THUMBS

CHAPTER ONE

 
I was cold and hungry, and my feet were already starting to hurt. Other than that, it was a perfect day. At least it wasn't raining; that was the worst, or one of the worst things that could happen when you were riding your thumb. I had left Portland only this morning, but instead of doing the smart thing and taking the Interstate, I had opted for the coast highway. The price was short rides and long walks. But I had no reason to hurry back to Texas—or anywhere else for that matter.

 
The highway followed the ragged edge of the Oregon coastline leaving little room on the southbound shoulder for walking. With the logging trucks flying by ten feet away, it took a certain amount of courage to turn and face them. I already knew I was more likely to get a face full of dirt and tree bark than a ride. These guys weren't about to stop for anyone. On the west side of the shoulder was the Pacific Ocean, held in check by a post and cable barrier. The morning tide roared like a factory and sent a cold mist floating across the highway and me. It had a pleasant salty smell, although on occasion there was the stench of dead fish or rotting kelp. My clothes felt heavy from the mist and clung to me in the most awkward places. The dirt just off the black top had already covered my shoes and was slowly working its way up my pant legs. From the look of things, the longer it took to catch a ride, the worse my chances got.

 
I hadn't spent a lot of time considering the problems of thumbing the coast highway. Sure, it was pretty, and why wouldn't it be? There was nobody around to mess it up. There was nobody around to give me a ride either. The few nobodies that were around were locals, and they weren't going anywhere. It never occurred to me that the people that built this highway didn't build it to go from Portland to L.A. They built it to go from Coots Bay to Pine Point and Pine Point to Gold Coast and so on. My longest ride so far had been thirty miles. I had already walked half that far.
I was starting to notice another thumbing phenomenon; people who pick up hitchhikers drive fast, so you pass all the people who didn't pick you up in the first place, and they get another chance not to pick you up again. I kept seeing the same people over and over; they even started to wave.

But my biggest problem with thumbing is being forced to accept rides from a bunch of strangers. Talking strangers. It's surprising how much they want to tell you about themselves, or friends, or relatives. It starts out as nervous chatter, and before you know it, you're listening to stuff most people would never admit to even thinking about. How a conversation could swing from the weather to the size of some waitress' boobs in less than five miles of driving was amazing. At one moment I was judging a liar's contest, and the next I was holding a confession. I guess I have a friendly face.