Last night I slept under a bridge, the first time in my life. Myself and seven others walked over twenty grueling miles yesterday only to discover that we had arrived at Scissors Crossing too late to make a hitch to Julian. We were windswept and exhausted, and when we saw rain looming on the horizon, we decided to head down a shallow hill to camp under a bridge. As for the bridges, it was quite nice!
It was already morning and I had fallen asleep. The rest of the group had already packed their bags and encountered their own problems. I was hungry, lonely and desperate for a hot breakfast. I stood on the side of the road with my thumb out doing my best to look friendly. My cheesy smile must have worked, because a dark face The truck slowed down and stopped next to me despite my ragged appearance.
“Do you need a ride into town?” a small, tanned man asked through the open window. His ponytail stuck out from under the back of his trucker cap and he wore a thin mustache under wraparound sunglasses.
«Yes, that would be great, I’m dying for breakfast. Thank you very much!» I said.
He jumped out of his truck and walked back to open the tailgate for me. The bed was full of power tools and trash. I put a couple of things aside and threw in my backpack and trekking poles.
«I’m Nick,» I said, extending a hand.
“Jerry,” he responded, shaking my outstretched hand.
We got into the taxi and continued towards the city.
It was Monday and I was very lucky, Jerry explained, because I normally didn’t feel like working on Mondays. However, today he decided to go to work because he had seven children at home and a double-wide trailer that he needed to pay for. It was on this morning drive that he saw me standing on the side of the road looking haggard and hungry.
Jerry told me a little about his life on the way into town. He told me he moved from San Diego to the nearby mountains to find a cheaper, quieter lifestyle. I told him about my youth in Missouri and how I fell in love with the mountains of Colorado. It was clear that we had big differences, but we got along well enough at least for the entire car trip.
«See that place there?» Jerry asked as we passed a small campsite. «That’s Todd’s place. Poor Todd, something’s wrong with him. He’s seeing demons and shit these days. I used to have drinks with him every Friday, but not anymore.»
«What do you mean ‘seeing demons’? What happened?» I asked.
«Well, he was just doing the easy stuff, like weed, microdosing, and some meth sometimes. But he got into that fentanyl shit and I don’t know, man, he changed. People want to help him, but he’s gotta calm down first.»
«Oh, shit… Well, damn, I hope I can figure it out,» I said, not really knowing what else to say. I was wondering how anyone could consider meth «easy shit.»
The taxi was silent for a while as we approached the edge of town. Jerry asked, «Do you mind if I drop you off at the gas station? I need to smoke some cigarettes.» I looked down and saw two unopened packages of menthols in the center console.
«Sure, of course, thanks again for the ride, man. I really appreciate it.»
«Hey, you’re welcome… You know, I cut some wood for my friend the other day. It was just two cuts and he paid me with this.» Jerry held up a small glass jar filled with marijuana seeds. «You can have a bud to take with you on your hike.»
«Oh, thank you! But no, thank you, I can’t accept it.»
Jerry looked at me as we slowed to a stop in the gas station parking lot. «Why not?»
«Well, you’re already doing me a favor by taking me and I’m trying not to smoke so much these days,» I said, looking back at him.
It was true. He had a history of relying too much on marijuana when life got tough and he wanted to change that history. I liked marijuana, maybe even loved it, but I couldn’t seem to achieve a healthy balance with it. I wanted to change that.
After a pause, he asked again «oh, but why not? I don’t care.»
«Well, I’m not smoking much these days, that’s all. I really appreciate the offer, but I’m fine.»
«Oh, but for a real man, you can have some, I don’t mind.»
I paused for a second. I didn’t really understand it, or chose not to understand it. Maybe this was the universe testing me, or maybe telling me that it was okay to smoke after all, or maybe it was a test of willpower where I hold marijuana and actively choose not to smoke it. Yeah, it could have been some cosmic message for me to interpret and deliberate, or maybe it was just a guy named Jerry offering me drugs. Whatever the final meaning was, ultimately, I just didn’t want to be rude. After all, I grew up in the Midwest. «…uhh. Okay, sure, if you’re sure,» I smiled.
«Yeah man, let me wrap it in cellophane.» Jerry unwrapped the opened cigarette pack on the dashboard and dropped a small green nugget into it, closed the lid and handed it to me.
«Thank you. I’ll save it for a special occasion,» I said, and felt the intent of that statement sink deep inside me as the words hung in the air.
«That’s some good shit, man. He grows it in his backyard. Shit, everyone around here grows it.»
«Oh, sweet.»
We shook hands again in the gas station parking lot and parted ways. Jerry came in to buy more cigarettes and I stared at the small piece of plastic in his hand. I stood there for a few seconds wondering if I should follow him inside to buy some rolling papers when the rumble of my stomach reminded me that I was starving. I put the wad in my pocket and kept walking looking for breakfast. Friends I camped with under the bridge the night before told me that a store in town called Mom’s gave PCT hikers a free slice of pie. Maybe I would look for them there.
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