thumbs up!!

well, one really.

i have too many stories to tell, so id rather highlight a recent development of mine, what some of you might call an 'addiction.'you see, they say that denial is the first sign of addiction. my case proves otherwise. i know that i have an itch, and i know that i have to scratch it. this so called 'problem' begins at the base of my left thumb, and runs all the way to the peak of the limb. and the basic issue is that it simply needs air. it needs to breathe, to stand alone, apart from the rest of its kind, on top of the world. my addiction: hitchhiking. so, whats killing you?

(inside the hitchhikers anonymous meeting...) - "it all started so innocently, riding to orewa with a german kite boarder named neils. he was a media director who hated his job and wanted to travel, liked to listen rock music, and was living with her girlfriend in auckland. he gave me a soda and some chex mix, and we talked about his western culture and his failed attempts at being a buddhist. i had no idea what one single ride could turn into..."

(back in real life...) - i really didnt. my most recent binge included five rides to get to my destination, and ive all but thrown my bus pass out the window. all the faces, names, stories, smells, sights, they all jumble together into this smeared water color painting of the road. many a time ive never even bothered with exchanging names, because when hitchhiking, there is much more shared than the exchange of identity, experiences, and insights. theres an understanding between the host and the hitcher, an unspoken bond. right off the bat, similar interests are already in place, as anyone that picks up some sketchy guy on the side of the road must be slightly delusional, or they had to be in that same situation at some point during their lifetime. they understand the constant disappointment of watching car after car after car go by, with people giving you a thumbs down, shaking their head, or just ignoring you. but you still manage to smile, hoping that the old lady, that trucker, or the two ski bums will stop. everyone ive ridden with has been there. and theres comfort in that. whether im riding shotgun, or nestled in the backseat with my gear, wide-eyed like a kid at story time, as soon as the speedometer speeds up, time slows down. everything becomes calm, and all your worries get jammed down at your feet, next to the empty boxes of chips (fries) and cans of fizz. there is a different world born within each vehicle, coded from the style of the driver. but once you step out of that car, leave that world, and enter 'ours,' your taste pallet is wiped clean, and everything melts away, as your find yourself standing on the road again. its like a nice piece of bleu cheese after a sip of wine. but you want that next sip of wine, dont you? yup. and when it comes to that, i dont have a drinking problem...i drink, no problem.

i can tell when its time to get back on the move, as i get this nagging feeling in my stomach, like im hungry, an ache. the real ache is for movement, the thrill of getting from A to B. or should i say A to Z, because its the letters along the way that make the journey. oftentimes, ill get to my destination and feel let down, because i realize that the reason i was so excited to get there was due to the process of actually getting there. then the stomach starts rumbling, the finger gets itchy, and my thumb, like a sail to my boat, is yet again pulling me wherever the wind blows. just let it breathe.