A Journey Thru the Wilderness

I was standing alone around 10:00 p.m. somewhere in the mountains of Montana when a car buzzed by.  The air temperature was about 15 degrees and I was starting to freeze.  I began to wonder why no one would stop and pick me up because folks in the Northwest know the cold can be deadly and usually stop for hitchhikers.  Besides, I was wearing my uniform.  I was getting discouraged when all of a sudden a taxicab pulled up and stopped.

The driver looked at me up and down asked how far I was going.  I told him I was trying to get home to see my mother in the hospital.  He said to hop in and he would take me as far as he could.

I was grateful that I finally got a ride and thanked the cabbie.

“I wasn’t going to pick you up at first,” he said.  “I drove past you but something told me to come back and pick you up.”

“Sure glad you picked me up,” I said.

“You are lucky I stopped,” he told me.

“Why,”  I queried.

“Look behind you and see,” he laughed.

I looked back and saw a sign that said MONTANA STATE INSANE ASYLUM.  “So that is why no one picked me up,” I said.

I hoped the cab driver did not think I was from the insane asylum.  I showed him my orders and finally convinced him I was going home on an emergency leave.

“How come you are hitchhiking,” he asked.

“I do not have enough money to take a plane or train so the next best thing is to hitchhike.”

“I will take you as far I can and maybe you can hitch a ride from there.”

I do not know the exact spot he dropped me off, but I did not have trouble getting a ride from there to a copper mining town called Trout Creek, a typical small western town like one would see in an old time western movie.

I arrived wearing my uniform, which may have looked funny to the locals because they probably had never seen anyone in uniform in such a small town.

I wanted a place to sleep, but did not know where I could find one.  I walked into the corner saloon, which also looked like it came out of a western movie scene, and asked about a place to sleep.  Someone referred me to the hotel on the next corner.  The hotel was a small building with maybe four or five rooms for rent and a little one-room office.  I inquired about a room.  One was available for a dollar and a half.  I paid the man the and was soon ready for what I hoped would be a good night sleep.  I was disappointed to see the condition of the room.  I did not expect luxury, especially in a mining town as hardly any visitors came to this town, but I was surprised to find the room contained one light hanging down, one chair and table, and a bed in the corner.  The tiny bathroom tiny and had a narrow doorway.  I guess I should have been thankful: it was a place to sleep.

The following morning I ate breakfast at the saloon before starting the hitchhike routine.  Despite the town’s appearance, the folks were friendly and generous and the breakfast cost me absolutely nothing.  Maybe that was why it tasted so good.

I was able to get a ride to Lincoln, Nebraska, and was there for about an hour before a tractor trailer truck stopped and a man poked his head out the door to ask where I was headed.  I told him Washington State.

The driver invited me to hop aboard and said he would take me to his destination just west of the Great Plains: Scott’s Bluff.  The Bluff was a key landmark for settlers migrating on the Oregon Trail 130 years ago.  My rig driver was a gentle and kind man and said he had to be home across the state by 7:00 p.m.: a distance of 535 miles.  We stopped several times along the way where he bought my lunch and dinner.

I told him I was grateful for the fact that he picked me up.  He said it was his Christian duty to help when needed.  For some reason I was surprised to find a Christian truck driver willing pick me up.

We arrived at his home at the estimated time.  After parking the big rig, he invited me into his trailer to meet his wife and two children, one of which was deaf.

Afte