(This entire 17-part story can be found in the “travel” category.)
I awoke in the pre-dawn hours to the biting of little gnats. They were annoying, and getting me at a time when my chigger bites from North Carolina were just starting to clear up. My only refuge was to snuggle down into my sleeping bag and pull the top closed. The only trouble was that it was too warm to do that. In minutes I was a sweat ball. I hadn’t set up my tent – which was orange – because I didn’t want to attract attention to myself.
Within a half hour, I’d had enough. I got out of my sleeping ball, rolled it up, and headed back to the highway. It would be light soon so I’d surely get a ride. It was a Sunday, but sometimes the decreased traffic this early in the day was an advantage. It only took a few minutes before I was in a car and speeding down I-95 toward Miami.
By noon, I was in Miami at the marina district. I had several good rides that morning, meeting interesting people. A young 20-something guy had spent time in the US Virgin Islands, and he supplied me with contact names in St.Thomas. He even suggested a non-tourist hotel that would be the perfect place to stay while I found more permanent accommodations. But first I had to get there.
Now to find a ride to the Virgin Islands. I began that quest by finding a place to stash my backpack and duffel bag. Under a bridge, next to an upscale marina on the Intracoastal Waterway, I saw a ledge. No one would ever spot my possessions up there. I climbed up the concrete support pillar and packed my stuff outta sight.
I enjoyed my freedom of movement again. No 60 pounds of stuff to carry. I normally carry only a backpack, but the prospect of construction work in St. Thomas after the devastation caused by Hurricane Hugo had caused me to double my load by carrying carpentry tools. I expected to be there at least half a year, so I didn’t skimp on supplies, either.
I spent the afternoon going from marina to marina, dock to dock. I find that if you just act like you belong there and have a smile on your face, nobody questions you. The large yachts, I discovered, were in town for a boat show that just began. None of them were heading to the Caribbean until the following Sunday. That wouldn’t do.
I tried the docks that housed the working boats. I found a few that were taking supplies to the Virgin Islands, but none were leaving until at least Wednesday. I’m too impatient to wait that long. Also, it was now October. I was anxious to get to St. Thomas.
I did get a suggestion to try the place that finds crew jobs for guys. They’d be open first thing Monday morning, so that became my plan. So I headed back to the bridge to check on my stuff. It was all there, safe and secure. I decided to head toward the marina bar district, where plenty of ship captains would no doubt be out partying. I talked to several boating people in bars, but no luck.
Time to get some sleep. I returned to the bridge, got my sleeping bag, then snuck into a real fancy marina complex. Staying out of sight, I laid out my sleeping bag behind a row of meticulously pruned shrubs on the perfectly manicured lawn. I was soon fast asleep. It wouldn’t last.
I was startled awake. A pop-up irrigation sprinkler came on about 4am. Problem was, it was directly under my sleeping bag. What to do? I pulled my bag back enough to expose the sprinkler head, then pushed it back down with my hand. It kept watering, but only gushing a small geyser from the ground. I had to hold it 10 minutes or so before it finally finished its cycle and shut off. My bag was drenched. My shirt and head were soaked, my spirit dampened.
- Mountain Man
Tags: blog, hitchhiking blog, Mountain Man and City Girl, travel blog