Give, Receive, Give, Receive...

Aware of the location of both machete and pepper spray, I looked at the three middle-aged men whom I had just met, and who had just agreed to drive me the 150 miles from Redding to Eureka.

"I told my mother I wouldn't get in the car with a bunch of guys, but you seem nice enough... Mind if I text message a friend your license plate number?" I asked with forced confidence.  Seconds later, we were heaving Salsa's heavy rear end into the RV, the vehicle still dusty with the traces of Burning Man desert.

This is how adventures start.

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I had been trying to hitch a ride all day, starting at one gas station, moving to another, then back to the first when the phrase "no loitering" was uttered.  I found a homeless man digging through the trash behind one of the food marts, and asked if he had found any cardboard I could use for my sign.  We decided that the plastic-wrapped piece he pulled out immediately was perfect: no traces of rotting meat or diaper anywhere. Excellent.

I paid him with a squished bagel.

Determined to figure it out myself, but not become the headline of the local news ("21-Year-Old Female Bicycle Tourist Does Not Notice Bloody Pick-Axe on Front Seat; 25 Other Reasons Not To Hitchhike") my goal was to find a ride with a couple of women, a family, or a van full of hippies.

I was really counting on those hippies.

But the hippies did not come, and it got later and later.  I didn't want to appear (or become) desperate, so I barely asked anyone, and instead sat in the shade observing potential rides and drawing and painting a redwood tree to pass the time, which a sweet older lady bought off me.  

I rejected the 20-something-aged guys in a tiny car who seemed a little too interested in helping me out.  I even rejected the lady with a kid and a truck who would have taken me somewhere near Weaverville, and the single man who had space for my bike, a pleasant smile, and only good vibes.

And still I waited.

Finally, I rode further up the 299 and came across the three men with dusty bikes and a flat tire on their RV. 
Going by their Burning Man alter-ego names Kava-Mar, Flaco and Choco, brothers and friends heading to McKinleyville, took to calling me "Bluebird", and wouldn't accept my offer to help with gas.  I asked if they would accept a painting to commemorate their trip instead.

So I made them this, drawn and painted almost entirely in a moving vehicle between snacks, conversation, and long dreamy glances out the window at the passing scenery.

While I kept an eye on the guys, I knew they were trustworthy somewhere between when I overheard a discussion in the front seats about the biological makeup of antelope horns, and the one about the pros and cons of medical marijuana cooperatives.

And, because giving me a safe ride across the mountains wasn't helpful enough, they got me as far down the dirt road to my destination that night as they physically could.

Give, receive, give receive...

And there at the end of my ride, as if waiting to pick me up from my drop-off point, was a large and friendly black dog.  He seemed to have an old soul, and reminded me immediately of the dog I saw with my room mate, Meagan, 2 nights before I left.  We likened that dog in Chico to Sirius Black in the Harry Potter series; a protective godfather in disguise.

I heard someone whistling for the dog in the distance, but that dog didn't budge.  As I frantically packed my things back onto my bike by the dim light of my headlamp, I was more than thankful for that furry, panting guardian by my side.

I know there are more angels of sorts following me as I go. People at home, people where I go, animals that sense our needs, and trees that provide shade. I feel protected.  I feel grateful.

Give, receive, give, receive...