“We saw you guys walking this morning,” the driver tells us. “Looked like you needed a ride.”
The driver and his crew are Hispanic-dudes. Only the driver speaks English. They are headed back west after a day of roofing. They are blasting the song “Dancing Queen” by the band ABBA on the pickup’s CD player.
I am not sure how they feel about the 1970’s hitch hiking saying: “gas, grass, or ass…nobody rides for free,” ….but I am willing to share what weed I have.
The guy sitting next to me doesn’t speak English. I pull out the remainder of the joint I was smoking by the rail road tracks. I offer it to him in a hand gesture.
He sees what I have and laughs. He double-pump points at the driver.
(You don’t need to verbally understand a language to communicate).
“Do you smoke weed?” I ask the driver. “I have a little left. We appreciate the ride.”
The sun-glassed driver grins in the rear view mirror. “I’ll try a lil’ of that Partner.”
We drive through the desert until we run into a place that sells beer. Adrian and I buy.
The driver does not drink alcohol, but the two other roofers toast a-days-work with beers along with the two hitchhikers from Wisconsin.
“Happy Hour on the Highway.”
This outcome was much better than the “envisioned dying in the desert” earlier in the day.
Here’s a link to ABBA:
