Jan. 3, 2013 – Sacramento to the airport

My mind was numb as I entered the gas station.

This would be my final visit to the type of public space I had come to know so well and rely on so frequently.

I made all my usual rounds – hit the restroom, filled up my water bottle, topped off my coffee mug, and picked up a bag of mixed nuts. At the cash register, the attendant gave me the same knowing look that I’d seen all the way across the United States – the kind that must be reserved for a guy and his backpack.

I didn’t know what to think. After a whirlwind 24 hours, my trip was coming to an end. A medical scare, the loss of some key documents, a frozen bank account, and an increasing sense of exhaustion meant I’d soon be home in Toronto. I’d succeeded in thumbing it out to the coast, but Latin America would be put on hold for at least a few weeks.

I left the gas station, headed to the nearby picnic table, and struck up conversation with the old fellow who was already there. Together, we took in the California air and shared whatever musings came to mind.

Cal shared a candid and saddening story. He must have been 30 years my senior, and was pretty much doing the same thing I was. But he had no tent, no destination, and no cushy fallback option in Toronto. As hard as he tried, he just couldn’t shake off the bottle.

I wondered whether such I’d find such conversations in Toronto, where the pace of life often went to quickly for impromptu discussion. Where folks walked the streets with their heads down, making sure to avoid eye contact with strangers. Where men and women spent their TTC rides plugged into their smartphones, ignoring the dozens of other people doing the same thing all around them.

Cal and I shook hands, and I started the eight-mile walk to the Sacramento airport. Cindy and Tricia pulled over honking an hour later, mistakenly thinking I was their friend. They still happily gave me a lift.

They both squealed with delight when I told them they would be my very last drivers. When we reached the airport, we all clambered out for a photo. Cindy led a prayer that I’d arrive home safely, and the duo sped off.

I remained on the road for a few minutes, the past two months rolling through my mind. Eventually, I threw my pack onto my back for one last time to start the trip through customs and out of America.