If you're going to ride my ***
you could at lease pull my hair.
She was pushin' 55 when
the bumper sticker caught my eye,
she was at the controls of  
a disturbed yellow Datson
with Nova Scotia plates,
a combination of rust red and bright yellow
sliced down the middle with one wide strip of black,
heel to toe, and tinted windows to boot.

1970 Northern Canada, hundreds of kids
thumbin' from East to West and from West to East.
I shared the Impala with two young ladies  from Ontario,
and  the driver was friendly as hell, as well as being deaf...

The Datsons bumper sticker now a pleasant memory..
Today there are fewer travelers and many being unemployed ex-cons and dyed in the wool Hobos harboring severe alcohol and drug problems... you could say that it's no longer safe.

My travelling days are  over..
I left them 30 years in the dust.
I really have seen the last of those,
today when I go, it's not long before I want back..
I miss the ocean, and the Atlantic  is my choice.  
The Pacific smells of dank wood with all the tall furs
and the logging industry.  Give me my camp fire on the beach,
I'll wash the salt away before I jump in the sheets at the days end.
My skin being golden brown from a close enough Star.