Well, sometime after Bruce and I started our journey, our parents had a chance meeting. Bruce's parents commented on how much fund we must be having as we hitchhiked across the country. BUSTED! In the end, nothing came of this. I was too old to punish, and besides, I was at college in another city.
We had one last noteworthy experience on our trip, and it happened in Winnemucca. It was late afternoon and we were standing with our thumbs out on the side of the road. A car pulled up and we could see two locals inside. The guy in the passenger seat rolled down his window and told us we would have better luck catching a ride across town. He then offered to drive us there. The problem was that this guy was clearly drunk – we could smell the alcohol on his breath and see the way he behaved. And I spotted a bow and quiver of arrows on the front seat. Not a good situation. We declined, he insisted. We declined, he insisted. We declined. He got out of the car, grabbed our gear, and tossed it onto the back seat of their car. The situation just got worse! Reluctantly, we got in. The driver, who also smelled of alcohol, drove off.
As we drove through town, the passenger – the younger of the two guys – kept saying to the driver, “Turn down here so that we can roll them”. The driver told his buddy to shut up and told us not to pay attention to him. Hard not to, though! Well, true to their word, they dropped us on the other side of town and wished us good luck. Skeptical of their intent, and somewhat fearful of the bow and arrows we saw, we decided to take turns hitchhiking – one of us at the side of the road with his thumb out, the other hiding behind nearby bushes in case we needed to run for help. Within 30 minutes, though, we caught a ride with a cowboy from Washington on his way east. Potential crisis averted, and another good story to take home!
The cowboy dropped us in Laramie, Wyoming – another 700 miles of our trip behind us. While we waited for a ride, I got artistic with small rocks on the shoulder of the highway. Pretty soon I had my masterpiece. Can you make it out in this faded photo? It was a peace sign (it was the 70s, after all!). And under the peach sign I put my initials and that day's day, 9/5/72. I doubt that my contribution to public art lasted very long!
On Monday we headed up I-80 to Truckee, California, where CA-267 goes south to the northern end of Lake Tahoe. We covered the 200 miles to Truckee with a single ride. It was late afternoon when we stepped out of the car on the road that goes into Lake Tahoe. There was little traffic, so we decided to sleep there that night and hitch a ride in the next morning.
August had turned to September and we must have experienced a modern-day ice age, because it was exceptionally cold that night. So cold, in fact, that we shivered in our sleeping bags even though we wore all the clothes we had packed and woke to find frost on our sleeping bags!
Bruce and I caught a ride to Lake Tahoe in the morning and were dropped somewhere along Crystal Bay. We found a spot to camp that night on the side of a tree-lined hill near the lake. The weather was sunny but cool – cool enough that I had to wear a jacket, which you might make out in this photo of me.
No Kindle or cell phones – no access to the outside world – so we spent the day enjoying the scenery as we hiked a bit among the trees and relaxed by the lake, where we listened to the waves lap against the shore. In the evening we built a small campfire to heat our dinner of canned food and keep us warm. Bruce and I staked out separate places on the hill to bed down for the night. Soon after the sun went down, we put out the fire and went to sleep.
In the morning I woke to an interesting story. Bruce had slept a bit downhill from the fire, and in the middle of the night he was awakened by a sensation of extreme heat below him. That campfire we put out? Well, it wasn't; it had smoldered below ground, and then burned its way downhill to where Bruce was sleeping. "Finding" warmth from Bruce's body above, the fire had surfaced and BURNED A HOLE IN HIS SLEEPING BAG! I had a good laugh until I remembered that he had borrowed my sleeping bag. Bruce had a harrowing experience and I was out a sleeping bag. Oh well. We made sure the fire was out before we left Lake Tahoe late morning, with another good story.
Busted!
We thumbed a ride from Lake Tahoe to near Reno, and then headed west on I-80 to Winnemucca, a small town in northern Nevada. Our ride dropped us near a gas station on the west side of town. I decided to use the pay phone to call my parents – it was time to let them know I was okay and on my way home. My dad answered the phone and our conversation went something like this:
Me: Hi Dad. I wanted to let you know that I'm ok and should be home in a couple of days.
Dad: Uh huh.
Me: We’re at a gas station in Nevada filling the car with gas.
Dad: Yeah? Whose car?
Me: Oh…you know.
Dad: (silence)
Remember that Bruce's parents knew we were hitchhiking...but mine didn't? Well, sometime after Bruce and I started our journey, our parents had a chance meeting. Bruce's parents commented on how much fund we must be having as we hitchhiked across the country. BUSTED! In the end, nothing came of this. I was too old to punish, and besides, I was at college in another city.
We had one last noteworthy experience on our trip, and it happened in Winnemucca. It was late afternoon and we were standing with our thumbs out on the side of the road. A car pulled up and we could see two locals inside. The guy in the passenger seat rolled down his window and told us we would have better luck catching a ride across town. He then offered to drive us there. The problem was that this guy was clearly drunk – we could smell the alcohol on his breath and see the way he behaved. And I spotted a bow and quiver of arrows on the front seat. Not a good situation. We declined, he insisted. We declined, he insisted. We declined. He got out of the car, grabbed our gear, and tossed it onto the back seat of their car. The situation just got worse! Reluctantly, we got in. The driver, who also smelled of alcohol, drove off.
As we drove through town, the passenger – the younger of the two guys – kept saying to the driver, “Turn down here so that we can roll them”. The driver told his buddy to shut up and told us not to pay attention to him. Hard not to, though! Well, true to their word, they dropped us on the other side of town and wished us good luck. Skeptical of their intent, and somewhat fearful of the bow and arrows we saw, we decided to take turns hitchhiking – one of us at the side of the road with his thumb out, the other hiding behind nearby bushes in case we needed to run for help. Within 30 minutes, though, we caught a ride with a cowboy from Washington on his way east. Potential crisis averted, and another good story to take home!
The cowboy dropped us in Laramie, Wyoming – another 700 miles of our trip behind us. While we waited for a ride, I got artistic with small rocks on the shoulder of the highway. Pretty soon I had my masterpiece. Can you make it out in this faded photo? It was a peace sign (it was the 70s, after all!). And under the peach sign I put my initials and that day's day, 9/5/72. I doubt that my contribution to public art lasted very long!
With two more rides, we reached downtown Cleveland – a semi to Chicago and a car to Cleveland, which covered the final 1,400 miles of our two-week trip. And a great trip it was, filled with a lifetime of great memories and a handful of fun stories that I’ve told over and over. And that $50 I started the trip with? I spent most of it, but still had a few dollars in my pocket when I got home. Talk about the frugal traveler!
I end my story with a sad postscript. I lost touch with Bruce after college – he went one way, I went another. Life, you know. Ten years or so ago, I Googled his name, thinking that maybe I could reconnect and reminisce about our trip. Sadly, I learned that he died in an auto accident in 2006. RIP Bruce.
I end my story with a sad postscript. I lost touch with Bruce after college – he went one way, I went another. Life, you know. Ten years or so ago, I Googled his name, thinking that maybe I could reconnect and reminisce about our trip. Sadly, I learned that he died in an auto accident in 2006. RIP Bruce.
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