Wayne's Adventure (In Motion)

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Location: Silver City NM  

Out here, GPS is life. It’s named the Continental Divide Trail, but that’s a lie. Unlike the AT or PCT, it’s about a million GPS waypoints that you follow. No real trail at all to speak of.    

And you have a series of choices in your route called “alternatives” which are usually some of the best parts. Choose your own adventure, or your own doom.  

So when your battery system powering your GPS breaks, you are screwed beyond belief. And that’s how my day began. Cue absolute panic. Fortunately, this disaster occurred a few hours after crossing one of the three paved roads in the last 300 miles. So I slowly and deliberately retraced my previous four miles Until I stumbled on to Hwy. 90 again. A quick consult told me that 27 miles to Silver City and a Walmart. Solution.  

Problem is, calling Hwy. 90 a highway is a stretch.  I observed only a single vehicle passing every 20 minutes.  

So my choices were to walk the 27 miles into Silver City.  Ouch.   Hitch  a ride (very unlikely) or try and navigate back over the mountains sans GPS ( certain death ). So choice One it is. At least when I dropped dead of thirst someone might find my body. I would continue to attempt to hitchhike out of necessity but since I was absolutely filthy, six days since my last shower or clean clothes, beard and shirt caked and dried blood (chronic desert nosebleeds) and it was getting dark, i held little hope.  

After about 3 hours of road walking and 17 vehicles blowing by me without a second glance. You get a sense of what vehicles offer the best possibility. Men in pickup trucks are your best shot… they might let you ride in the back. 18 wheelers, no way! Cars absolutely not. And any vehicle driven by a woman, just smile, wave, and forget about it.  At least the women are unlikely to throw empty beer cans at your head as they pass by… 

So when I saw a brand new Cadillac Escalade driven by a middle-aged woman and an elderly woman riding shotgun, I merely smiled and gave a friendly wave. Mission absolutely impossible. I’ll grab the next one.   But to my utter shock and horror, they turned around and stopped about 100 feet away.   

Now, diplomacy of this magnitude requires certain protocols. I did not approach, but when the window rolled down, I introduced myself, stated I was a CDT hiker trying to make Silver City under extreme circumstances. And despite looking like Freddy Krueger after Halloween, I did not bite, was potty trained, and had most of my shots.  

After a moment’s consultation with her passenger, the tailgate opened and she said to throw my pack in back.   Now I was definitely of two minds here. I am grateful beyond words, yet if any woman of my acquaintance picked up something looking like me off the side of a desolate night highway, I would have kittens.  

So I climbed in the back seat, putting the only clean thing in my possession between the pristine leather and my decidedly un-pristine pants bottom. A Philmont Boy Scout neckerchief. As we drove along at seemingly warp speed (I haven’t gone faster than walking pace in weeks) they asked me about my journey as my body odor competed with the Cadillac’s new car smell. I did notice the quantity of diamonds on fingers and wrists of both ladies.  

I was very very torn. I am sometimes a hypocrite, but try not to be a damn hypocrite. I wanted to blurt out “what the hell are you two thinking picking me up?” but gratitude and relief overwhelmed honesty.  

Finally when town was in sight , I took a chance and asked the question: “So how did you know I’m not a maniac serial killer”. She answered matter of factly: “Maniac serial killers don’t carry trekking poles.” With that settled they dropped me off in front of a motel and drove away.  

Thank you ladies. I’m forever in your debt for the ride. Your generosity. And reminding this cynic about the best of human nature.