12 ... Gabriel Morrisa light off in the distance and heard the sound of another car com-
ing. As it came closer, I saw that it was a big pickup truck. I waved
my arms again, as its headlights blinded me through the rain, and it
stopped. Something told me this was the moment I had been waiting
for. I opened the side door of the rusty, beat-up pickup, and sitting in
the driver’s seat was a scraggly, older man with a beer in his hand.
“Man, fellah, you looks like you must be wet...” he drawled, clear-
ly a little drunk. He said it purely as an observation—as if he had
pulled over merely to take a look at me, having not yet considered
that I might need help.
“Uh, yes,” I said, stuttering through cold lips, trying to speak clear-
ly before he drove off. “You see, I was backpacking at the Lost Coast,
but I quit because of the rain, and I just hiked all day, and I need to
get to Garberville, so that I can find a hotel for the night...”
“Garberville? Shit, that’s thirty-five miles! Who you gonna find a
ride with out here at this time of night?” He paused for a minute,
thinking, as if he were trying to drum up a ride for me. “Well heck,
if all you need is a place to stay, you can sure crash at my place...I
mean, it’s messy, but at least it’s warm, and I got satellite TV and a
comfy couch...”
I had climbed in, my pack on my lap, before he managed to finish
his sentence. At that point I was hardly listening. I sensed that he
meant to help me out, and I accepted without question. That he was
apparently driving drunk wasn’t much of a concern at that point. I
was safer in his hands than sleeping through the night in this storm.
We drove another few miles down the road, turned onto a dirt
road, and drove for another mile, finally coming to a fairly run-down,
yet cozy-looking wooden cabin. Though the old man had appeared
a little questionable at first, he turned out to be just a kind, lonely old
alcoholic, who lived alone with his dog in the woods and grew pot
for a living.
The cabin was fairly spacious inside. He suggested that I lay my
things out around the fire so they could dry overnight. I was struck
with both horror and gratitude as I pulled out my sleeping bag, to