If your thumb is your guide, and the community of drivers your ride, you best plan ahead for nightfall. Overnight rides did occur, but not a desirable option. He preferred a good night’s sleep in his bag and a cup of hot coffee while bent over a roadmap come morning.
This particular day ended late at night in downtown Tacoma, Washington. He set his pack in the corner and sat wide-eyed at the counter stool of an all night Denny’s. Coffee, grilled cheese, a great book, and an overly friendly waitress made up his current world.
After three hours of cup refills and charm had led to a dead-end, he decided that he best push on and attempt a late night ride. As he walked across the parking lot adjusting the pack on his back, he felt himself rise up off the pavement. No, it was not the coffee. In fact, he had forgotten to pay his bill, and two gents in cooks’ attire were carrying him by his forearms, back into the Denny’s to make good. A counter of truckers and the like had a good chuckle with their meal.
It did not take long for a police cruiser to pull up to him standing on the on-ramp toward Portland and explain the law against hitchhiking in that location. This community servant was rough, rude, and ready for any backtalk. As the squad car turned out of site temporarily, and recognizing its inevitable return, he quickly considered his options. Then suddenly, and strangely instinctively, he ran across the pavement to the landscaped on-ramp dividing median, hopping the three foot shrubs that bordered it, and laid flat on the ground. Moments later he peered out from the bushes and watched the cruiser drive past, pausing slightly, and then drive away down the ramp to the rest of his life.
He rolled out his bag, climbed in, and slept very soundly.
He was woken by the warmth of the sun, and car radios dialed to the Monday morning commute. As he stood up stretching widely, he saw that lanes on both sides of him were backed up with cars waiting for their chance to enter the freeway, and get to work on time. One guy, with his arm hanging limply out the window, and Johnny Cash singing from an 8 track in his pickup, said “hey fella, need a ride”?
Never a sweeter question when you’re on the road.
