Hitch Hike Diaries
June 8th
I left Twin Oaks in the same way as I began. A wily, flamboyant Wizard with curly
white hair and a beard to match, dressed in a brightly colored short sleeve top
and jean shorts, drove me to Charlottesville. As we rode, I reflected on the three weeks I spent at Twin
Oaks, which ought to be detailed in some fashion in another entry, and all that
the experience had taught me.
Wizard filled me in on the gossip and goings-on, and we chatted
pleasantly until we reached the Western outskirts of town, where he dropped me.
I exploded my things and myself out of the car on the
shoulder, and before I had even looked up after collecting myself, a green SUV
had pulled over. I hadn’t even put
my thumb up, or written on my sign!
I jogged to the car, backpack still on my back, and found a middle-aged
man awaiting my arrival. “You
goin’ to the trail? He asked eagerly?”
I was so taken aback by his earnest excitement about the nearby
Appalachian Trail that I regretted having to answer that ‘No, actually I’m
headed to Denver eventually. But
for now, West in general”. He
offered to take me 30 miles West, but I declined – I like the hitching spot,
and wanted to test my luck a bit further there. He smiled and wished me luck, and drove off.
Another car stopped after about 20 minutes, but she was
headed south. That was bad news,
since my sign had Charleston written on it, which should have indicated I was
heading south – a hint that the sign wasn’t readable… So I flipped it over, and found that amidst the black print
of the box I could just manage a big arrow pointing to the direction I was
heading. I thought this might
help…
Another 15 minutes passed before a semi with an empty
flatbead maneauvered to the shoulder.
I saw Kentucky written on the side of his truck – a good sign for my
westward journey. I climbed up to meet the open window, and the driver –
another middle-aged man with 3 days stubble and a buzz cut with a friendly,
disarming smile and a belly that I
suspected – and soon confirmed- came from drinking beer and eating
barbeque.
“Wheyre ya headed?”
“Goin’ West as far as you can take me. Denver eventually.”
“WHEEEW! Denver.
Thats a looong way. I can
take ye as fars Lexingtin, Kintuckee”
So I grabbed my gear, hauled it up the stairs, and tossed it
on my new friends Chuck’s bed. We
had a nice ride for about 300 miles, chattin everthang from footbawl ta truck
driiiivin. Chuck told me some
stories from the road, and taught me about the transmission system of his semi
truck – the first one I’d ever ridden in.
About 100 miles east of Lexington, Chuck dropped me at a
truck stop, where he turned north.
The stop was not ideal – there was no room on the merge ramp for people
to stop, and the gas station had 3 exits so that not everyone could see
me. I grabbed a quick bite to eat
at the Subway (my resistance to corporate consumption waning after 3 weeks of
veggies and 5 hours of a grumbling stomach). After lunch, I picked up some new cardboard from a box in
the dumpster behind the restaurant, and fashioned a sign that read ‘St.
Louis”.
I found myself a spot between two exits at the gas station,
held up my sign with some thumbing motions, and tried to smile at everyone who
entered or exited. After about 30
minutes, I was getting the feeling this was not a great approach. At about that time, an older man with a
bald head, white frayed mustache, and strung-out eyes approached me. He looked antsy, and I sensed something
odd about his demeanor.
“You come here with those other 2 boys from the highway?”
“No, I’m by myself.
Why?”
“Oh just wonderin – this heres a bad place, I been waitin
three days for a ride. Three
Days!”
“Yea, that is a long time. Have you tried the asking people, or a sign?”
“Tried everything. Only tryin to git to Lexingtin.”
“Oh, sorry.
That’s not good news. What about those three boys, they must have gotten
a ride.”
“Not from here, this here is a bad spot.”
Great, I thought as he stroad away. Three days… Maybe if I am more active
with my sign, I’ll have a chance.
Not much else to do.
Certainly pacing around the place anxiously – as this guy was trying –
was not succeeding.
After another 20 minutes, I got a smile from a thin, young
guy in his early 20’s dressed in a synthetic dry fit shirt, soccer shorts,
socks, and Addidas sandals. I had
a good feeling. After filling up,
he approached me sheepishly. We
exchanged some pleasantries and then he asked me where I was headed. I said Denver eventually, and he told
me that he could get me as far as Lexington. I had an instant twang of guilt.
I took the ride.
I thought about asking my new friend, Thadius, about giving a ride to
the other hitch hiker as well. He
was still strolling about the rest stop, and no doubt had seen that I was in
luck. As I grabbed my bags the man
gave me a glance that said he knew it all, and watched as I tossed my
belongings into the back of the car.
I wanted to help him, but I felt handcuffed.
Thadius told me it was his first time picking up a hitch
hiker, and he was hesitant. If I asked
him to include this other guy, and he declined, he would have to turn me down
too. Plus, I had gotten a strange
vibe from the other hitcher, and I felt it would be outside of my rights to
push Thadius into taking someone into his car that was potentially
dangerous. We pulled away, and my
mind began to race.
What if I were someone that was dangerous, wasn’t he already
taking that risk? And who was I to
make such a decision. I felt that
I was acting upon the same stereotypes about hitchhikers that I was
specifically trying to avoid and show were largely false. Could there really have been any danger
from trying to help this other guy?
But my instincts – which I trust – gave me an off feeling…
It reminded for the first time in a long time of how it
feels to know that I’m taking advantage of my age, my friendly, disarming
looks, my position in life… It was the first time since Zambia I had seen such
a priveledged contrast between me and another person. It made me feel dirty, and I promised myself to do better
the next time by asking the clerk to corroborate the mans story, or any number
of alternative scenarios that ran through my head.
I
tried to let it go as best I could and enjoy the cool breeze and the knowledge
that I would get to spend the night in Lexington on a couch, with another
stranger, in the privileged little world I have built for myself as a young,
uninhibited traveler.
I wish that hitch hiker the best, and hope that he can find
his destination. While I may have
squandered a chance to help him reach Lexington, his journey and mine were not
entangled, and the long journey is a lonely one. I let the lonesome road separate our paths. But I wish him luck, and hope that I
learned from him an important lesson – others need help more than I do, most
times. It is often those without
the need, in our society, who receive.
There are times when I should recognize my opportunities, take them, and
be thankful. There are others when
I should share my good fortune with those more in need. I am still not sure which this instance
was…
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