They rode in silence together down the old state route. The driver had pulled over his old 1979 Ford F-150 and picked up the hitchhiker as he stood on a wet patch of gravel by the road. The hitcher had thrown his guitar case in the bed of the truck, and noted how delightfully avocado green one of the truck's dual colors were. It was a hallmark of that era - this car was in great condition. Someone had taken care of it - or maybe never ever drove it thought the hitchhiker. The cab was cool, and smelled faintly of old Marlboros. The driver was a heavier set man, probably in his mid fifties, blue plaid flannel shirt over an old t-shirt. He wore an old Mack Truck baseball cap, and nodded politely to the hitchhiker.
Where you going? he asked the hitcher.
Just down the road, to the next town.
No problem, that's only about 15 minutes down this way.
Thank you, sir.
The banality of the exchange brought both the hitcher and the driver a sense of relief. The driver took a chance on this guy - and the hitcher took a chance on the driver. But all that passed between them in the ensuing minutes was a few songs on the radio. It was an old classic rock station, and during the time they shared, Bob Seger asked to be Rolled Away and John Sebastian sang about the summer in the city. They were just getting into Love Her Madly by the Doors when the truck pulled into town.
The old state route was the main street of this old town - it sprang up in the North County, like so many other little places, as a home for the workers that came to mine iron ore or to cut down the vast supplies of lumber that would help build structures all over the state. But, as industries do, they dry up and move on, leaving people where they are and cities and towns to deteriorate and shrink. Calbot was no exception; main street had a few nice old buildings, but the stores that were once in them sat unused. There was still the old Village Inn, and a Pharmacy on the strip. An old bakery still cranked out doughnuts everyday, or at least it claimed to on the sign. There was an old IGA supermarket down the way a bit. A few people walking the streets. An old abandoned gas station up at the corner. Your typical North Country town. Nice. Quiet. Near the river - source of life and commerce. The Hitcher nodded at the driver as he alighted from the vehicle and grabbed his guitar case.
Thank you very much, sir. said the hitcher.
John said the driver. My name's John, I'm sorry, I never introduced myself! We just got on well in the silence and I just kept it that way!
No worries said the hitcher, I enjoyed it too.
You got a name?
The hitcher thought for a moment. It had been a while since he used his name. People really never asked him. It was kind of odd, he thought, how rarely some people will ask a transient their name.
Yeah he replied with a wry smile It's Ryan. Everyone just calls me 'Ry' though.
Safe travels to you, Ry. You take care now.
The door to the truck closed, and John drove off down the old State Route, off toward the old horizon and out of Ry's life.
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