Wanderlust

W A T E R

Survival hinged on those five simple letters inked with black magic marker, in bold block print, on a shard of cardboard torn from a beer box . Recycled twist ties from dumpster diving behind a forgotten bakery were looped through the top of the advertisement, attaching it to the back of his backpack. West Texas gusty winds fanned the sign like mud flaps on semi trucks as the thirsty man trudged forward along the dusty shoulder of Interstate 10.

Has it been 20? 30? 40 miles since I spoke to someone?

Hopeless, he abandoned sticking his thumb in the air--hitchhiking would not be his escape from the dry and windy landscape that he imagined was a moonscape. Heavy blasts of wind from passing big rigs made him sidestep as he focused down on his holey shoes, concentrating on putting one in front of the other. Fine grit sifted through his dirty socks and he ignored the sandpaper effect on his toes. He shook his empty water bottles, wishfully thinking that somehow water had condensed inside.  No such luck.  His mouth was bone dry and his throat was parched. 

What is up with this state?  I always get rides by hitchhiking and no one has even slowed down since entering this God forsaken state!

Suddenly, brake lights flashed.  Hopes skyrocketed!  The car eased to the shoulder, but far ahead. With exuberant excitement, he quickly shuffled his shoes. The passenger side door opened.  A small dust cloud encased his rapidly pitter-pattering feet. An arm reached out and he was perplexed. 

What's in their hand?

His high speed pursuit ebbed as the car door shut and the driver took off. Squinting hard in the mid afternoon sun, he strained to see what was set out on the shoulder. Between heat waves that made the air watery, he saw two plastic water bottles.

"And that was my experience in Texas, " said Howard. "No one ever gave me a ride and I bet I walked 400 miles across I-10.  But, the infrequent water bottles left beside the road kept me alive," he added through a frosted beard. The Colorado snows had him bundled up as he shared his story.

"I had been making good money as a HVAC technician in Georgia.  I was top performer...but then something happened.  I don't even know, but my boss told me I had slipped to the bottom and it got worse.  He had to fire me and anxiety set in.  I might have a mental illness, but wandering around the nation calms me.  See that bedroll there on top my backpack?  It has over 16,000 miles on it.  My favorite stop was Mammoth Springs in California. People there were nice and accommodating. And, just so you know, I don't drink or do drugs...don't need'em."

Howard explained a court date had him temporarily stuck for a few more weeks.  He planned on taking care of it and I asked his travel plans after court..

"Well," he said with his southern Georgia accent, "I'm not sure.  But, it doesn't matter. I'm content out here being a modern day vagabond."

There's something to say about a free spirit who does not stress about drops in the stock market or the price of gas or even care about the interest rate. He had virtually no responsibilities other than simply surviving that had periodically been challenging. Oftentimes, I quizzically wonder about such a lifestyle. 

Heading out on a journey to see the Northern Lights in such a manner would be quite the experience.  Cars, planes and boats would be forbidden since such transportation would be too luxurious.  Plus, I want to go far, really far.  I want to venture to the point that the dancing Aurora Borealis is not way off in the distance on the horizon. Instead, I want it directly above me. I want to be absorbed into the colorful vapor ballet as if they are performing just for little ol' me.

"Good luck to you," I said while shaking his hand. "I found you very intriguing.  Deep down, I think I have the wanderlust bug similar to you, but it is suppressed for the time being..."