I worked the summer of 1972 at an office of the New England Telephone Company. My father got me the job. Three months of 40 hours a week. I think I earned $5/hr. The money was supposed to help pay my college tuition. $2000 for the year. My mother banked over $1000 and I was left with $200 for a summer vacation traveling across the USA during the last weeks before fall semester. My good friend, Neil, was in Oklahoma, visiting his girlfriend, Vickie. He had a BMW. His cousin had a place in LA. We were going to spend a week on the beach then drive up the coast to San Francisco.
A good plan.
Hitchhiking took me 30 hours to reach Tulsa. Neil had bad news. He had gone to the State Fair and rear-ended a truck. Our transportation had been reduced to our thumbs and Vickie drove us to the highway. The first ride was with a Yale student headed to LA. It was our only ride.
Seal Beach was fun. A greasy ocean next to the oil rigs of Long Beach. One night we stopped at a bar. A convertible Porsche was parked in the shadows. The keys were in the ignition. Neil and I discussed stealing the sports car. Honesty ruled our decision and we brought the keys into the bar. The driver was happy, but didn't even buy us a beer.
The next morning we started our trip north.
Hitching through the coastal towns wasn't easy. LA is basically one big suburb filled with crackers. They shouted out threats. By sunset we had reached LAX. The beginning of the PCH. Planes were taking off every minute. Neil and I decided to abandon the road for a midnight flight to San Francisco. $15 one way. Our friends met us at the airport. My money was running low. Neil could fly back, but decided to hitchhike with me across the West to Tulsa.
Our starting point was Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley. A hundred hippies competed for a ride. A Pinto rolled along the curb with the window open. The driver was interviewing prospective passengers. None of them made the cut.
"You want a ride to Denver?" The woman was 25. Her daughter was in the crowded backseat. "I only have room for one."
"You want to go?" I asked Neil, knowing he wouldn't abandon me.
"No, what about you?"
"I have $10. If i had more than I'll stick with you." This wasn't the truth. I had $12. Neil hesitated and I jumped into the Pinto. "I'll see you in Boston."
I felt like a shit until we wound through the Sierra. Marilyn was leaving her husband. He was in the Cockettes. A queer transvestite show group. Gays were queers for straight men back then. She let me drive the night across Nevada. We talked for hours. Her daughter slept under my sleeping bag. The September air in the high desert was cold and the sky dotted with the stars of the Milky Way. We stopped at the Bonneville Salt Flats. The flatness stretched to the horizon. Dawn was 4 hours away.
"I can't drive any further."
"Me neither." She looked in the back seat. "You want to sleep outside?"
"Yeah." Not really because I suspected for a few seconds that she would steal my things once I was unconscious. "You want to sleep with me?"
"Sure, it's been a while since I had a man."
I hadn't expected this response and we had sex on my sleeping bag.
Twice. Several trucks caught our shapes in their headlights. There was no place to hide. No trees. No bushes. They blew their horns. I didn't notice she was having her period until the sun rose in the east. She said she was sorry and we stopped in Little America to shower. Her in the Women's room and me in the Men's.
Late in the evening we reached Cheyenne. Marilyn turned south to Colorado.
"I'll see you in Boston maybe."
"Sure." I watched her drive away thinking I'd never see her again. I was wrong, although we never had sex again. Much as I wanted and I've never been to the Bonneville Salts Flats again either. Seems a shame.
"Maybe I'll see you in
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