More Hitchhiking

United States – Police

I’d been told that it was an automatic seven days on the chain-gang if you were caught hitchhiking on the interstate freeways in Georgia so I stayed on the Georgia-Tennessee border for the first half of the day waiting for a ride that would take me all the way through to Florida.  I was suitably embarrassed and very apologetic to those who stopped but were not heading there, and I hope they understood. 

Finally a very large and beat up car offered a ride through to Fort Lauderdale, my intended destination, so all was well.  Until the head gasket blew about twenty miles North of Atlanta that is.  Again I was apologetic but there was no way we were going to be able to repair it, and I took my leave, walked about a mile South over an overpass and stuck out my thumb. 

Wouldn’t you know, the first car to appear over the top of the overpass was a police car, and the flashing lights came on the instant he saw me.  Oh well, I thought, the chain gang will be a new experience – never done that before.  He stopped and ordered “Get in the back, boy”.  I did. 

“Where you from boy?”

“Australia”.

“At least you don’t have long hair”.

And that was the end of the conversation until we pulled off the freeway at a large truck stop.  He ordered my out and I followed in his (considerable) wake into the restaurant, presumably to eat or for coffee.

He yelled at the man behind the counter, “Hey Joe, get my good friend here from Australia a ride on the next truck going all the way through to Florida!’ and turning to me, added, “Don’t you know it’s illegal to hitch-hike on the interstate here in Georgia, boy”.

He left, and I got my ride.  I have always been grateful for the common sense of that policeman.  I wish somehow that I could now thank him adequately, and I wince when I see Southern law-officers portrayed badly in the movies and the press. 

United States – A Dark and Stormy Night

The rule was that if it was after ten at night or the weather had turned ugly, I would do a right turn and walk two hundred paces and pitch my tent, wherever that happened to be.  This strategy led to some surprises. 

One was good, an early and cold rise just at dawn in a field North of Denver, where I stood transfixed for some time watching the sun behind me light up the tops of the snow capped Rocky Mountains in front of me.  It was an extremely beautiful sight, made more so by the clear blue sky in place of the clouds and snow the night before.

And one was, well, different.  As soon as I had crossed the mountains heading West, it started to rain and I learned that all the lies about Washington state are true.  It poured and got colder as I continued on, and in the end, just before midnight I was dropped at an intersection, somewhere.  It was pitch black, deserted, and raining.  I turned right, walked my requisite two hundred paces and went to sleep.  I was very tired and slept well.  It was quite light when I poked my head out of the tent to find that I was camped on a small traffic island in the middle of a major intersection on the outskirts of Seattle.  The morning rush hour traffic had woken me.

It was still raining, and continued to do so until I crossed back over the Rockies heading East in Canada.