Sample Chapter from Johnny's book

Shit, would you believe it, some fifteen minutes later a pickup truck stopped. I cannot tell you how grateful I was for this simple deed. But once again I have to mention this because the same thing happened. The very people that got me out of a mess weren’t even from here at all. In fact, this time my rescuers weren’t even from this continent. They were from Hungary. These continual coincidences never ceased to amaze me.

I jumped into the back of the pickup and the first thing I did was close my eyes. If it wasn’t such a bumpy ride I think I would have fallen asleep right there on the spot. The truck then sped along the roads and around the many corners that followed. Shit, I was finally out of that mess. Never again would I come back and attempt to hitchhike any part of Alaska. Once had been enough for me.

Half an hour later we stopped at some road works. Shortly afterwards, the driver quickly got out and said, “We’re going into Canada, do you have your passport and papers.” After nodding he jumped back into his vehicle again. I smiled when I listened to his accent, I liked it a lot. It took me right back to when I lived in Holland. This was wonderful because I now had the reassurance that I didn’t have to cross the border by foot. That was one thing I didn’t want to do.

I was so relieved that I didn’t have to walk to Tok, which at one point I really thought was a reality. I’d envisioned myself arriving in a week, with a full-grown beard and smelling really badly, with holes in my shoes. It’s funny what we think about at times when we really get desperate but that’s how my brain had started to think. In all of my hitchhiking escapades, that had to be the worst situation I was ever in. More so because there was nothing around me; there were no houses or stores that I could revert to or some kind of shelter where I could rest. The absence of cars didn’t help much either. My only advantage really was the fact that I had a river next to me, which kept me alive.

At Tok we quickly stopped to get some milk and cookies but soon after we left again. I will say one thing here; it was certainly an experience lying in the back of a pickup truck as it sped along at god-knows what speed. Occasionally when I did turn around to look at the dash, the odometer read 85 to 110 mph.

As the evening set in, it became a lot colder. To compensate this, my companions stopped and wrapped me up in a heavy boiler suit for warmth. What with the addition of padded gloves, some thick boots and an insulated hood, I felt like I was a giant caterpillar who was being transported from one exhibit to another.

So, this was how I was dressed when we approached the Canadian border. Man we must have looked a sight! What with me in the back of this pickup truck wrapped in a thick womb of protective canvas and being driven by two men with funny accents, I’m sure the officer didn’t know what to think! On this particular evening the official was alone. He gave me one quizzed look, went through my passport quickly and gestured that we go on.

Shortly after crossing the border my companions pulled over again. The passenger got out this time and he wanted to know how far I wanted to go. “Prince George,” I said and he quickly jumped back into the truck again. I had no idea if they were just going up the road or for a couple of hundred miles. I later found out that if I wanted to I could have traveled with them all the way to Seattle. Wow, I wasn’t expecting that at all. Getting me to Prince George was enough. For most people in the western world, the thought of sitting in the back of a pickup truck (if I’d of gone from where I’d been picked up, to Seattle) and sliding around for 2,379 miles or for forty-four hours would seem unbearable, but I welcomed the idea!

My Hungarian friends were going all the way to the state of Washington but for some reason they were certainly in a rush to get there. This was all fine and dandy, but of all the things that the three of us had overlooked, it was the possibility of gas stations closing. Because of this we had no option but to stop.

The first one that we came to wasn’t open and the next; which was ten miles further on, was open, but of all things it had run out of gas. Unbelievable, this could only happen in Canada eh? Having no choice in the matter we had to return to the previous location. I’m sure if we could’ve purchased gasoline right there and then, these guys would have gone straight through to Seattle. That night I slept in the truck while my comrades relaxed in their tent.

The following morning while we waited for the place to open, I got to know my companions a little better. Ironically I never did catch their names. They told me how expensive it was to live in Hungary. They said that a phone list could be fifteen years old before its updated. They’re both U.S. citizens now and they have no desire of going back.

When they first migrated to the States they lived in St. Louis, Missouri. They said that the city started to give all the blacks there, $2,000 a month in welfare and so many went on this program, that the metropolis declared bankruptcy. I later learned that a lot of what these two guys said and did was questionable but I’ve included it because it was part of my story.

While we were talking, the gas station opened up its doors and shortly afterwards we filled up with gas. I couldn’t really afford it but out of appreciation, I threw in twenty dollars myself. I was just grateful that these guys had saved me from a horrid walk and had been kind enough to take me across the border.

As I bounced along in the back of the truck I started to backtrack my whole journey throughout North America. I went through everything that had got me to this point. This was the first time that I’d done this for such a distance, since I’d arrived in the States. I visualized some of the places where I’d walked or had waited to hitch along the way. I thought about all the wonderful people who had treated me so well during this trip. I closed my eyes and did a lot of thinking. It was a good way to kill some time and I certainly had a lot of that.

At Whitehorse, Yukon, we stopped for gasoline again. While we were there I made a quick call to my dad. He was well and many of the films that I’d sent back to him had already been developed. He’d even been kind enough to put them into photograph albums for me. I looked forward to seeing him but that was still a few months away. He also said that Blaine had paid him a visit and he’d looked through my photos too. Interrupting our conversation was the sound of a truck’s horn and I had to go.

Half an hour before reaching Watson Lake, Yukon we stopped once again for gas. While I was lying in the back of the pickup I watched a humorous situation. Nearby the driver of a truck was yelling at his friend because the JCB that was on the back of their rig wasn’t secured enough and the whole thing was jumping up and down. I’m watching the other guy while he’s focused on the upset driver. While all of this commotion is going on, they are filling up their tank with fuel. Then it starts to overflow, and diesel is pouring out everywhere. This continues for quite a while. When the driver finally realizes what’s going on he looks across at me and smiles. I’m glad that he saw the humorous side of the situation.

Further south, about thirty-five miles north of Muncho Lake, B.C. a fierce river came into view. It was about a hundred meters wide and cut logs were barreling their way down its torrent. It was brutal and it was tossing these enormous logs around like they were mere twigs.

Just after this scene a strange fog engulfed the road. It came in from nowhere and then it caught up to the truck; it consumed us for a while, before disappearing into nothing. It was the oddest thing.

Mother Nature wasn’t on our side at all on this particular afternoon. Shortly after the unusual mist, the skies opened up and it poured and poured with rain. I got absolutely drenched from head to toe in just a few minutes. What with a howling wind that ripped through me, all I could do was violently shiver. It wasn’t too long before the bed of the truck was splashing around in two inches of water.

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