Read more voyages in the Reader: bike ride to Milwaukee aborted, hitching with CBers, quest for San Diego River source, Dad and I in La Paz, who rides the Greyhound, …
Read more voyages in the Reader: trek with trail wizard Jerry Schad, San Dieguito River hike from Volcan Mountain to Del Mar, bike ride from San Diego to Minnesota, Amtrak …
Henry left this morning. He hooked up with a fellow we met on the morning radio net who was looking for a little company on his drive to La Paz. He’ll bring the truck back tonight.
Pete tells Wayne about survival food, the bazooka. Wayne rubs his brow with an Amtrak napkin. Pete says that one night, in Detroit, when he’d smoked too much crack— ‘‘You guys know crack?” he asks and we nod obediently.
The smartest hitchhiker I heard about was a guy who hitched carrying his belongings in a gas can with the bottom cut out. Drivers who will never pick up a hitchhiker will stop for a motorist out of gas.
“I’d like to help you, but I can’t. It’s against company policy to allow uninvited visitors on the grounds. People come here for privacy, you know ...” “I was thinking maybe you could invite us."
“Once I rode 120 miles to Calexico from San Diego.” I didn’t elaborate about the Calexico ride. If I had, I would have admitted that it occurred fourteen years ago and had so exhausted me that I returned by bus the next day.
I made my bed in the lee of a stout little juniper, but Schad, fond of wind and rain and discomfort,made his on the crest. Then we huddled together to cook noodles and tuna, with a Kahlúa chaser.
The modern-day El Camino Real picks up about a half-mile to the west, climbs the bluff, and continues across Encinitas Boulevard to La Costa. But a more obvious route lay directly ahead, along Rancho Santa Fe Road.
Orville Cummings, owner of the 9000-acre San Felipe Ranch at the bottom of the Banner Grade east of Julian: “The backpackers would camp right at the windmill and keep the cattle away from the water.”
On weekends, he said, when ships are in and the military has leaves, “lines for the L.A. bus — which leaves hourly — stretch out from the ticket counter onto the sidewalk on Broadway.
They hadn’t slept since Saturday night, and kept nodding off. The lights on shore assured them they were still near land, but they had no idea how close to San Diego they were. They kept on sailing.