These days I pick up a hitchhiker alongside the roadways of the Navajo Rez. I find that familiar and safe as a former traveler of such. The onset of the spring in all its glory brings to mind such longings. Out there was another world awaiting. The deep turquoise sky, a background of towering cumulous clouds promising rain and more.
Freedom was my horizon, untethered and unexpected.
These days I pick up people I know as well as strangers. Stories and laughter shared is compensation in kind for the ride. “Yaa ateeh, Hxaa de’ , Yin aal’?” (“Hello, from where are you coming?”), begins a conversation with each ride offered. Some great strands of wisdom and humor I still hold onto. An organic road scholar on Highway 160 revealed the world to me as a young man.
Today, I pick up happy stories as well as pain-filled ones. I pick up people running to or from something.
I saw him alongside the highway just before Baby Rocks east of Kayenta. He was headed east, as I was. He seemed harried and rushed into the front seat of my truck. As we traveled, he related to me how much abuse he was taking from his girlfriend. He was a young man in his late-30s , short and stocky in Dineh cowboy attire. I thought it unlikely. He tells me further that he tried to escape her but both times she caught him and twisted his ears. She worked in Kayenta and he stayed home with her four young kids which showered him with responsibility as if he was their real father. That was not good enough for his girlfriend. By this time, I was getting concerned about him. He said she was doing a quick run to the store and it was his chance. A call on his cell phone confirmed her rage.
Further up by Mexican Water, a truck appeared in the distance and was gaining on me quickly. I asked him and he said it was her all along burning off his ear. She must have seen him get in my 2008 Toyota Tundra. She tailed me dangerously weaving as to pull me over. Like I said, I had a Japanese muscle truck and she had a Dodge. I left her disappearing into my rearview mirror. He was relieved and I dropped him off still nervous across the San Juan in Shiprock.
Another passenger was a sad story all way ‘round. He had just gotten a great, good-paying job at the power plant in Page. Into his second paycheck, he bought a brand new truck and picked up a 12-pack of beer. Now his truck is damaged and impounded. He is facing a serious DUI charge. He lost his job and his wife filed for divorce. This is the stuff country music is made of.
Another traveler on the Navajo Trail was floating on a love he was running to; a love recently found, he confided. I drove on an endearing journey of hope—hope for him. Love, an ultimate driver of human souls.
Another Navajo man in a seriously rumpled business suit climbed into my truck. He was walking away from a burnt-out love in the great Northwest. He carried with him a knapsack and a briefcase. He presented an odd vision. He says he spent last night at a Yeii’ Bi Cheii’ ceremony huddled in the Ceremonial Hogan. His marriage was over and now he just wanted to come home to Tuba and sing country songs, which he demonstrated. I was somewhat impressed by his Waylon Jennings impersonation.
There are riders who leave you scratching your head in amazement. A lady I picked up near Tsegi remained silent until I asked her how she was. She proceeded to tell me the full weather report in the region as the radio had reported it. It was surreal: a traditionally dressed Navajo lady channeling a meteorologist. A few minutes into her report, I interrupted and asked her how her piñon crop was where she was from. She told me in full detail of the piñon crop as reported by the piñonologist. I suppressed my question on the status of the summer ceremonies. I enjoyed the reports in a strange way—a definite few herbs short of a full medicine pouch.
I still pick up hitchhikers for conversation and a peek into their unique journeys on our common roadways of life. Travel safe. Happy summer.
