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Description
        A year ago I was living in Reno, if you can really call it living. Laid off, nearly broke, car dead; it was time to head home, back to the great Salt Lake. I stuffed a wad of clothes and as much water as I could carry into an old pack, drew the last of my cash from savings, and started walking. That's right, hitchhiking across Nevada in the summer, not my proudest moment.
It was easy going until I hit the bulk of US Highway 50.  I've learned since that US 50 is the "Loneliest Road in America." Lucky me. Fortunately I managed to keep walking right up until sundown, when I stumbled off the road a few yards and curled up under my random clothing.
The next day began with  a car horn blaring over old classic rock. As I untangled myself from the pile of clothes and struggled to stand a friendly voice took the horn's place.
"Hey fella! You need a ride?"
When I finally stood facing the road I saw an old, blue Honda Accord, stopped in its lane on the other side. The driver's window was rolled half way down and a young redheaded woman had her head shoved through the opening. The grin reaching across her face was as warm and genuine as I've ever seen. There was a problem though.
"I, uh...I don't think you're going my way." I said, pointing east.
Immediately the car lurched ahead and whipped around into the other lane. She stuck her head back out, stretching to look over the roof at me.
"You sure?"
I stood bemused for a moment while she continued to smile. Stuffing what I could grab into the backpack, I ran over to the Honda. The girl extended her bare foot across the passenger seat to open the door, and finally slide back into her seat. I tossed my bag in the back, already full, I noticed, of climbing gear, and piled in.
"Hey, uh, I'm Matt," I stuck out my hand, "thanks."
"Nice to meet ya Matt, where you headed?" she asked as she took my hand and stepped on the gas.
"Salt Lake City."
"Oh yeah? Well, me too."
"Really?" I asked. She had been facing west, I didn't see how she could be going to Salt Lake. Did she have family there? No. Friends? Job? School? Nope. I stopped asking. She didn't have many questions for me. Where was I coming from, where was I going, and what was there. She cleanly jumped from that to 'Do you like music?' Not a genre or a band, just 'music.'
Before I could answer the stereo was cranked up and she was singing. Every beat perfectly matched by her bobbing head and tapping fingers, every emotion expressed in lyric and melody displayed precisely on her face. She'd occasionally look my way, raise her eyebrows, and nod forward, inviting me to sing along. At first I refused, but eventually, since she kept insisting, and kept singing, I joined in.
After just one refrain she stopped and stared. I stopped singing. She started giggling, then louder, then erupted into bellowing laughter. Straight from the laughing back to song, still inviting me along. Her window went down again, and minutes later we were both hanging our heads out of the car as we sped through tiny towns, singing our throats raw.
Our singing voices finally gave out as the sun dropped behind us. We turned back to conversation, picking up some of the questions she missed earlier. She expressed sorrow at my financial situation, but immediately steered in another direction. I finally got to ask about the gear in her back seat, leading to the one bit of personal information I got. She worked trail maintenance in Canyonlands National Park. Now that was something I could talk about. The pack I was hauling across Nevada was used for many trips to Canyonlands. The rest of our drive to old Salt Lake was wasted away with shared adventures.
Finally in Salt Lake City, we pulled into a gas station near the interstate and I started walking away. Immediately she pointed out that this wasn't my home and refused to leave me until I directed her all the way there. As the Accord pulled up to my parent's house I rolled out my pack and pulled the last of my cash from my pocket. I offered it as part of the gas bill. She leaned over and took it, told me that was sweet and laid a quick kiss on my cheek. I started to walk across the lawn, but caught myself. I ran back to the car and stuck my head in.
"What's your name?"
Her name is Alexis, and I think I'm in love.

Description
        A year ago I was living in Reno, if you can really call it living. Laid off, nearly broke, car dead; it was time to head home, back to the great Salt Lake. I stuffed a wad of clothes and as much water as I could carry into an old pack, drew the last of my cash from savings, and started walking. That's right, hitchhiking across Nevada in the summer, not my proudest moment.
It was easy going until I hit the bulk of US Highway 50.  I've learned since that US 50 is the "Loneliest Road in America." Lucky me. Fortunately I managed to keep walking right up until sundown, when I stumbled off the road a few yards and curled up under my random clothing.
The next day began with  a car horn blaring over old classic rock. As I untangled myself from the pile of clothes and struggled to stand a friendly voice took the horn's place.
"Hey fella! You need a ride?"
When I finally stood facing the road I saw an old, blue Honda Accord, stopped in its lane on the other side. The driver's window was rolled half way down and a young redheaded woman had her head shoved through the opening. The grin reaching across her face was as warm and genuine as I've ever seen. There was a problem though.
"I, uh...I don't think you're going my way." I said, pointing east.
Immediately the car lurched ahead and whipped around into the other lane. She stuck her head back out, stretching to look over the roof at me.
"You sure?"
I stood bemused for a moment while she continued to smile. Stuffing what I could grab into the backpack, I ran over to the Honda. The girl extended her bare foot across the passenger seat to open the door, and finally slide back into her seat. I tossed my bag in the back, already full, I noticed, of climbing gear, and piled in.
"Hey, uh, I'm Matt," I stuck out my hand, "thanks."
"Nice to meet ya Matt, where you headed?" she asked as she took my hand and stepped on the gas.
"Salt Lake City."
"Oh yeah? Well, me too."
"Really?" I asked. She had been facing west, I didn't see how she could be going to Salt Lake. Did she have family there? No. Friends? Job? School? Nope. I stopped asking. She didn't have many questions for me. Where was I coming from, where was I going, and what was there. She cleanly jumped from that to 'Do you like music?' Not a genre or a band, just 'music.'
Before I could answer the stereo was cranked up and she was singing. Every beat perfectly matched by her bobbing head and tapping fingers, every emotion expressed in lyric and melody displayed precisely on her face. She'd occasionally look my way, raise her eyebrows, and nod forward, inviting me to sing along. At first I refused, but eventually, since she kept insisting, and kept singing, I joined in.
After just one refrain she stopped and stared. I stopped singing. She started giggling, then louder, then erupted into bellowing laughter. Straight from the laughing back to song, still inviting me along. Her window went down again, and minutes later we were both hanging our heads out of the car as we sped through tiny towns, singing our throats raw.
Our singing voices finally gave out as the sun dropped behind us. We turned back to conversation, picking up some of the questions she missed earlier. She expressed sorrow at my financial situation, but immediately steered in another direction. I finally got to ask about the gear in her back seat, leading to the one bit of personal information I got. She worked trail maintenance in Canyonlands National Park. Now that was something I could talk about. The pack I was hauling across Nevada was used for many trips to Canyonlands. The rest of our drive to old Salt Lake was wasted away with shared adventures.
Finally in Salt Lake City, we pulled into a gas station near the interstate and I started walking away. Immediately she pointed out that this wasn't my home and refused to leave me until I directed her all the way there. As the Accord pulled up to my parent's house I rolled out my pack and pulled the last of my cash from my pocket. I offered it as part of the gas bill. She leaned over and took it, told me that was sweet and laid a quick kiss on my cheek. I started to walk across the lawn, but caught myself. I ran back to the car and stuck my head in.
"What's your name?"
Her name is Alexis, and I think I'm in love.