I Met a Man in Martinsville.

Decisions decisions...Well, it was the woods just outside Martinsville.  We've only just begun and already this article is 100% LIE, but somehow push past that and believe everything that follows...

After a long hike in the lovely Yellowwood State Forest, we came out onto the paved road leading back to the car.  Our meandering pace had put us there at about 4:45, and some of our party were due back in Indianapolis at 6.  No problem, except that the car was 5 miles away.  Our decided option?  Hitch-hike.  In the rural southern Indiana woods.

My hiking partners were a father daughter team, and the former makes it known -- as we stick out our thumbs -- he has promised his wife that never again would he take any of the children hitch-hiking.  He has also promised her they would be back by 6 however, and the new promise seems to outweigh the old.  A pseudo compromise is reached:  If someone pulls over, he will go with them, get the car and come back for us.

Someone does pull over.  It is a gentleman and his wife with their three kids in a 1995 Chevy Suburban.  This particular samaritan is a heavily tattooed caucasian(neck to the backs of his hands), shaved head with a giant handlebar mustache.  Death hangs from the rear-view mirror, and I notice we are standing in front of a small cemetery.  He has room for one!

The father climbs in with the three kids and as they drive off I take a moment to memorize the license plate.  The daughter and I carry on, discussing the various levels of "not so great" this last development was, when we see the same truck coming back towards us from the way it had left.  I can't see in it quite yet, but if the father isn't visible soon I am prepared to dive into the underbrush and live off unripe blackberries.  He is still in there, turns out the family was almost home so the samaritan dropped them off and has come back to take us all to the car.

I suppose, technically, the father was still keeping his promise.  Since he had been in the car with this stranger for 10 minutes already, we weren't hitch-hiking -- we were getting a ride from a friend.  I'm in the front seat with never-did-catch-his-name, and some small talk is engaged in.  We are very close to both Bloomington (liberal university town) and Martinsville (famed KKK stronghold) and the father asks our host which town he prefers to frequent.

He says, "Oh, both, you know.  Got a Wal-Mart in Martinsville now!  Bloomington's got a lot of college girls.  Yep.  A lot of college girls.  And faggots.  Fags don't bother me none.  Less competition for us am I right?", as he slaps me upon the knee in a most convivial fashion.  The tone he employs leads me to believe he may be the most progressive voice within his peer group.

Conversation is a little stifled up through the drop off point, but we all survived with our opinions about the hills around Martinsville pretty much intact.  Bigoted, but ignorant of their own bigotry.  What to do?