Thumbs Up, Smiling.
Looking both ways, I quickly crossed the road. I could no longer feel the weight of my heavy pack; it felt like an extension of me. I hadn’t taken it off in hours, fearing I might enjoy the relief a little too much. Mambo trotted beside me at the end of her makeshift leash, her head bobbing back and forth with each step. She was a trooper; I had yet to meet any person who could put up with my “adventures”, never mind be excited for them. As long as I carried her through the scary stuff, there wasn’t anything Mambo wouldn’t do with me. She was certainly better than any boyfriend I’d had, and we both knew it.
“Mambo, sit.” Mambo immediately took this as an opportunity to rest her legs. She proceeded to sprawl out on the side of Rt. 112, basking in the blanket of humidity. A line of motorcycles soared by me, heading in the opposite direction. I looked to where they were going and could see the pavement shimmering under their wheels as they zoomed around the corner and out of sight. I had a brief image of myself on a Harley. All black, of course, with Mambo in a cart next to me, curled in a perfect black ball on the seat. We would be cruising through the Rocky Mountains, ready for another stint in the backcountry. I looked down at the dog by my feet, whose white belly was showing to the world, and smiled.
I brushed the dirt from my knees, straightened my skirt, and adjusted the straps over my sweaty collarbones. I did my best to look less like I hadn’t showered in days, and more like the friendly hiker anyone in their right mind would pick up. As exhausted as I was, I knew I needed to put on an act if I didn’t want to be stranded on the side of the Kancamagus Highway the rest of the day. Standing up straight, I threw out my arm and flicked up my thumb.
A silver Jeep roared around the bend. I suddenly remembered to smile, and forced my most gruesome grin just as the driver passed by me without a glance in my direction. I felt like a toddler on their first picture day, being coaxed into a happy face by an obnoxious man with a puppet.
“Smile, sweetie!”
Fuck you.
I rested my face and my arm as I awaited another car traveling in my direction. Past experiences had shown that I would have a ride within five minutes, but I couldn’t help but wonder if I would be left baking on this godforsaken tourist road for hours. I took off my baseball cap and ran my fingers through my damp, short hair. The air felt cool on my forehead, but I placed the hat back in its position to cover my face. The sun beat down and I shifted the weight from my pack on my hips. I could feel the moisture building on the small of my back, soaking into my tank top. Every second seemed like ten.
Listening carefully, I could hear the rumbling engine of an automobile around the corner. My thumb was up and my smile had been plastered on just as a stream of cars came my way. I couldn’t attempt eye contact through the windows of the cars, so I stared straight ahead, feeling like a cardboard cutout.
Every few seconds I would turn my head around to see if a car had pulled over, but so far none had. Soon the final car had passed for the time being, and I was left again to stand on the side of the Kancamagus Highway and question my life choices. Mambo had moved only to snap her jaws at a deer fly that rustled her from a dream. Surely this dream was full of fat, stupid squirrels and pig ears. I wondered if she ever dreamed of me, and if her dreams were realistic or if they were surreal like human’s dreams often are. If they were the latter, then she was thinking of herself as the leader of a dog gang. There would be metal studs on her leather jacket and they would all be snapping their paws while approaching the rival gang…
Reality came crashing down as I saw another conga line of out-of-state cars coming my way. By now my smile resembled more of a grimace, and I wondered if any cars would think I was in pain. I hoped they would, if only to evoke sympathy for the poor girl and her sweet dog, who only need a ride, after all. After the fifth car I turned around to see that a white SUV with Massachusetts plates had pulled over and was backing up to close the gap between us.
“Mambo! That’s us!”
Mambo jumped up as if she had never been asleep and walked with me to our white steed, come to rescue us from the clutches of a Saturday in July on the Kanc. As I approached I could see a man’s head in the driver’s seat looking back to me, and heard the click of doors unlocking. I opened the back door.
“Hello! Thank you so much for stopping!” I said, swinging my backpack off and onto a child’s car seat.
“Hey it’s no problem!” The man replied.
I was about close the back door when a panting Chihuahua came hurtling over the backseat and into my view. Mambo (or should I say Cujo?) snarled her lips at the obviously threatening rat dog and I began to retrieve my pack from the backseat, knowing my fate was to return to the sweltering asphalt.
“Sorry, I’ll take the next car.” I said, shrugging my shoulders at the man. He looked confused. “Really? It’s no problem, I can tie him in the back. Hang on.”
The man got out from the driver’s side and raced around to the back of the car. I looked at Mambo.
“Don’t be a bitch.” I said.
She looked at me with her brown eyes, as if asking, “Who? Me?”
I opened up the front door and had to give my tired dog a boost to get her in the front seat. She scrambled onto the leather and immediately plopped into the middle of the cushion. I pushed her to the side quickly and got myself in, closing the door with a grunt from Mambo.
“Thanks for doing that. We’ve been working on her attitude towards other dogs lately. She’s a work in progress.” I said, lifting up my dog’s chin to click my seat belt into its buckle. “Don’t worry about it. I’m Stan, I’ve been in your position many times and I know how nice it feels to finally be picked up.” He said cheerfully.
Stan looked to be in his thirties; there were very few wrinkles around his smile. He was dressed in a cotton t-shirt and khaki shorts that ended just above his scrawny knees. He had a full head of dark, curly hair, and judging by the toddler-sized car seats in the back, the grey strands of hair on his head probably weren’t from aging.
“I’m Sick Burn, and this is Spuds. We really appreciate your kindness. A lot of people don’t feel great about hitchhikers these days.” “Sick Burn and Spuds? Interesting names, I’m guessing that isn’t what you go by back home.” He said. An eyebrow was raised but he was smiling.
I thought for a moment.
“I don’t know who I am to the people back home, but out here I’m Sick Burn. Spuds here is just a fingerling potato on legs, but she is as sweet as a yam.”
Mambo, or Spuds, had weaseled her way past the gear shift and was now resting her chin on Stan’s exposed knee. He laughed and nodded his head.
“Sure seems like it. So where did the name Sick Burn come from?” He asked. “Oh, just a bad sunburn I got once.” I said, and smiled sweetly.
I wouldn’t lead him to know that I had actually received the name after unleashing a devious plot onto a guy who had disrespected me. I would let him figure that out on his own, if need be. Stan seemed to already have questions for me.
“So where did you go out to?” He asked. “I started at the Hancock trailhead, then took the Cedar Brook Trail to the East Branch of the Pemigewasset River. I then forded the river with Spuds in my arms over to the Bondcliff Trail. I ended up camping at the base of Owl’s Head last night, and then summited this morning. I’ve spent the day hiking out of the Pemigewasset Wilderness. I hiked eleven miles yesterday, then hiked fourteen today. I’m so beat!”
Stan whistled.
“Nice! That’s some serious hiking there, impressive.” He said.
I shrugged my shoulders and looked out the window. I placed my hands on Mambo’s back and gently ran my fingers down her spine. Stan was quiet.
“You know, I through-hiked the Appalachian Trail a few years ago.” He said, leaning back in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel.
And? I thought. I looked at him, waiting to hear if there was more. There wasn’t.
“Oh wow! That’s awesome. Congratulations, what a feat.” I said. Stan beamed as if I had said the magic words; the words I knew I was supposed to say. “I hiked almost the entire thing with my dog. He is a bit too old for hiking now, which is why I bring Goliath with me on my hikes now. He’s that ankle-biter back there Spuds was giving the evil eye. He loves to be outside.”
Goliath must had heard his name, because the next thing I knew a small head was peaking up from behind the back seat, and Mambo was uttering low growls. I reassured Mambo and she started to calm down. Goliath got the hint and retreated.
“That’s awesome. I would love to take Spuds onto a long trail someday. I wouldn’t want to do the AT though- there are sections she can’t join me on. I would feel like she was less of an accessory and more of a companion if she was with me the entire way. Like I couldn’t have done it without her, you know?”
Stan looked at me and seemed unsure.
“Huh. I didn’t think of it that way, but it wasn’t so bad.” Stan looked thoughtfully out at the road ahead. We passed by a scenic outlook overflowing with cars, some lining the side of the road. The vista boasted a mighty mountain range, with different hues of green fading into one another. Deep valleys and notches looked as if they had been chiseled by a jagged shard of granite, then left to meld into the rest of the land. The humidity created a light blue haze above the peaks, and I felt as if I could taste the moisture.
We drove along, and Stan continued to ask me questions, only so he could provide his own answers after I had politely given my replies. It became increasingly clear to me what his motives were in picking up a hitchhiker. He had mentioned his wife was out of town with their kids for the weekend, and I wondered if he felt lonely. He seemed awfully eager to talk to me about his life, and it made me feel sad for him. Loneliness is no stranger to most. I listened quietly, laughed at the right moments, and occasionally interjected with a “Wow.”, “Nice!” or “Oh man.” My thoughts were on the land passing by my window. Each tree seemed like a different person. I thought of a Mary Oliver poem I had read the night before, in which the main character attempts to count the leaves on the trees. Onlookers laugh at her for being foolish, but she knows that in the end she is the one who is laughing. After losing track and becoming overwhelmed by the abundance of the leaves, she is crazy, filled with wonder.
Mambo shifts next to me and I see she has placed her chin on top of the gear-shift knob. Stan notices too and laughs.
“What a strange dog.” He said, affection in his voice. I nodded in agreement. “She certainly is. My life would be so boring with a normal dog.”
As I said this I realized we were nearing the parking lot I had parked my car not even forty-eight hours before. It seemed like much longer; perhaps weeks. But being alone in the woods did funny things to time.
I mentioned our nearing arrival to Stan and he started to slow down. Mambo noticed the change in speed and her head perked up, craning to look out the windshield. Pulling into the parking lot, I pointed out my blue Subaru and he parked next to it. I looked at him.
“Well Stan, thank you again for your help. I really appreciate it.” I said, starting to grope for the door handle. He smiled at me. “You are very welcome. I hope you enjoy the rest of your adventures.” “Thanks, I hope you do too.” I smiled back and hopped out of the passenger seat. Mambo followed behind, half falling out in her groggy state.
I reached over to open the door to the backseat, and heaved my hulking backpack over my shoulder. It seemed heavier than it did twenty minutes before.
“Alright, bye! Drive safe!” I said cheerfully, happy to finally be at my car, happy to finally be alone again. “See you! Loved talking with you, have a great-“
I shut the door before he could finish and smiled and waved, he did the same. How unnecessarily long did people need to make goodbyes? There doesn’t need to be a full recap of the time spent together, in which instances people are often sucked back into conversations, thus prolonging the goodbye. For this reason, I believe Irish goodbyes should be socially acceptable. My death would be just as anticlimactic.
As I backed up from the white SUV as Stan pulled away. I stooped over my pack leaned against my car and rummaged to find my car keys. I heard him beep his horn before pulling back out onto the highway, but I didn’t turn around. Perhaps she didn’t hear me, he would think, and then I would be off the hook.
Unlocking my car, Mambo leaped inside to the plush front seat and proceeded to curl into her signature ball and feign sleep. I started to roll down the windows when I noticed the piece of white paper on my windshield. For a moment I hoped it was a religious flyer, and then I realized that no Jehovah’s Witnesses were driving out to the middle of a mountain highway to spread their faith. I grabbed the paper, mumbling to myself about parking tickets.
It was indeed a parking ticket, for seventy-five dollars, no less. A whimper escaped my lips and I shook my fists at the sky. How could I have parked in a handicapped spot without noticing? I’ve never done this before! I slumped into the driver’s seat and closed my eyes. I couldn’t remember why I left the woods. There aren’t parking tickets in the wilderness. Money doesn’t matter when you’re living off nuts and oats and bathing in a river.
I reread the ticket to make sure I didn’t see things wrong. Seventy-five dollars. Still there. I got out of my car and kneeled on the hot pavement to check for the painted marking, symbolizing the spot was reserved for handicapped drivers. There it was. No fighting this one. I accepted the loss of the money, and remembered I could look forward to a cool shower. I got back in my car, and started to head home.
As I drove along the remainder of Rt. 112, I passed by hundreds of cars. The people who owned them were probably somewhere in the forest, crawling along the trail like ants. Some of the owners of the cars were sight-seeing at various points along the highway, eating lunch, many taking photos. As I came up to the height-of-land , called Kancamagus Pass, I could see a couple posing in front of the large sign that had been put there by the forest service. They were happy, arms around each other, their thumbs up, smiling.