84 Hours (Four Days and Three Nights)

Rain falls down from the heavens breaching the crisp night air. The sharp breeze of passing cars bites your cheeks and your only pair of clothes is soaked. You squint your eyes to see the oncoming cars more clearly and your arm is weak from holding it out toward the road for an extended period of time. You stand alone hoping, hoping that it will all be over; hoping for someone, anyone, to pull over and give you a ride.

My grandfather, Howard Jeff Cobb (“Jay”), experienced this scenario during four days and three nights of his journey hitchhiking from Missouri to Sacramento via Route 66. He would travel a distance of nearly 2,500 miles to visit his family and girlfriend during a two-week break before he reported for duty at Ft. Dix in New Jersey. He figured that he could save some money by hitchhiking, but little did he know that this experience would remain with him until this day. He was 20 years old. It was the summer of 1957.

Jay departed from Missouri wearing a traditional Army uniform and carrying five hundred dollars in cash that the military gave him for traveling money. He securely sewed four-hundred-and-fifty-dollars of that money under the lining of his army hat for safekeeping and put the other fifty dollars in his leather wallet.

My grandfather’s first ride was from a kind, husky young man approximately my grandfather’s age. He was driving a powder blue 1957 Buick convertible with a tattered top cover. They got along from the get-go and in exchange for the driver’s kindness, my grandfather returned his gratitude by purchasing a hearty plate of eggs and bacon for the two of them. They traveled a long distance, driving all day through the hilly and lush landscape of Missouri. To save money, they split the cost of a motel room that had two beds. After a full day of travel he was still in Missouri. On his second day, he was dropped off at the border of Oklahoma.

The kind man in the classic convertible and my grandfather departed on their separate paths through America. In a short while, he was picked up by a big-rig truck driver who drove day and night, taking him all the way from the edge of Oklahoma to Albuquerque, New Mexico. As night fell over the southern horizon, the driver invited Jay to sleep in the smelly and claustrophobic bed compartment while he drove. During this time he replenished his energy by sleeping in the bed stowed above the cab unknowingly soaring 60 miles per hour through his dreams.

His next ride came from a woman with her teenage son. She drove Jay to her home in Needles, located at the California border. He was invited to spend the night and she fed him heartily. Early in the morning of his fourth day of travel she was kind enough to take him to a busy freeway on-ramp where he could get another ride closer to his family. With a happy heart, he was out of harm's way and nearly home to meet the loving arms of his family.

Shortly afterward he was picked up by a group of men going to Bakersfield to compete in a rodeo. There was a prize bull and calf in a trailer hitched to the back of the driver’s truck. Because there was no room in the passenger area of the truck, he had to sit in the trailer with the animals. Even though he was alone with a particularly large bull and calf, he was quite comfortable. The animals were harmless and the trailer was air-conditioned. He passed part of the time talking to the animals, soothed by their gentle nature, and reminiscing about when he was a child living on a farm in Idaho. Little did my grandfather know that hitchhiking was bit as pleasing as he had perceived.

He was then dropped off at Bakersfield, where a young man heading north offered to carry him as passenger. The ride seemed fairly pleasant until halfway to their destination the man unexpectedly turned off the main highway onto a country road. After a few minutes my grandfather, uneasy and frightened, knew something was not right, and asked the man where he was heading. The man then started talking to my grandpa about becoming more intimate. This response scared grandpa and he demanded the man to pull over. The man refused to pull over and said, “What are you talking about? I’m giving you a ride!” Grandpa was desperately trying to think of a way out, perspirating with distress, and in a final act of urgency, he told the man that he would fight him and hurt him if he did not let him out. The young man seemed threatened enough by this remark and dropped him off on the side of the road. My grandfather watched as he quickly sped away trying to remember where the main road was and bewildered that he was not harmed. He began his lengthy walk back to the main road weary and eager to end his road travels and be safe in the arms of his girlfriends and family. .

After that frightening experience, my grandfather was relieved to be picked up by three seemingly harmless men heading north. Unfortunately his mood changed when the men began talking about money they had stolen from convenience stores. One of the men opened up the glove compartment to get something, and my grandfather saw the outline of a threatening black gun. Emotionally exhausted from is former risky encounter he scrambled through his mind for a plan that would protect him for harm. Knowing that they would probably want to rob him of his money he plotted to reveal how little money he was carrying as soon as possible and avoid any type of physical action. My grandfather cautiously offered to buy them gas for their car and their lunch and to his relief they accepted his underlying plea for peace. He made sure that they saw that he had spent his last twenty dollars on them. Maybe because of my grandfather’s fast thinking, they did not attack him. Little did the men know that my grandfather still had four-hundred-and-fifty dollars sewn under the lining of his army hat. He was relieved when they dropped him off unharmed in Sacramento alarmed that he had merely escaped harm. After two close encounters with harm he phoned his parents to pick him up and was happy to be safely home.

During the era of the late 1950’s most people had an elevated respect for military personnel because of the war conflict in Korea. In the 1950’s people were more trusting of individuals and would more freely give a military man a ride if he were hitchhiking. In today’s world, I cannot see a parallel to the era when my grandfather carelessly chose to hitchhike across America. I would not consider giving a hitchhiker a ride or attempting to hitchhike myself. Today’s widespread communication as a result of the growth of technology, news broadcasting, and publications have highlighted the kidnapping, rapes, and deaths that have resulted from participating in hitchhiking. Although there are dangerous aspects of hitchhiking, throughout my grandfather’s four-day and three night odyssey, he had many important experiences. While traveling alone he learned much more about himself. In order to survive he had to make his own decisions about his safety. These experiences greatly matured him into the grandfather that I admire and love. His strength and determination to see the best in people are attributes that I greatly respect in my grandfather.

My grandfather was fortunate enough to have met a few nice drivers that he could put his trust in. His blind trust in those that offered him rides is an attribute that is less common in the more defensive society of today. Later on in his journey he faced more frightening incidents that would haunt him for years to come. After his journey he learned that there are many dangerous people in the world and that it is probably not worth it to risk your life by trusting a stranger to give you a ride. He did not hitchhike again and found other inexpensive and safe ways to travel that were less emotionally and physically draining.

My grandfather’s story has affected me in many ways. After hearing his story I pictured a younger side of him that I had not seen before. He took many risks that I would fear to take. Any individual would have to be incredibly brave to trust a stranger for a ride. Additionally, I learned from hearing this story that people trusted each other more forty years ago than they do today. There are fewer people willing to assist those in need, much less, offer or accept transportation from someone unknown to them. Has such a dramatic decrease in trust been a result of widespread communication of frightening events in the media, or decline in compassion and application for those in need? Even though my grandfather faced life threatening encounters during his 48 hour journey, his experiences, good and bad, shape his being. As a result of his odyssey, his youthful and naive soul has become stronger and more mature. He learned to be cautious, calm, and think rationally during times of distress and fear. I enjoy hearing my grandfather’s adventurous story, learning some of his lessons, and sharing them with others.

Rain falls down from the heavens breaching the crisp night air. The sharp breeze of passing cars bites your cheeks and your only pair of clothes is soaked. You squint your eyes to see the oncoming cars more clearly and your arm is weak from holding it out toward the road for an extended period of time. You stand alone hoping, hoping that it will all be over; hoping for someone, anyone, to pull over and give you a ride.

My grandfather, Howard Jeff Cobb (“Jay”), experienced this scenario during four days and three nights of his journey hitchhiking from Missouri to Sacramento via Route 66. He would travel a distance of nearly 2,500 miles to visit his family and girlfriend during a two-week break before he reported for duty at Ft. Dix in New Jersey. He figured that he could save some money by hitchhiking, but little did he know that this experience would remain with him until this day. He was 20 years old. It was the summer of 1957.

Jay departed from Missouri wearing a traditional Army uniform and carrying five hundred dollars in cash that the military gave him for traveling money. He securely sewed four-hundred-and-fifty-dollars of that money under the lining of his army hat for safekeeping and put the other fifty dollars in his leather wallet.

My grandfather’s first ride was from a kind, husky young man approximately my grandfather’s age. He was driving a powder blue 1957 Buick convertible with a tattered top cover. They got along from the get-go and in exchange for the driver’s kindness, my grandfather returned his gratitude by purchasing a hearty plate of eggs and bacon for the two of them. They traveled a long distance, driving all day through the hilly and lush landscape of Missouri. To save money, they split the cost of a motel room that had two beds. After a full day of travel he was still in Missouri. On his second day, he was dropped off at the border of Oklahoma.

The kind man in the classic convertible and my grandfather departed on their separate paths through America. In a short while, he was picked up by a big-rig truck driver who drove day and night, taking him all the way from the edge of Oklahoma to Albuquerque, New Mexico. As night fell over the southern horizon, the driver invited Jay to sleep in the smelly and claustrophobic bed compartment while he drove. During this time he replenished his energy by sleeping in the bed stowed above the cab unknowingly soaring 60 miles per hour through his dreams.

His next ride came from a woman with her teenage son. She drove Jay to her home in Needles, located at the California border. He was invited to spend the night and she fed him heartily. Early in the morning of his fourth day of travel she was kind enough to take him to a busy freeway on-ramp where he could get another ride closer to his family. With a happy heart, he was out of harm's way and nearly home to meet the loving arms of his family.

Shortly afterward he was picked up by a group of men going to Bakersfield to compete in a rodeo. There was a prize bull and calf in a trailer hitched to the back of the driver’s truck. Because there was no room in the passenger area of the truck, he had to sit in the trailer with the animals. Even though he was alone with a particularly large bull and calf, he was quite comfortable. The animals were harmless and the trailer was air-conditioned. He passed part of the time talking to the animals, soothed by their gentle nature, and reminiscing about when he was a child living on a farm in Idaho. Little did my grandfather know that hitchhiking was bit as pleasing as he had perceived.

He was then dropped off at Bakersfield, where a young man heading north offered to carry him as passenger. The ride seemed fairly pleasant until halfway to their destination the man unexpectedly turned off the main highway onto a country road. After a few minutes my grandfather, uneasy and frightened, knew something was not right, and asked the man where he was heading. The man then started talking to my grandpa about becoming more intimate. This response scared grandpa and he demanded the man to pull over. The man refused to pull over and said, “What are you talking about? I’m giving you a ride!” Grandpa was desperately trying to think of a way out, perspirating with distress, and in a final act of urgency, he told the man that he would fight him and hurt him if he did not let him out. The young man seemed threatened enough by this remark and dropped him off on the side of the road. My grandfather watched as he quickly sped away trying to remember where the main road was and bewildered that he was not harmed. He began his lengthy walk back to the main road weary and eager to end his road travels and be safe in the arms of his girlfriends and family. .

After that frightening experience, my grandfather was relieved to be picked up by three seemingly harmless men heading north. Unfortunately his mood changed when the men began talking about money they had stolen from convenience stores. One of the men opened up the glove compartment to get something, and my grandfather saw the outline of a threatening black gun. Emotionally exhausted from is former risky encounter he scrambled through his mind for a plan that would protect him for harm. Knowing that they would probably want to rob him of his money he plotted to reveal how little money he was carrying as soon as possible and avoid any type of physical action. My grandfather cautiously offered to buy them gas for their car and their lunch and to his relief they accepted his underlying plea for peace. He made sure that they saw that he had spent his last twenty dollars on them. Maybe because of my grandfather’s fast thinking, they did not attack him. Little did the men know that my grandfather still had four-hundred-and-fifty dollars sewn under the lining of his army hat. He was relieved when they dropped him off unharmed in Sacramento alarmed that he had merely escaped harm. After two close encounters with harm he phoned his parents to pick him up and was happy to be safely home.

During the era of the late 1950’s most people had an elevated respect for military personnel because of the war conflict in Korea. In the 1950’s people were more trusting of individuals and would more freely give a military man a ride if he were hitchhiking. In today’s world, I cannot see a parallel to the era when my grandfather carelessly chose to hitchhike across America. I would not consider giving a hitchhiker a ride or attempting to hitchhike myself. Today’s widespread communication as a result of the growth of technology, news broadcasting, and publications have highlighted the kidnapping, rapes, and deaths that have resulted from participating in hitchhiking. Although there are dangerous aspects of hitchhiking, throughout my grandfather’s four-day and three night odyssey, he had many important experiences. While traveling alone he learned much more about himself. In order to survive he had to make his own decisions about his safety. These experiences greatly matured him into the grandfather that I admire and love. His strength and determination to see the best in people are attributes that I greatly respect in my grandfather.

My grandfather was fortunate enough to have met a few nice drivers that he could put his trust in. His blind trust in those that offered him rides is an attribute that is less common in the more defensive society of today. Later on in his journey he faced more frightening incidents that would haunt him for years to come. After his journey he learned that there are many dangerous people in the world and that it is probably not worth it to risk your life by trusting a stranger to give you a ride. He did not hitchhike again and found other inexpensive and safe ways to travel that were less emotionally and physically draining.

My grandfather’s story has affected me in many ways. After hearing his story I pictured a younger side of him that I had not seen before. He took many risks that I would fear to take. Any individual would have to be incredibly brave to trust a stranger for a ride. Additionally, I learned from hearing this story that people trusted each other more forty years ago than they do today. There are fewer people willing to assist those in need, much less, offer or accept transportation from someone unknown to them. Has such a dramatic decrease in trust been a result of widespread communication of frightening events in the media, or decline in compassion and application for those in need? Even though my grandfather faced life threatening encounters during his 48 hour journey, his experiences, good and bad, shape his being. As a result of his odyssey, his youthful and naive soul has become stronger and more mature. He learned to be cautious, calm, and think rationally during times of distress and fear. I enjoy hearing my grandfather’s adventurous story, learning some of his lessons, and sharing them with others.