With thumbs out, we walk north out of Kingman, Arizona in the morning. The sun is your friend in the desert spring, so it’s best to get going early. It is much harder and colder to hitch at night no matter where you are at.
We have about 100-miles of desert highway to Las Vegas to hitch hike.
After hiking uphill for awhile, we hit a plateau that reveals a vast desert wasteland in front of us. Buzzards are circling overhead.
“Do you see the birds?” I ask Adrian. “This doesn’t look good.”
We shoot the shit to ignore the situation and keep moving. Adrian wants to come up with “road names” for us. He road-names me “Talks with Owls.”
That’s pretty cool. Thanks!
“So what’s my road name?” he asks.
I pull out the weed I purchased from a stranger at the bar last night and roll a joint.
Giving someone a road-name should require meditation-medication.
After walking in stoned-silence for a minute, while quieting my mind, I let loose a name to be remembered. It is not well received.
“What the fuck are you talking about? I give you a cool road-name and you give me that name?”
I failed my road-name task. I’m pretty good with titles, but I’m not 100% accurate.
I apologize to Adrian. He has already had a bad-naming experience in his past while working for The Rock. He was DJ Hot Karl. He had no idea of the reference.
Car pulls up in the midst of this conversation.
Two 18-year olds are headed to Vegas. We jump into the back of this 2-door foreign car and then drive 100-mph+ through the desert.
They drop us off on the Vegas strip. We are grateful.
