The summer of 1974 was brutally hot in New York and I kept thinking about how nice and icy it must be at the North Pole. And then I though, ÃÔÇÜÂÔÇ£Wait a second, why not go?ÃÔÇÜÂÔÇØ You know, like in cartoons where they hang going to the North Pole on their door knobs and they just take off.
So I spent a couple of weeks preparing for the trip, getting a hatchet, a huge backpack, maps, knives, sleeping bags, lures and a three month supply of Banic, a versatile high-protein paste that can be made into flat bread, biscuits or cereal.
Now I had decided to hitch hike and one day I just walked out onto Austin Street, weighing down seventy pounds of gear, and stuck out my thumb.
ÃÔÇÜÂÔÇö Going North? I asked the driver as I struggled into a station wagon.
After I got out of New York, most of the rides were trucks until I reached the Hudson Bay and began to hitch in small male planes. The pilots were usually guys who'd gone to Canada to avoid the draft or else embittered Vietnam vets who never wanted to go home again. Either way they always wanted to show off a few of their stunts. We'd go swooping along the rivers doing loop do loops and baby
