It is common that the desert day doesn't so much transform as it does disappear into night. I was sitting on my curb, looking to the horizon for the improbable car, decided to lie back and close my eyes for maybe seven minutes, and when I rose again night had set. Not much changed from pre- to post-sunset except the amount of light; it was still hot, dry, and empty. Still desert, still bearable, still alone and waiting at what must be one of the 5 worst hitch hiking spots along I-40. So, resigned to stay the night and persevere by foot tomorrow, I lied back and allowed myself to find comfort in a state of half-sleep, waking at every chance of a ride. Finally it came: a two-manned minivan filled with stuff (supposedly groceries). The twosome navigating this vehicle asked me where I was headed and said they'd take me a few miles down the road, to Newberry Springs, where I could wait at the 24-hour Chevron. It being dark, I was already a bit hesitant/suspicious, and these were certainly not city people, just a couple desert rats who loved to hoard stuff and move around to all the delightful towns between Victorville, CA and Wickenburg, AZ. And, of course, being packrats, they did not have seats in the minivan; I instead held the sliding door handle and situated myself between my backpack and the dog(?)food bag, being careful not to "step on [his] groceries" as I had been warned upon entering the van. So we traveled up the I-40, the passenger engaged in constant (and usually unintelligible) conversation, sometimes with me, sometimes with the driver, and always with himself. Regardless of whether or not I understand I pretty much just laughed and agreed, always conscious of the proximity of my knife to my hand. Ya know, just in case. This was probably around 9, definitely after 8:00pm, and they dropped me off at the Chevron, pleasant as could be and talking about paying it forward. Yes, like the movie. So I got out, scoped the vicinity, asked the station clerk if I could charge my phone, to which he slyly replied "yes, outside." Whatever that meant--obviously there were no outlets outside. Anyway, the clerks weren't too thrilled with my presence, but much less happy with some old lady also trying to hitch a ride into Arizona, so I kept quiet and told them I was waiting for someone, which was far from a lie. A few cars came through, all looking local, and within a half-hour (guessing) a truck pulled along the street and a trucker got out to make a quick stop. He looked exceedingly sane, so I asked him if he had a ride East, upon which he asked if I was "clean." Meaning drugs, not dirt, sweat, filth, & grime, so I assured him that I was. I threw my bag in the trailer, hopped in, and made myself comfortable. He said he was going to Kingman, AZ tonight and I said that would be great, then made sure to keep the conversation flowing so as to warrant an invitation to what I presumed would be the second stage of his journey. Lo and behold, he told me he was on his way to Atlanta, GA and that he would not only gladly take me to Burque, but would allow me to sleep on the upper cot in the cab if I so pleased. At first I said I'd try my luck outside, but then acquiesced, thinking a guaranteed ride with what by all markers seemed a trustworthy human would be better than rolling the dice again. Plus a bed. Oh yeah, almost forgot the Rossi bike. In addition to this parked pic, I saw it ridden at two separate times during my infinitely-too-long stay in Norco.
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