One cold damp morning a young man awoke under an overpass on the side of a highway in Canada. He rolls into a sitting position and stretches his arms out high above his head. His name doesn’t mater much. He uses several while on the road, but never his real one. Today he decides to use Daniel or Dan. It depends on who picks him up.

He reaches into his old grungy backpack and pulls out a North American Road Atlas. This particular one has been with him for years, as his travelling companion and journal. Well, if you want to call it a journal. Dan was never much for writing, so he highlights his route with a blue high lighter he picked up in Kansas. This fluorescent blue marker used to belong to a travelling salesman in Kansas until Dan lifted it when he got a ride. Daniel has never been a thief; but damn, did he hate Kansas and anyone who could bear to live there. To this hitchhiker, Kansas represented endless fields, terrible thunderstorms, hot humid weather, and innumerable conservative rednecks (almost as many as Texas where the nomadic traveler is from).

He sees that his progress is where it should be, and that pleases him. Only a short ride to the next town will keep him on schedule. He packs up his few belongings into his bag and strips off his sweatshirt. It is still chilly in the mornings up here, even if it is already June. But he knows that his chances of getting picked up are twice as likely if he displays his tie-dyed T-shirt. There are plenty of Americans travelling this way, and to them, a skinny little hippie poses little threat. Except, that is, the old stingy bastards that drive by in those disgustingly wasteful RV’s. They usually have bumper stickers that make him want to vomit… "I Love Camping" or "I am wasting my children’s inheritance". What kind of people could possibly drive those around, he didn’t know. The worst kind, of course, he thought. They usually lock their doors and try not to make eye contact, thinking just as badly of hitchhikers as hitchhikers think of them. Dan takes a drink and tries to put these tiring thoughts to peace. The conflict of minimalist vs. maximumalist goes on forever in their minds.

He walks a short way down the road and sticks his thumb out. Watching the masses being moved by in their automobiles. Some of them pretend not to notice him, while others do anything but that. He barely notices the cars full of people who honk at him or give him the finger. Daniel has seen too much of this to pay any mind to it. He is too busy looking for the brake lights of a friendly driver and day dreaming about his goal: to hitch from coast to coast through Canada. He began in Nova Scotia in the famous Bay of Fundy. Three weeks later Dan will be in Saskatchewan, which is not far from here and that, will bring him more than halfway to his goal. His final destination is Alaska. In Anchorage he will be able to find work, and work will get him money, and money will most importantly buy him food. Dan has not been eating much since he began this journey. Part of the trip has been to let providence provide for him, but this means that food is not around consistently.

Dan has never been very good at stealing or begging. Therefore, he doesn’t actually get as much food as he knows he should. Most people won’t give him money anyway, although when they discover his condition, they usually will give him some food. Suddenly the Hippie is broken from his reverie by a severe, sharp pain. Some asshole tossed an empty Pringles carton at him, and the missile hit him directly in the "balls". He curses their existence as they drive away, leaving him by the roadside waiting for his next ride.