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The Rucksack Letters: November 27, Knoxville
 
He said his name was Robert and that he was on his way to fill out an application for a second job, but that he'd be glad to give me a ride up to I-26. He started hitchhiking at 13, a runaway for seven years, and thought, hell, he might as well go ahead and take me on through Asheville.  
 
Joe Mourning

 

The Rucksack Letters: May 6, Trinidad
 
An old Volvo did a u-turn on the two-way ramp, and the driver said the least he could do was take me to a better exit. He was a wiry type with a Sam Elliot moustache and a leather, Josey Wales Hat. There were about six western shirts hanging in the back window, and a stack of pants on the seat.  
 
Joe Mourning

 

The Spices in Sri Lanka
 
In Colombo we stayed at the huge Taj Samudra Hotel. Our windows were facing the ocean and the lawn called Galle Face Green, where in the evening people walked and flew kites, and the next morning the local Muslims gathered to pray during the Islamic holiday celebrations of Eid Al Adha.  
 
Mike and Joanna Spice