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I went to REI today after work, mostly to cheer myself up. Roomie and I awake with backaches when we use our Thermarest Trail sleeping mats, and I was tempted to purchase lighter weight, though non self-inflating air mattresses which are both thicker and lighter than the Trail. They also happen to be on sale. On the way in, I see a hobo type by the door putting some laces on his shoes.
I could not find the size mattress I wanted on the shelf, but the customer service clerk checked the computer and found there were supposed to be two there (there had been four when I called on the weekend). While clerk looked around in the back for the mattresses, I used the bathroom which was right behind the customer service area. Behind the flush plumbing on the urinal was a business card "Please Elect 'Iowa Poet Blackie PRESIDENT." On the flip side was an advert for a book of hobo poetry. Being the Sharpie I am, I put the card together with the figure by the door.
Clerk returns empty-handed, and proceeds to call in a floor clerk to pick up the trail. No luck. After passing by the area one more time, to see if perhaps someone was walking around with one and had returned it, I check out the lighter weight (and not as infernally hot as my Down Time) sleeping bags. Definitely lighter. On sale, too. In any case, I resist.
On the way out I walk past the hobo to the door. And then I think of Road Hog, who was once King of the Hoboes and who lived in Dunsmuir, and I stop. I return to the hobo, who is still lacing his boots (and probably ducking the rain and / or the sweltering heat inside).
— Say, did you ever know a fellow by the name of Road Hog? I guess he was King of the Hoboes some time back.
— Road Hog? Sure! I haven't seen him in years. How do you know Road Hog?
— He used to live in the same small town as me. A good guy.
— I heard he was a gravedigger.
— He was. He was the caretaker at the cemetary in the town I lived in. I remember when he took the job.
— Really? Road Hog was a good guy. Of course he had his brushes with the law.
— Yeah, the bank robbery. What was he thinking? I heard he died a ways back.
— Did he?
— I believe so, yes.
Blackie pulled out a Hobo almanac and reminded me that some robber baron was born on this day a long time ago. I told him I had never heard of the man. Then he pointed out that 100 years ago today, the IWW was founded. "How about that? Today is the centennial of the Wobblies!" And so it is.
Blackie then gave me a "free sample" of his poetry. I can't say I'm a fan; the rhyming of every other line makes me read just the rhymes rather than the words. However, I did notice that the sheet he gave me advertises a $30.00 price for his book of poetry, while the card in the loo advertises it for 10.
Recently, I have been trying to figure out whether it is better to think that things happen for a reason. Perhaps my reason for going to REI was not to indulge a thirst for lighter weight packs but to connect somehow to a fellow who has hitched a ride on the northbound freight. Godspeed, Road Hog!
Posted by Underblog at June 27, 2005 9:07 PM
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Tracked on December 5, 2006 10:48 PM
Remember when Roadhog walked into the bar wearing that backwards Santa suit?? Good times, good times.
Posted by: Sherman at June 28, 2005 12:16 PM
Perhaps weirdly, I don't believe that reason is something humans are capable of, though humans apparently are quite skilled at creating rationale.
I like the defining coincidence as coinciding in space and time.
Posted by: heather at June 29, 2005 6:37 AM