Dec. 9, 2012 – San Antonio to Ozona, Tx.

I emerged from the shadows and desperately approached the pickup truck.

“I need to get west, as far as you can take me,” I told the two skeptical Hispanics.

I didn’t usually beg, but a series of screw-ups had left me outside Kerrville, Tx. by nightfall, and I wanted to keep moving.

They told me they’d take me 100 miles to Ozona. I had no idea where the hell that was, but gratefully accepted.

I had been planning to spend a day in San Antonio, but soon realized I couldn’t dawdle if I wanted to catch the wandering Nick Lynch somewhere in the Southwest. After some indecision, I decided to leave town at noon, and waited an hour for Sunny to dump me at a truck stop.

I thanked him as he drove off, but was soon cursing – he’d dropped me on I-35, the wrong interstate!

I should have backtracked to San Antonio, but chose instead to carry on south, then take a another road northeast to I-10. I quickly found a motorcyclist to take me to the crossroads in Devine.

It was only when I reached Devine that I realized I needed to make it 80 miles down this country road to find the interstate. And I only had three hours of daylight left.

I caught three straight rides in the back of pickup trucks before Rick found me outside Honda.

Rick had a wild story. He’d known he was gay since he was a child, but repressed it long enough to get married and remain a devout Mormon. That ruse eventually went to pieces – he’s lived with Frank for the past 19 years and has long since been excommunicated from the Mormon Church.

He dropped me off outside Bandera (Cowboy capital of Texas) before Father Alberto picked me up and got me all the way to Kerrville. He left me at I-10 with 20 bucks and a quick prayer.

I paced nervously around the empty gas station for an hour until the Hispanics picked me up. 90 minutes later, they dumped me in freezing cold Ozona.

I wearily found a quiet spot to pitch my tent, curled up inside my sleeping bag, and hoped the morning would bring better returns.