In one of my hitchhiking outings in my youth (several centuries ago), I was picked up by an elderly gentleman in a Volkswagon bug, hauling a teardrop trailer. His name was Miller, and he was on his way to sell pipes at the Albion People's Fair. He fashioned his pipes from soapstone, drilling the holes ahead of time, and finishing them on site at the fair. I agreed to stay with him at the fair and work on pipes for his booth. The work consisted of standing in the Albion River, sanding down the soapstone to a very smooth finish. In retrospect, this was one of the better jobs I ever had. In return, Miller bought me some beer and peanut butter. Miller himself was an alcoholic, his drug of choice being Mad Dog 20/20. At least he never fell into the fire.
I met many fascinating people there, including what Miller claimed was a group of gypsies. True, they spoke an unusual language, and they had a killer guitar player and a couple of dancers, but why would they be in Albion, of all places?
All in all, it was a wonderful experience for a young man with a developing mind and incomplete sense of self.