The road South from Albany, Oregon proved a challenge. On the first day we looked to the sky and saw clouds. Not threatening clouds, with a look of storm and peril, but rather soft patches of cloud fading in color from soft cotton-ball white to a type of smeary ash grey. It was warm; we looked cheerily to some afternoon rain showers as a pleasant change from the near triple digit heat. We got all that and more. Once Courtney and I reached the on-ramp to Interstate five the clouds started drifting across the long stretches of blue, choking out the sun, bringing first a bitter wind and then a vicious downpour.
This was not the pleasant summer rain we had anticipated. It was biting cold and the rain came in torrents. Eventually we were able to get a ride out of Albany. We found ourselves in a much warmer and more hospitable southern Oregon. There were tall rounded hills painted in evergreen and wrapped in soft lazy clouds. We were dropped off in Roseburg and were able to hitch a ride out very quickly. We were picked up by a group of high school kids just out driving around. Then by a very kind young couple who took us to the small town of Grant's Pass. They were exceedingly generous and showed us around the town a bit.
In Grant's Pass it was not hard to find people to whom we relate. Before long we were relaxing with other travelers. In the morning we were joined by a good sized herd of deer. We made our way from Grant's Pass via a friendly man from Europe with his two young exchange students from Sweden. He gave us a ride just passed the California state line. Unknown to both ourselves and the good intentioned man was how utterly desolate it is in this region of northern California.
There was no town. There were no major truck stops or rest areas to hitch from. There was nothing at the California line except blistering heat. Hitchhiking along the shoulder of I-5 is both dangerous and illegal, but we had little choice. We started down the side of I-5 with our thumbs out, hoping to get a ride to "anywhere but here, California." The temperature soared well over a hundred and six and the wind seemed actually to be stale, hot and utterly lacking any sort of cooling affect. However, a few hours of this and we were stopped, much to our fortune, by a California Highway Patrolman.
This officer proceeded to explain California's vague and often misunderstood hitchhiking laws. Then he offered us a ride to Yreka. Along the twenty mile stretch that lies between Yreka and absolutely nowhere he entertained us with stories of working as a street cop in Compton. He cautioned us with tales of people being injured and killed while hitchhiking along the shoulder of I-5. Yreka proved small and pretty friendly. The local police talked to us, were very polite and sent us on our way without so much as an ID check. From there we caught a ride heading south with an MP home on leave. He gave us a very long and appreciated ride to Redding. In Redding we were held up a little by two guys trying to hitch out at the ramp we needed. They had been there since ten in the morning and showed no signs of going anywhere. We waited inside the nearby Denny's where we could check on them periodically while hiding from the blistering heat. All the while taking full advantage of their unlimited coffee. Eventually, I am sorry to say, they were forced to give up for the day. We swooped in speedily on their spot and were out of town in less then an hour. Unfortunately for us, out of Redding meant into Red Bluff. Within minutes of arrival in this tiny town we were stopped by a county Sherriff who checked our IDs and left us to our business, but warned us about the Red Bluff city police. He also took a moment to explain in brief Red Bluff's anti-hitchhiking city ordinance. Not more then an hour after he left, we were moved on by the city police who lived up to their bad reputation. They threatened to cite us if we did not get away from the on-ramp, so we had no choice but to abandon our route. On the bright side, we met some friendly people who took us in for the night and showed us unwarranted hospitality and kindness. By morning we were fed, well rested and getting creative. We laughed and talked of possible ways to circumvent the local law. However, we decided that paying for a Greyhound ticket to the next major town was a better option then getting into any kind of verbal altercation with the notoriously hostile Red Bluff police. Ultimately this turned out to be a pretty nice ride. We met some really interesting people on the bus and also found out more about Red Bluff's alarming reputation as a white supremacist and ultra right wing haven. The bus seemed an exceedingly fast form of transport after days of hitchhiking. Sacramento was uneasy. We arrived at night and the streets were, as promised by those we had talked to previously, infested with crack heads. All in all though I feel some of the dangers were exaggerated. We were able to get about on foot at night through all of the dreaded downtown area without any trouble. We stayed in a local hobo park in which we pretended to sleep for a while. The park was both physically uncomfortable and more importantly mildly unnerving. Everything went fine though. Morning found us trekking across the bridge into East Sacramento and all the way out to the edge of town. Hitchhiking in California is much different than back home. Here over two thirds of the drivers on the road are under the ill-informed notion that hitchhiking is illegal and as such are worried they might get in trouble if they pick you up. Hitching out of Sacramento is like trying to explain the nature of the universe to a houseplant. Fortunately for us we picked up a tip from a local about the city buses and discovered one could ride the buses there for free that day in celebration of Spare the Air Day. Although there was not a bus all the way to Berkeley, there were buses heading west to the next couple of towns. Thus were we able to arrive that day in the picturesque Californian suburb of Vacaville. It reminds me of every make-believe town, depicted as "somewhere in California," ever to plague television. You get the distinct idea this is where all the teen soap opera’s take place. This was also where Courtney and I first caught a glimpse of the, supposedly, elusive wild turkey. We also saw highly talented skateboarders practicing jumps and tricks. Some of whom were no more then 12 years old. From Vacaville we were given a ride by a kind hearted older woman into the much larger town of Vallejo. Now Vallejo had a real noticeable "you are no longer in the country" vibe, but we were not there long. We had a quick encounter with the local cops who told us that we needed to move back about twenty feet from the on-ramp. Showing once again that due to California’s ambiguously worded hitchhiking laws, every police department and indeed nearly every officer has a different interpretation of the law. We were picked up, in spite of the low visibility spot this left us, by a man on his way to San Francisco who was looking for an excuse to use the restricted car pool lane. He informed us that there are areas of Berkeley one would be wise not to enter and explained to us how to reach the campus area and historical Telegraph Avenue.
Berkeley is where we have been since then. It is wonderful and terrible here at the same time. Though, I am very glad for a change of weather. I was told that a famous author once said that the coldest winter he ever experienced was a summer in San Francisco. As a native Oregonian I actually find the bay area weather relieving. Soon we will be heading East, what new adventures and unexpected weather await us?
~Bill
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