Your Karma Ran Over My Dogma

I am making good time on my way to Eugene until the highway traffic unexpectedly backs up. As the van crawls around a mountain bend, I spot three oddly dressed twentysomethings on the side of the road with their thumbs out and expectant looks on their faces.

Great. More Hippies. I bet they just came from Burning Man.

Now I know I've come out in recent weeks as decidedly anti-hippie, but when people can't rely on a good natured ride from the old van with autographs all over it, who can they possibly rely on?

Besides, it's just good karma.

So when the hippies spot my van and I see their eyes widen with delight (or maybe they were just stoned), I pull over to the side and tell them to hop in.

Their names are Dusty, Hannah, and Lara. They have just come from Burning Man. (My hippie-dar is getting really accurate.) They are excited that I have also come from Burning Man, but look disappointed when I tell them the festival was "not my organic cup of tea."

"Oh," replies Dusty. "That's too bad. So...what's your sign?"

I tell him that I'm not a big astrology fan citing that I am a cancer, which is a disease, and that my logo is a crab, yet another disease. This does not stop him from detailing each of their signs and what that means. I could not recount the details here now for a million dollars.

Dusty is very talkative. He prides himself on being able to talk with anyone, even the elitist rednecks he claims populate the area. Dusty grew up in a logging family, but has spent the last few years living an alternative lifestyle, hitchhiking to various destinations, attending rainbow gatherings (think Burning Man with less rules and money) and hitting as many hot springs as possible. The three are heading to a hot spring tonight after I drop them off in Roseburg.

Hannah is as quiet as Dusty is talkative. Lara speaks in between doing crafts in the back of the van.

"I think the meaning of life," she says, "is to learn as much as possible. I recently became fluent in Spanish and it has opened up a whole new world to me."

Dusty thinks life's meaning lies in experiences. He and a friend once went cross country filming their skateboarding exploits and the people who gave them rides, but "at the end, someone stole (his) camera and all of the footage."

"It's okay," Dusty concedes. "It's probably best that people don't know some of the things that happened that summer."

Dusty tells me that he has had some experiences I wouldn't believe, so I push him to share one.

"Well, I was back in the woods with some friends once, and this crazy guy ran out in just his underwear. He pulled his wallet out of his underwear and handed each of us a $100 bill, all the time insisting he'd won the lottery. Sure enough, when we saw his place, he was loaded."

Of all the scenarios that start with a crazy half-naked guy running out of nowhere in the back of the woods, this has to be the most fortuitous.

"Really, I think life is all about karma," Dusty insists. "If you do good things, positive events will happen for you. If you do evil, that will come back to haunt you. It's all about..."

He is interrupted by the screeching of the tire beneath him. I quickly regain control of the van and pull to the side of the road. The tread has come completely off my front passenger side tire.

I head to the back and grab my tire iron, only to realize that I have not packed a jack. That's right, I live in my van and travel constantly, but I don't have a jack. I never claimed to be competent at life.

Shaking my head, I call roadside assistance and wait for the tow truck guy to arrive as Dusty continues to wax poetic about karma.