Howard's a cowboy. He owns a ranch in between La Junta and Villa Santa Lucia. He's been working the land since he was a child and it shows on his face, which can only be described as a very old, well-oiled, dark brown leather boot. Loosely attached to this boot is a push-broom eyebrow, mustache and gold teeth. Like features of a Mr. Potatohead, they're just sort of waiting to fall off.
He's found success recently and can afford to wear (and wear-out) the thickest and densest wool vests in the region. It's 90 degrees and he's sweating profusely, which he prefers to being eaten alive by these horseflies that are hardly slowed by any clothing less formidable.
As a rule, he always picks up hitch-hikers. He enjoys the company on these long drives and every now and then finds his companions interesting. With the locals he picks up it's usually just pleasantries until they asked to be dropped off at some road sign in the middle of nowhere. With the tourists, it's more of a anthropological study. He used to think the travelers were just a bunch of blow-hards, yammering in pigeon Spanish about themselves. When they did ask questions, they would immediately glaze over once he began to answer. However, being astute, he realized that the travelers weren't being rude; They just didn't know Spanish. They had a few memorized phrases they'd scream at the locals, including questions, but they weren't able to understand the responses. Thankfully for Howard, his insight into human nature allows him to see past the stammering and stuttering and learn all about these passengers. He can even impart some wisdom upon them while driving by yelling at them in slow, clear Spanish whilst waving his arms wildly.
Today is no different. He's picked up and dropped off several car-less individuals. Now as he crests the hill north of La Junta, he sees a dismal site. Two people: a man and woman with thumbs out. One holding a french press coffee thermos and grinning, the other has a giant cup of instant oatmeal with two spoons sticking out of it. Usually people don't eat on the side of a gravel highway. Cars and trucks passing at 50MPH really tend to pancake everything with dirt, including food. These two don't seem to notice. They can only hold this position for a couple seconds before they start swatting at flies with their thumb-hands.
Stopping, he realizes they camped here last night, and they are in the middle of breakfast. They're a strange sight. The coffee they drink seems to instantly condense and burble out of their skin. The mud-like brew flows down their faces, arms and legs. As they jump in, he realizes the mud is just that. Dust being sweated into mud. "Hermano, he estado aca!" shouts Howard.
Howard can see they've been hitching and camping for several days even before the man screams, "Haciamos dedos por cuatro dias! Desde en Coihaique!" The woman yells, "Quisieramos a ir al Futuleufu, pero algo lugar norte de aqui es el mismo." Howard is impressed by their shouting and by how quickly they'd deduced he's hard of hearing.
It's clear to Howard, without them saying so, that they are sick of hitch-hiking and would have taken a bus, had one ran north more than once every 5 days. He assumes they saw the last bus a couple days ago but they were probably still in good spirits then and had waved it passed. He's seen this before. People trapped in hitch-hiking is not much different than how people get trapped in homelessness. These two want a bus. They'd pay top dollar for one. But there is none to be had. Hitching is the safest, fastest and most reliable way to get around in these parts. He knows they'll look back fondly on it no matter how long it takes. He sizes up their packs and can see they have food enough for another week and he smiles.
Howard explains to them how he needs to stop by his ranch and drop off some band saw blades. They perk up a bit and grin at each other, showing their muddy teeth.
As they arrive at the ranch, Howard notices the way the man keeps looking up and down the passing trees. It's clear to Howard that he's gauging the defects and estimating the standing board footage. This man knows the woods, or at least pretends to. Howard shows him some various units of lumber he has around the ranch and explain to him some differences between the species and what not. The man doesn't understand all the words of course, but he no doubt knows exactly what was said.
After giving detailed instructions to an employee and giving him said saw blades, Howard reloads the hitch-hikers and takes them to Villa Santa Lucia. He points them to the bus station with an ironic smile. He knows they'll check the bus availability, get no clear answer and will be back to sucking dust in the heat on the road heading east. They don't know it yet, but that road is very heavily traveled and they'll have no problem getting to Futuleufu today. Soon they'll be showered and gorging themselves on cordero asado and swearing they'll never hitch-hike again... as if they have a choice. "Bon provercho, amigos."
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