Or
The Secret Spot
When I was younger I lived on a stretch of craggy, windswept coastline in California. It was picturesque and beautiful, but rather sparsely populated. I was used to having to hitch a ride to visit people as I still didn't have a car. If I'd worked more at it, my parents always said that they would help me out with one, but I was more interested in surfing as much as possible and holding down a regular nine-to-five would have been torture for me. So it wasn't anything out of the ordinary for me to go thumb a ride down south a little ways and find some waves on another beautiful Nor Cal day.
I had my surfboard and my backpack containing some food, water and my wetsuit and started walking Cliffside along the road. I had already walked a couple of miles with only two cars passing by. The proposition of catching a ride was beginning to look bleak. It helped that I was clearly just a simple teenage surfer trying to get into some waves and not some bearded vagrant, yet still there were no bites.
Suddenly a black BMW came around the bend toward me. He was traveling the opposite way, so I didn't stick out my thumb, but he looked at me and our eyes locked as he passed. Likely sensing I needed something, he rolled to a stop and backed up as I stopped walking. He rolled his window down to speak as the gravel crunched beneath the slowing tires.
"You need a ride or something?" he asked. He looked to be about fifty years of age and had quite a bit of gray hair mixed in with the remainder of his receding dark locks. He wore aviator sunglasses and had a look of an executive type that probably was lucky enough to live in one of the mansions along the coast.
"Well, I was just trying to thumb a ride down south a little ways to get to a surf spot. It's about 10 miles from here," I responded. I felt my heart race at the prospect of a ride. Though it was still morning, it was heating up quickly. I could practically feel the air conditioning and leather seats already.
"Well, I'm heading up a couple miles to grab a coffee and a newspaper, but if you want to join me, I'll take you the rest of the way after that," he suggested.
"Yeah, that would be great!" I said, and darted across the road toward his waiting car. He had bicycle racks on the roof, and I always carried straps in my bag in case I was lucky enough to get a ride with racks, so I wouldn't risk having the wax of my surfboard get on their seats or have to stick the nose out the window as we drove. Securing the board to the racks, I hopped in the passenger seat and felt the blast of the a/c hit me, cooling me instantly. "Thanks a lot! I hadn't seen anyone out for a while," I said, buckling up.
"No problem. You know, hitching a ride isn't usually the smartest idea. You never know who you might meet," he said. "Jim," he said as he extended his hand toward me.
"Michael," I said as I shook his hand with as firm a grip as I could muster. He wore a pair of shorts with flip flops and a button-down Hawaiian T-shirt. His car was clean and free of any clutter. He was darkly tanned and had some classic rock playing softly on the radio. I placed my bag on the floor between my feet and lifted up my shirt a little to let the air get at my sweaty torso. I didn't want to sweat on his leather seats.
"Yeah, well I'm a pretty good judge or character. I've been doing it for years. I'll get a car one of these days," I responded. He drove off down the winding road. "You live around here?" I asked.
"Just a couple miles back," he said. "My house is actually right on the beach. I try to get out and bodysurf as much as I can, but the water temperature just kills me." He looked me up and down as he drove. "You look hot," he said. "Have you been walking long?"
"For a couple miles. The air feels great in here. Thanks again for picking me up," I said, still shaking out my shirt for the sake of ventilation.
"Don't worry about it. I just need to get a little coffee and a paper over here. They never seem to want to deliver to my house. It's not the easiest place to get to, I guess," he said. "So, are you in high school, then?" he asked.
"Well, I just finished, but I'm not ready to start college yet and get a job. I'm more interested in surfing as much as I can while I still can. My parents want all that, but I'll start when I'm ready," I responded, having heard this line of questioning many times before. People always made me out to be the archetypical California surf bum, which was probably not far off the mark. I was used to it.
"That's understandable. Just remember that if you apply yourself and make time for both you can have more when you get older instead of just working all the time. That's what I did, and now I'm retired and can do whatever I want," he said. It made sense, but I was young and didn't want to think about retirement age issues. "So do you have a girlfriend or anything?" he asked, continuing to make conversation. I thought he might have looked down at my crotch when he spoke, though it was difficult to tell with his dark glasses on.
"Well, I've dated a bit, but nothing regular. I'm more interested in getting in the water than getting in some dumb girl's pants, I guess. Plus I don't have a car, so that's kind of a necessity with the girls around here," I said.