What A Ride: Alabama

(previous chapter)

When we showed up to Anniston, it was already dark and the party at Dw's was already going strong. Dw was an older Family member who was also Tea Time Family with Mr. Tea. He was plugged into the local music scene, and had live bands play his house nearly every other night.

I managed to get a seat on the couch, even among the crowded space, where a kitten promptly settled into my lap. After a long stretch with little smoke, the abundance in Anniston was a welcome relief that the whole caravan had been waiting on. At one point, I passed out on the couch with my boots still on, prompting those gathered to draw on my face with a sharpie, which woke me back up.

The next morning, you could tell the place had played host to a party. Enter us. The deal in Anniston was: we got to stay at Dw's while as, basically, holding camp for the Talladega gathering, take showers, do laundry, eat very well, and never have to worry about smoke; in exchange for basic work, like keeping the place clean, handling the wood work for the fires, and of course helping prepare the meals. 

After a week at Dw's, Mama Frea and Mr. Tea took a group of us to another of Mr. Tea's friends, who lived just outside of Tuscaloosa, for a mission flying signs for money for food to bring to the gathering. I also needed new socks, athletes foot medicine, and some money for food on my journey back to Ohio. We spent the weekend there, flying signs on Friday and Saturday. We weren't the only Family in the area, either. The Fat Kids Kitchen bus was also on a spange mission. 

On Saturday night, I also went out to some bars in Tuscaloosa with a member of our group that had tried busking there the night before. I laid out my trade blanket, which contained mostly wire wraps made out of the glass I had picked up in Florida. Drunk college kids are easily swayed to look at shiny things. It was rainy that night, and we had walked in the rain to get there, but we sat underneath an overhang that protected us from most of the weather that night.

When the bars closed, one of the people that had given me a kick down offered the guy I was with and I to ride back to Mr. Tea's friend with him. The guy I was with declined, wanting to spend the rest of the night in town and try to make more money. I went ahead and accepted the ride, though I probably would have been better off walking. He was swerving all over the road and neither of us really knew where we were going, so we never made it to where I was going. He offered me to go back to his place and he would run me back the next morning. I wasn't ready to stay in a vehicle drifting all over the road, so I talked him into letting me out at a gas station. 

A cop pulled up to the gas station just as I got out, so I walked up to the officer and asked him if he could tell me where a food mart near where we were staying was. Turned out there were two of them. I asked if he could take me, but he said he didn't have the authorization to put me in the vehicle. I tried to find the food mart with his directions and my memory, but only ended up lost. Eventually, I spotted a paramedic ambulance headquarters and decided to ask for more directions there. One of the details of my memory, crossing a railroad, led to me finally getting some directions that led me back to Mr. Tea's friend's house.

After the weekend, we made it back to Dw's, where we stayed another couple weeks. I would be leaving for Ohio soon to watch some friends get married on April 17th, but the weather was still warming up so I thought I'd wait it out long enough to catch a free Blues Traveler show in Anniston on March 27th. I left the day after the show, catching a ride to Union, Alabama with some people who had also been staying at Dw's. Brand X Kitchen and Mama Frea had already had their own falling outs with the group, Brand X leaving first. 

After flying a sign on the on-ramp to hitch out, a cop pulled over to inform me that flying signs, regardless purpose, was against city ordinance. Luckily, he was a friendly officer that offered me a ride out of his jurisdiction after a quick weapon pat down. I got a sticker from him too, which I put on my pack until it fell off. 

I had to stay the night where the officer had let me out, but the next morning I caught a ride through Atlanta, Georgia with a trucker. To be honest, I can't remember where he dropped me off, but it was somewhere in Georgia on I-85. I was on my way back home.

(next chapter)