Hitchhiking (A Story with Pictures! Wowza!)

There are some things in our lives that we look forward to doing, maybe not so much because we know that we are going to have a good time, but because we know that it is certainly going to be an experience. For me, one of these things is hitchhiking. Though I've only done it about half a dozen times, and am certainly no expert, I've learned that you never forget a hitchhiking experience.


The first time I hitchhiked was when I was fresh out of high school. A friend and I had decided to spend a week backpacking along the Appalachian Trail. On our fifth day out there, we decided that we were going to try to pick up the pace and cover a little more mileage that day. Hitchhiking seemed the way to go. So, without much delay, we worked our way towards a winding mountain road, stuck our thumbs out, and began walking north. Not long later, a car with an elderly couple and their granddaughter slowed to a stop. My friend and I piled into the car, and buckled up tight for what proceeded to be one of the scariest rides of my life. It wasn't that the people were scary or weird, but the driving was a different story. It went kind of like this.       
 


After we got off, we gathered our things and began hiking again. It wasn't long afterwards that we decided to hitchhike again (short memory span, I guess). In all, we hitched rides about three or four times that day, with the other picker-upper people causing much less of a commotion. I actually fell asleep on one of the rides! And when I woke up I wasn't missing my wallet or kidneys!


However, the most recent trip hitchhiking was a different story. It reminded me a lot about my first time hitchhiking, actually.


I had spent the day hiking through the woods, on a cold wintry day (it was actually snowing), and had just finished hiking about six miles. The trail led me across a road, and as I was done with my hike, I pulled out my map to check to see whether the road would take me back to my car. To my surprise, I found that I had actually hiked a lot farther out than I had originally anticipated, and that the road did in fact lead to my car. My ribs had been hurting as I hiked (no idea why), and I figured that if I took the road back, I could avoid backtracking a rather difficult trail, and hopefully, due to pavement and less hills, I could make it back much faster than by taking the trail. And, perchance my ribs was a case of something serious, I decreased my chance of dying a slow, painful death alone in the wilderness (this was probably the main thinking behind my decision).


And so began my journey back to my car. Before I go any farther, it's important to mention that it was about three in the afternoon when I started heading back. The sun would set around five, and I figured that it would take me about two hours to get back, just in time for nightfall. What I didn't factor in though, was that the road I was taking took a windy, super steep path straight up a mountain that was completely out of the way. How I didn't realize this before, I don't know. 

As I began walking, I quickly realized that the lack of trees around me allowed gigantic gusts of freezing air to come down and sap any heat I had straight out of my face. Luckily, I had a face wrap thingy that helped to keep some of the wind out. Also, due to it's being hunting season, I had a large goofy looking orange hat that I was wearing to keep from getting shot (I saw hunters on my way in). These two articles of clothing had the combined effect of making me look like a ninja-hobo. Realizing how ridiculous I looked, I understood that there was no way that anybody was going to give the ninja-hobo a ride. Would you have given a guy that looked like this a ride? I don't think so. 

So I kept walking. I walked for about an hour, as small children on school buses stared as they drove by, dogs barked maniacally, and people gathered firewood (like the school children, also staring). Eventually, a lady in a truck even slowed down to almost a complete stop, stuck her head back out the window, and watched me for a moment, before speeding on by. Apparently, I looked weirder than I thought. 


I eventually got to the base of the gigantic, windy-road mountain. Preparing for the worst, I swallowed and began to walk forward. But as I did, suddenly a shout came from behind me. It was the lady from the truck! She asked if I needed a ride (so I didn't stick my thumb out, not technically hitchhiking. But I hitched a ride, and I was hiking, so it counts), and I said sure, as I tried to avoid her pitbull-ish dog that came running at me. She restrained the dog, and told me to hop in the truck. Before I did though, she ran inside her house real quick and came out with a beer. "Mind if I drink?", she asked. 

At this point I reached a dilemma. Here a woman stood before me asking me if I would willingly put my life on the line as she drank an ice cold beer while driving me up a steep, windy mountain road. 


It's important to go a little into my background here. For some reason, my entire life both my parents and grandparents have made it their life goal to establish an irrational fear of cars in me, and to convince me that cars are the second most dangerous objects on the planet, right after nukes. The day that I got my license, my dad actually handed me a folder full of newspaper clippings that he'd been collecting for who-knows-how-long, full of stories of people that had died or been maimed for life in car accidents. My grandparents have also made it their job to notify me whenever somebody they know, even remotely, has been in an accident. So, when asked whether it was ok for her to drink while driving, all of this was going through my mind. 

What was I supposed to do? "Why yes, I actually do mind if you drink while driving me to my car." That would have ended up with her telling me to walk the rest of the way, and painted me as the rude, ungracious stranger. So, conscious that somewhat soon I myself might be a newspaper clipping, I said it was fine, hopped in the truck, and buckled the seat belt as tight as I possibly could (if you suck it in, it helps). 

And so, the lady drove, with the steering wheel in one hand, and a beer in the other. We began up the mountain road, which turned out to be loose gravel, and every bit as bad as I thought. It was also extremely narrow, and had no guard rails, meaning the entire thing was a series of unprotected cliffs. The lady, whom never told me her name (though she did ask for mine, both first and last), put her foot to the gas until we were going an easy forty-five. 


As we drifted around the corners (no kidding), periodically spun out, and dodged the occasional oncoming car, the lady apologized for her driving to me. She said she was only driving like this because she knew the road so well. I wanted to tell her it was because of the bottle in her hand. 


The road soon came to an end (though not soon enough), and the kind stranger dropped me off at my car at precisely five o' clock. It turns out I was lucky she'd "found" me. There were bears all over that area, and if I had walked I wouldn't have made it back until well after nightfall. Debating as to whether it would have been wiser to brave the bears, I thanked the lady as both she, and I, drove off.