California Here I Come - Part 4

It was still early morning but the sun was up and the day was beginning to brighten when a gray Volkswagen Bug pulled over and stopped on the shoulder. I approached the vehicle cautiously, and seeing that the back seat was packed with the driver’s belongings, I shook my head. “No room,” I said as the driver began to open his door. “Give me minute,” he replied. In an instant he was repacking and shifting things around until there was just enough room in the back for one passenger. “Hop in,” he chimed! I squeezed into the back, and Mary sat in front.

The driver was a young Mexican national who told us he had taken a semester off from university to travel around the US. On his last leg of the trip, he was on his way to visit his aunt and uncle in Sante Fe. His aunt was a professor at St. John’s College.

He introduced himself as Jose Carasco. (Yes, I still remember his name, 56 years later.) He was from Mexico City or as he referred to it as the Distrito Federal. Jose was tall, slender, dark haired, spoke English with hardly an accent. He was gregarious, curious, and kind.

We told him of our plan to hitchhike to LA, which by his expression, surprised him. He suggested that we might like to see Sante Fe first. He said that he could take us a bit farther afterwards. It took all day and into the early evening to finally arrive in Sante Fe. He introduced us to his aunt and uncle, explained our situation, and they immediately opened their home to us. The kindness and generosity they showed us, complete strangers, was overwhelming.

Over the next few days they fed us, and showed us around the town, which in 1970 was still relatively small and quite charming. The square in the center was filled with Native Americans (Pueblo and Navajo,) selling turquoise jewelry and hand made rugs. We watched the sun set over the desert from the top of a mesa, and hiked in the national forest which was still snow-covered beneath an azure sky. On the day before we left, Jose drove us up to the then picturesque town of Taos.

Finally, it was time for Jose to begin the final leg of his trip back to Mexico City. True to his word, he planned to get us closer to our destination. At first we thought he would drive part way into Arizona, drop us at a convenient location, and then head south to Mexico. Even that would have been out of his way considering that he could have immediately turned south toward home.

As the hours passed, and the VW rolled through the desert landscape, we began to wonder just how far he was planning to take us. We passed by the Tonto National Forest, then the Joshua Tree National Park, past petrified forests and miles of Saguaro Cactus. Eventually we caught on. Jose was going to drive us all the way there!

It took close to 16 hours to get from Sante Fe to Venice Beach, but Jose dropped us off at Frank’s doorstep, before bidding us good luck and farewell. We were stunned, and struggled to express our gratitude. He simply smiled and said “Vaya con Dios!”

Jose Carasco, if you are still alive, know that I am still in your debt. After the nightmare of the Texas trucker, you restored my faith in humanity that day back in 1970 when you offered two runaways a ride, when I was still young, and fearless...and yes, foolhardy. ¡Muchas gracias!