Hitchhiking Across the USA

My former girlfriend, Noel, and I hitchhiked our way across the USA from my old hometown, Youngstown, about eleven years ago. Youngstown was, and is, a rusty old hulk of a city lost somewhere between Cleveland and Pittsburgh. A steel town that was kicked to the ground during the Carter administration, had its guts ripped out during the Reagan years, and its brains kicked in during “Daddy” Bush’s reign.

On a Saturday night in June Noel and I finished our drinks at Cedars (now yuppified–it used the kind of place “normal” people were scared to go. I’ve since seen newscaster Bob Black in there bopping along to an Oldies band) and hiked out along the 680 to Interstate 80 for points west. We got our first ride from a guy named Steve just outside of Ravenna.

“Where ya headin’?” asked Steve.
“L.A.,” said Noel.
Steve nodded slowly. “So, ya wanna be in movies?”
“Nope, just wanna get out of here.”

Steve leaned across the car and popped open the passenger door.

“Well… I’m heading to Cincinnati, but… it’s sort of in the right direction.”

Noel and I looked at each other and shrugged. Steve was right, Cincinnati is sort of in the right direction and riding sure beats walking.

Steve’s Caprice Classic had a peculiar smell, an odor that was not nullifed at all by the six air fresheners hanging from his rear view mirror.

Noticing the grim look on Noel’s face, Steve said, “Sorry ’bout the stink. My dog rolled in some shit when I was out hunting last week.”

Now I’ve smelled all kinds of shit in my lifetime and this smelled like no shit I ever smelled before. Two-hundred fifty-two miles later Noel and I would find out just what the source of that smell was.