Humility and the Hitchhiker

Humility and the Hitchhiker

By Shayne Sprague

So I never pick up hitch-hikers as a rule. I don't know what moved me to do so today. I was heading from North Platte to Brady and he was just outside of North Platte. He jumped in and said "thanks for stopping".  I said no problem, I'm going to Brady about 23 miles up the road, and I’ll take you that far.

      As we were conversing, I noticed he reeked of booze.  I also noticed his wrinkled, sun darkened face, his shoddy hair and clothes, unshaven face, and only the clothes on his back.

      But what I noticed most was his piercing, large blue eyes. They say the eyes are the window to the soul, and I believe it, if you look closely, you can pretty much tell the kind of soul a person has through their eyes. His eyes were almost indescribable. They were so mesmerizing, not an ounce of hate in them. Looking at his very rough exterior, I could tell he'd been down a very hard road. Somehow, despite the road he had been down, there was no hate in his eyes...only love.

      I asked him if he wanted a smoke, and he said yes, so I gave him one, then I let him keep the whole pack, for which he seemed genuinely grateful for. I started asking him where he was from, where he was headed, does he have family, etc. He proceeded to tell me he had been on the road for 6 days, coming from Arizona where he had recently had a heart attack and heart surgery. He was pretty much healed up but couldn't find work. He had his bed roll and backpack stolen in Colorado. He was heading back to his birthplace of Kansas City, Mo., which is where I was born as well.  He said he lost his wife to a brain tumor 10 years ago, and she is buried in Norman, Oklahoma. He said he never had kids because his wife couldn't have any. He had no family aside from cousins, whom he'd lost, touch with over the years. We talked the rest of the way about politics, and other superficial stuff, all the while, my gut was telling me there was something about this guy that I couldn't put my finger on, but it was something special.

      The whole time I was kind of reflecting on some of my own hard times and struggles, some of which were self induced. I mean, here is a homeless man that just had heart surgery, but was smoking and drinking. I too, have had my battles with alcohol and drugs, so I understand. I found myself thinking "but for the Grace of God, there go I."  And that’s the truth. I'm lucky to have what I have after what I've been through, let alone lucky to be alive.

      So we get to Brady and I say "well, this is the end of my line."  He says, "I really appreciate the ride and the cigarettes."  To which I replied, “no problem, when we stop, I'm going to give you some money too."  (A decision I had subconsciously made miles back down the road.)  He said thank you, I can get a cup of coffee or something.

      I would like to clarify at this point, my whole reason for telling this story.  It's not that I want a pat on the back...could care a less about that.  It's not that I felt sorry for the guy, although I definitely empathized with him. I have over the years, on many occasions given food and/or money to homeless people. Again, no pat on back wanted or needed. On many of those occasions, it was quite obvious that said homeless person was going to drink the money right up. The Bible says something to the effect of   "give with your right hand, and don't tell your left hand."  To me, that means don't gloat. It means do the right things for the right reasons without expecting anything in return. That is something my parents deserve credit for.

      Lately, as I look around at the world, I find it a very ugly place.  As I've stated, I've been through some pretty hard times in my life. There were many kind people that helped me along the way. There were also many that turned away. I've always felt that even when I had nothing tangible to offer that a kind word, a gesture, or a smile was the least I could do, and to try to refrain from doing any harm.

      Some of you may be thinking, or like me, have thought, I just got duped by that dude. One time at a gas station in Colorado, a guy walked up to me and asked me for some cash for gas so he could get back home. His van was at the gas pumps. I said sorry dude, I'm all tapped out. I sat in my car feeling guilty and walked over, gave him $20 bucks, and returned to my car. As I watched him, he jumped in his van without getting gas and hit the interstate!  Duped indeed!  But that's cool. The guy I picked up today asked for nothing, other than sticking his thumb out for a ride. I never felt duped at any point.

      The reason for sharing this story is because of the look in his eyes when we parted ways. As I mentioned, I told him I was going to give him some money. I was thinking maybe $20 bucks. When I reached in my wallet, something compelled me to pull out a $50 dollar bill. I handed him the 50, and he looked at me with those piercing blue eyes surrounded by that weathered face with a look of astonishment that I can't describe, but I found myself fighting back tears. He was obviously both surprised and genuinely grateful. He struggled to say thank you, and he shook my hand. I said you’re welcome brother, best of luck to you. He got out of the vehicle and before he shut the door he looked at me with those eyes again, as if he was looking into MY soul, and said,  " thanks again, you really don't know what this means to me."  I said, “you have no idea what it means to me!"

      As I drove off I was in tears because I was so touched. You see, I felt as though I just handed myself $50. I always pray that I can be of use to my fellow man, and I believe that God puts people in our lives for a reason. The Bible also says give and you shall receive. What I received today was a small miracle from a homeless man with blue eyes that reminded me there is still some good in this world, that I have a lot to be grateful for. Honestly, I don't think the money or the cigarettes meant nearly as much to him as receiving a smile, and a display of genuine kindness in what can be such a cold, cruel world.  As for the $50 bucks, and can I afford it? Who cares? For my $50, I too, received a smile, and a genuine display of kindness that was worth every penny. I am truly touched, I almost feel like I was looking into the eyes of my higher power. In a sense, I was, because he is out there, all I have to do is look.

The First Time I Rode A Freight Train (short story)

Back in July of 1980, I was house sitting for some friends in Ames, Iowa. They and their two daughters were gone for a month or so seeing relatives in Southern California.

One day I decided to hit the road and see how far west I could get. I took my backpack and some of my belongings and began hitchhiking west on U.S. 30.

I got a few rides to Denison. Then this young lady picked me up near Dow City or Dunlap. She had a can of beer in her hand and offered me one; I declined the offer. I went to enough beer parties in high school; my beer-drinking days were pretty much over. She was fairly drunk and she would swerve over into the other lane every so often and then correct herself.

Finally, I said, "Hey, if you want, I can drive for you."

She said, "No. I'm doing just fine."

A few minutes later she barely missed hitting this tractor-trailer coming from the opposite direction.

I had had enough, so I said, "Pull over and let me out."

She pulled over onto the shoulder and I got out of the car. She gave me the finger and drove off. I was so glad to get out of that vehicle. That was the first time (and maybe the only time) I asked to get out of a car because the driver was drunk.

So I walked down the road and this guy picked me up. He had just graduated from the veterinary school at Iowa State University in Ames. This guy was going to Nebraska to take his boards for the state of Nebraska.

He dropped me off someplace and I later made it to Blair, Nebraska. The sun was setting as I walked down main street. I walked past this gas station and this kid that worked there was sitting in a chair.

He looked at my backpack and asked, "Where ya goin'?"

"I'm heading out west," I replied.

"Have a good trip."

"Thanks."

I walked through Blair and was a mile or so out of town, when a sheriff deputy stopped me. He asked me where I was going and then he checked my ID. At the time, I was a little annoyed that they would stop and check me. I was walking down the road minding my own business. What's the big deal, I thought. That was probably the first time I had been stopped by law enforcement for walking or hitchhiking. I was a little rattled about the whole thing.

The sheriff deputy gave me my ID back and I continued walking due west on U.S. 30.

The sun was down, so I decided to jump over this fence and hightail it to the railroad tracks. It wasn't long and I was walking down the tracks of the Union Pacific.

I had been walking for a while when all of a sudden this powerful light came around the bend behind me and this locomotive was bearing down on me! I didn't even hear it coming! I took evasive action, quickly jumped off the tracks and ran into the ditch. The four or five engines roared past with its grain cars in tow. That was a close one, I thought.

I later learned that the sound of the engine travels out from the sides of the locomotive, not from the front. I had been hitchhiking in New Mexico back in the late 1990s, when this man and his wife and kids picked me up. He worked as a welder for the Santa Fe Railroad. He told me about the sound traveling out from the sides and not from the front. He and his fellow welder almost got run over by a train while they were welding "frogs" on the tracks. They never heard the train coming--just like in my case.

So I continued to walk down the tracks. I then camped out in some grass. It was hot and humid--it was probably in the upper nineties that day. The mosquitoes were bad. I don't think I got much sleep that night.

The next morning I got a couple of rides to Fremont.

I was walking in downtown Fremont heading towards the railroad tracks (I was thinking about hopping a freight train) when a local cop stopped me.

"Where you going, son?" he asked.

"I'm heading west," I said.

"You're going in the wrong direction. Hop in and I'll give you a ride west of town."

"Sounds good."

He dropped me off near this pond of water; it looked like a state park or campsite. I thanked him for the ride and he drove off.

It was now around a hundred degrees and I was getting hot, so I spent some time swimming in the pond. After a while, I lay down on this picnic table and took a nap for an hour or two.

Then I heard this low rumbling. I woke up and saw this freight train slowly moving westward on the tracks maybe a hundred yards away. I quickly put on my socks and boots and grabbed my backpack and ran to this brand, spanking-new flatcar. It had my name written all over it.

I climbed onto the flatcar and put my backpack against the bulkhead. I sat down and rested my back against my backpack. The train merged from the siding onto the main line and gained some speed. I was now in business.

It was exhilarating and free, sitting on that flatcar watching the green Nebraska countryside go past. Eventually, I took off my boots and socks and sat on the flatcar barefoot. I felt even more free. The train was now traveling at around fifty miles per hour.

The Union Pacific tracks ran parallel with U.S. 30. Cars and pickups would drive down the highway and people would wave at me and laugh. I would wave back and smile. Some people would honk their horns. It was a lot of fun.

The train rolled through North Bend and Schuyler and finally slowed down and stopped in Columbus. We weren't stopped very long. They were switching out some cars, I'm guessing.

The train slowly moved out and we were heading west again.

My plan, when I left Ames, was to see some relatives in Ogallala, Nebraska. Well, I didn't know their names and I didn't know exactly where they lived in Ogallala. I just knew that I had some relatives in Ogallala and this is why I headed west. It doesn't make a whole lot of sense now, but back then I was twenty years old and all I wanted was an excuse to hit the road and head west. Relatives in Ogallala: sounds good to me. (I later did meet these relatives in Ogallala back in 1983--just before I hitchhiked to California for the first time.)

The train was now going down the tracks at a pretty good clip. I was absolutely enjoying everything about life on a flatcar when I saw this Nebraska Highway Patrol drive by on U.S. 30. I smiled and waved at him, but he didn't wave back. He gave me a dirty look. It was then that I began to think that maybe I wasn't supposed to be riding this freight train.

I didn't think it was illegal to hop freight trains (but that maybe some people might frown on it). My great-grandfather, who was born in County Roscommon in Ireland, lived for seventeen years in Australia herding sheep and prospecting for gold. He came to America and settled down in southwest Iowa. He used to ride freight trains between Iowa and western Nebraska all the time. But that was back in the late 1800s and early 1900s. I began to think that sitting on this flatcar in plain sight of everybody was not such a good idea.

The train rolled through Central City and soon began to slow down. As the train slowly made its way through the small town of Chapman, there was this cop in his car stopped at the intersection. I smiled and waved at him, but he didn't wave back. Then I began to get this sinking feeling. Maybe I better get off of this train ASAP.

Well, the train stopped maybe a quarter of a mile from where the cop was sitting. I saw the cop car back up and drive down the service road that ran parallel with the tracks. He stopped his car next to my flatcar and motioned for me to get off the train.

I looked at him and said, "Who me?"

He nodded his head as if to say, "Yes, you."

I put my socks and boots back on and climbed off of the flatcar. I didn't like this one bit.

I got in the car and the cop told me that it was illegal to ride freight trains. He drove me to Central City to the police station. He said that he was going to contact the "U.P." (Union Pacific) detectives and see if they wanted to prosecute me.

I sat at the police station as the officer phoned the Union Pacific. The guys in the jail asked me why I was there. I told them that I got caught riding a freight train. They howled in laughter. I sort of laughed, but not really.

The officer hung up the phone and told me that the Union Pacific didn't want to prosecute. He told me to get back in the car and that he would drive me east to the county line.

As we drove east on U.S. 30, the cop asked, "So Tim, do you ever think about where you will go when you die?"

I answered, "Yeah, I think about it all the time."

So he began to tell me about Jesus and the Gospel. We had an intense talk. I was not yet a Christian, but this cop definitely sowed some good seeds into me. I asked Christ into my life two years later. Getting caught on a freight train by a Christian cop was definitely the hand of God--but I didn't know it at the time.

I was restless and seeking something: truth, beauty, literary aspirations, freedom from Adamic slavery. I dropped out of high school twice because it was so oppressive and unchallenging. I was hungry and desperate. Heaven was on my mind. I was looking for God, but did not know how to truly access Him. In July 1980, I was not far from the Kingdom of Heaven.

The cop dropped me off in the middle of somewhere. It was ten o'clock at night, it was hot and humid and I forgot to fill up my water bottle back in Central City. I was not a happy camper. I thanked the officer for the ride and he turned around and drove west into the Nebraska night.

When the cop dropped me off, the last thing he said to me was, "Remember:  pray without ceasing."

The next town was six miles away. So I walked past the corn fields and the hay fields of eastern Nebraska. I was thirsty. The noise of diesel engines roaring away pumping water into irrigation circles could be heard as I walked back east.

Eventually, I made it to the small town of Duncan. I found a water hydrant and drank a ton of water. I then found a pickup parked next to the railroad tracks. I climbed into the cab of the pickup and slept there that night.

The next morning, I walked to the shoulder of U.S. 30 and began thumbing for a ride to Columbus. Within half an hour, some guy walked up to the pickup that I had slept in the night before and drove off in it. Sometimes it is a good idea to get up early in the morning.

I got a ride to Columbus. This guy took me to the bus station. I met a lady there that helped me pay for a bus ticket to Des Moines. I got on the bus and it went through Omaha. I got off in Adel, Iowa that evening. Adel is just west of Des Moines on U.S. 6.

I phoned a friend in Ames. He picked me up in Adel and drove me back to Ames. He thought that it was funny that I hitchhiked to Nebraska and hopped a freight train. He thought it was really funny that a cop told me to get off the train. I didn't think it was so funny.

[Originally published by Digihitch.com]

Hoboes That Pass in the Night
Hobo Shoestring - King of the Rails
The Life of a Hobo
Hitchhiking Stories from Digihitch 
The Road
Stobe the Hobo

A Ride in Nebraska, Blue Highways and William Least Heat-Moon

Dreams from the LORD 2007-2010
22 May 2008

Yesterday, I was somewhere between Bridgeport and Alliance, Nebraska when this car pulled over to pick me up. There were three guys in the car; I got in the back seat. As we started to drive down the road, the guy next to me asked, “Aren’t you from Ames, Iowa?”

I looked at him with a surprised look and said, “Yeah. How did you know that?”

He said, “I picked you up hitchhiking a few years ago and gave you a ride to Alliance. You made a photocopy of your book [High Plains Drifter] and gave it to me.”

I was stunned. We shook hands and then he said, “My name is Harold. I read your book and really enjoyed it. I passed it around to some friends of mine.”

It’s a small world. I remember making a photocopy of High Plains Drifter in Alliance for somebody, but I think it was more than a few years ago. I told Harold that he probably picked me up in 2001 or 2002.

So they drove me to Alliance and took me out to eat at a Mexican restaurant. The guy who was driving was Doug. Doug owned a junkyard nine miles from town; he let me and Harold stay at his place last night and Harold bought me breakfast this morning.

While we were eating breakfast, Harold told me that he was hitchhiking in Missouri back in the 1970s and William Least Heat-Moon picked him up and gave him a ride to Iowa. William Least Heat-Moon later wrote the book Blue Highways. I believe Blue Highways was a bestseller in the early 1980s. While I was living in Venice, California in the spring of 1984, I read Blue Highways and thought it was a very good book. I wrote William Least Heat-Moon a letter telling him how much I liked his book; he wrote me back, but I no longer have a copy of this letter.

An American Pilgrim:  Some Reflections on High Plains Drifter

At a Cafe in Merriman, Nebraska

U.S. Navy SEALs

Yesterday I hitchhiked from Valentine to Merriman. I phoned Steve and he drove to town and took me and his son, Will, to a local cafe for dinner. Steve and his wife Carol have a cattle ranch thirteen miles from Merriman. Their son, Brock, and their daughter, Tiffany, also work on the ranch. Steve had picked me up hitchhiking back in 2006, so I thought I would stop by and say hello.

Steve, Will and myself sat down at a table and ordered something to eat. A few minutes later, this other guy walked in and sat down with us. He looked like he was in his late 50s. His name was Chuck.

We talked about various things: ranching, hitchhiking, politics. Chuck then started talking about his experience in the Vietnam War. He was a Navy SEAL that had graduated from BUD/S (Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL) Training in 1972. Chuck talked at length about some of his firefights in the jungles of Southeast Asia. He said that the average life expectancy of a lieutenant in Vietnam was eleven minutes. Chuck was once shot out of a tree by an RPG (rocket-propelled grenade); he was providing covering fire for his team when the explosion of the grenade knocked him out of the tree. He had intense, penetrating eyes; it looked like he had been to hell and back.

I asked Chuck if he had seen the film We Were Soldiers and if it was a realistic account of combat in Vietnam. He said that he had seen the film and that it was very realistic. Chuck said that he had met Hal Moore (the author of the book We Were Soldiers) and thought that he was the best officer in Vietnam. I believe Moore had retired as a general in the U.S. Army.

Chuck had a son who fought recently in Afghanistan. He was an Airborne Ranger. Chuck talked a little about his son's combat experiences on the border of Pakistan and Afghanistan.

Some people think that the Navy SEALs are the best elite warriors in the world and some people think that the British SAS are the best. I asked Chuck if he had ever met any British SAS; he said that he had met a few. I could tell that Chuck knew where I was going with this: are the SAS the best warriors in the world? Chuck told me that the Israeli Special Forces were "deadly"; he had absolute respect for them and for Mossad (Israeli Intelligence). He said that the Israeli Special Forces were the best elite soldiers on the planet.

We finished our dinner and I shook Chuck's hand. It was a great honor to talk with a U.S. Navy SEAL.

I remember watching a documentary on President Harry Truman. Since a child, Truman had to wear glasses--he was pretty much blind without them. In a World War I photo of Captain Harry Truman, he had his glasses off. The commentator of the documentary said that Harry Truman had eyes of steel. Chuck, the Vietnam Veteran, had eyes of steel.

I stayed overnight at Steve and Carol's ranch. Steve, Carol, Tiffany and myself had excellent fellowship at the supper table. Tiffany was hoping to get into a Christian college in North Carolina. I told them a number of my stories of hitchhiking around the United States. They have a beautiful ranch in the Sandhills of Nebraska. I was grateful to have met Steve's family. I also met Steve's dad and step-mom. Steve's dad writes for three newspapers in Nebraska and one in South Dakota. Steve's dad gave me a copy of a booklet that he had published; these were newspaper articles that were published during the previous year.

Right now I am in Chadron. I may be heading south to Alliance tomorrow.

A Conversation with a World War II U.S. Navy Frogman
Freedom to Bear Arms
Alvin C. York
When Gibson Stays on Script
It's a Small World
Hitchhiking Stories from Digihitch
Where Have all the Warriors Gone?

A Ride in Nebraska back in 2006 or What Goes Around Comes Around

Yesterday I was looking at a couple of posts that I had on a thread on a website called Ranchers.net. This rancher from Merriman, Nebraska had picked me up in June of 2006; I guess I was heading to Washington, D.C. at the time. I remember that he was a Christian and that we had a really good talk. He dropped me off at a gas station in Cody, Nebraska where he took a photo of me with my backpack.

This rancher (called "Soapweed" on Ranchers.net) had several photos on that same thread and I looked at the photos for the first time yesterday. I showed these photos to my friends, Shawn and Theresa (who live in Valentine, Nebraska), and they said that they recognized the photo of the young man working on the windmill. They said that his dad used to go to their church in Cody some years ago. Soapweed took some very good photos.

Shawn and his wife took me to a farm just west of Ainsworth a few days ago to see a couple of their friends. Their names were Greg and Marla. Shawn asked Greg if he had ever picked up any hitchhikers. Greg said that he and his wife picked this hitchhiker up on U.S. 12 in Idaho in the fall of 2004. He then said that the hitchhiker sent him a book that he had written. Greg stopped to look for the book and then handed the book [typescript] to me. It was my book! [High Plains Drifter]

This lady that I met hitchhiking back in 2004 owned a print shop in Lewiston, Idaho. She told me to give her a floppy disk with my book on it and she would make photocopies and send it to anyone that I wanted. It is really incredible how the Lord works. What goes around comes around.

High Plains Drifter
At a Cafe in Merriman, Nebraska 
It's a Small World

Hitchhiking in Nebraska

High Plains Drifter typescript

High Plains Drifter: A Hitchhiking Journey Across America

By Tim Shey

Excerpt from Chapter Five:

Psalm 18: 19: “He brought me forth also into a large place; he delivered me, because he delighted in me.”

In May of 1997, I hitchhiked west towards Nebraska. I have always loved going through Nebraska. In all my travels, I believe that the people of Nebraska and Texas were by far the best people I have ever met. Nebraska was in my comfort zone. Whenever I had been wandering out west and came out of Wyoming and into Nebraska, I felt that I was back on my home turf. The people of Nebraska are gold, silver and precious stones.

I got some good rides all the way to Osmond, Nebraska. It was getting close to sundown when this guy driving a tractor picked me up.

"You can sit on the fender if you want," he said.

"Sounds good to me," I said.

He drove me to Plainview and we talked about the things of God and the Bible. He asked me what I was doing. I told him that I just quit my job and thought I would hitchhike by faith and see where God would take me. He offered me a job right there. He had his own construction company and lived on a farm with his wife and kids. I told him I would love to work for him, but that God was calling me out west for some reason. We stopped in Plainview and we shook hands. I hopped off the tractor and I got a motel room.

The next morning this tractor-trailer picked me up.

"I'm going all the way to western South Dakota," he said. "I got five drops: three in Nebraska and two in South Dakota."

We stopped at three places in Nebraska and I helped unload his van--he was hauling some small trees and shrubs. We got to a truck stop near Kadoka, South Dakota and he told me he would buy me some supper.

We were eating supper when he looked at me and said, "You know, right before I picked you up I saw this man pointing at you. It was like he was telling me to pick you up."

"What?" I exclaimed. "I didn't see anybody out there. I was alone.”

"I saw him plain as day. When I picked you up I didn't see him anymore."

I was flabbergasted. So I sat there and wondered and looked out the window and asked him, "Do you think he was an angel?"

"He must've. It was the strangest thing I ever saw."

On our trip we talked a lot about the Word of God and certain preachers on TV. He lived in Sioux City and was very well self-educated. I enjoyed talking with him. After supper he said he was going back to the sleeper and get some sleep. I took a long walk—for two or three miles—out in the country. Lots of grassland; it was beautiful.

I walked back to the truck and the trucker was sound asleep. He had a double-decker sleeper, so I got in the top bunk and turned on the VCR. From midnight till four in the morning I watched two films. The first film was The Professional—it was about the life of a mafia hit man and a twelve-year-old girl named Matilda. It was very good. I forget the other film.

The next day we stopped in Rapid City and Spearfish and we unloaded his truck. He bought me breakfast and I hit the road.

High Plains Drifter: A Hitchhiking Journey Across America

Two Pleasant Surprises

Book Review:  High Plains Drifter
An American Pilgrim: Some Reflections on High Plains Drifter
Hitchhiking Stories from Digihitch 

Montana to Nebraska

Looks like I will be staying with some friends here in Valentine, Nebraska for a few nights. I just hitchhiked from Montana around four days ago. I traveled through North Dakota and South Dakota on U.S. 83 on my way to Nebraska. I may head back west on U.S. 20 when I leave Valentine. It has warmed up quite a bit from a couple of days ago.