The Hitch Hiker's Guide to New England

Recently, I picked up a hitchhiker. It’s not something I normally do and in truth I’m fairly certain it was the first time I’ve ever actually offered a ride to a stranger with his thumb out. It was a sunny fall day and I was driving in a well to do Los Angeles neighborhood when I encountered the thumb and the person attached to it. I don’t know what made me do it but the next thing I knew I was pulling to the curb and the hitchhiker was climbing in. You might think it foolish to pick up a stranger in this day and age but this was no ordinary hitchhiker. This one was at least 80 years old. When he asked how far I was going, I told him I’d take him where ever he needed to go. As it turned out his destination was only three or four blocks up a hill. On the way I learned that he’d lived in the neighborhood for 60 years and that the house he currently resided in once belonged to Elizabeth Taylor. “This was back when she was married to her first husband” he told me. “So you know how long ago that was.” When we pulled into his driveway there were no signs that Miss Taylor had left anything behind. There was instead, a woman with a worried expression on her face and she hurried right over. Thank-you’s and good-byes were exchanged and I was soon back on the road alone with my thoughts.

Those thoughts soon turned to my own hitchhiking days which although long over are still fresh in my mind. Hitching was very common in those days (sometime after the Vietnam War but still well before the Red Sox won the series) and I considered myself something of a master hitch hiker. While others with lesser skilled thumbs would leave extra time to reach a given destination, I set out as though I were driving myself. This could (or should) have been nerve wracking when the destination was for instance my job. But so great was the power of my thumb that I was rarely, if ever, late.

It wasn’t long before I decided to attempt a longer hitch and on a sunny summer day my thumb and I decided we were off to the beach which was a mere forty miles away. The thumb performed admirably as always and in no time at all I was lounging on the beach. After a full day of sand and surf, the thumb went into action again and managed to secure a series of rides bringing me closer and closer to home. As I recall, the master hitch hiker was feeling pretty good about himself. But then the master hitch hiker accepted a ride in a conversion van filled with wannabe bikers and their girl friends. The moment the door closed I knew I was in trouble. The group had obviously been partying hard and they immediately urged me to join in. This was something I had no intention of doing and when I tried to laugh it off the driver took offense and began screaming. On top of that, the two women in the van had taken a liking to me and their defense of me only made things worse. The driver continued his ranting until finally, with my exit approaching and the tension level equaling the speedometer; I began to think I might not get out of this one. But with one last maniacal laugh, the driver pulled over and I scrambled out to safety. I probably should have hung up my thumb for good after that experience but the episode was soon forgotten and in no time the lure of the road once again called to me.

I convinced myself that I simply needed to be more careful and as fall began my thumb and I were off to Boston. The thumb worked its magic and soon I was visiting friends who were attending college in Boston. Since I’d opted not to go to school immediately after high school, I was free to wander about and with my all powerful thumb the possibilities were endless. When I tired of Boston, I set my sights on Maine where I had many more friends to visit. It would be my most ambitious hitch to date.

Although the traffic in Maine is a lot sparser than Connecticut and Boston, I still managed to get around just fine. I appeared magically at college campuses all over the state and tracked down whichever friend I sought in a manner that would make any detective proud. After listening to the stories of my thumb and its exploits, one of those friends was eager to try his own hand, er thumb at hitchhiking and in no time we were off to Connecticut.

Previously, I’d only hitched alone and although I was sure it would more difficult with a partner, the chance to share the experience was too tempting to pass up. We got out of Maine easily enough but eventually found ourselves stranded on the Massachusetts turnpike. This was not a good place to be and the state trooper who picked us up told us so. Rather than arrest us he drove us to an on-ramp and suggested we try our fortune there. And try we did but with no luck at all. Drastic measures were required. We decided that we needed more than anything, a sign. I always carried a marker as I’d learned that a sign was often helpful on the road. After scrounging up some cardboard, we created what I consider to be one of the best all time hitch hiking signs. I stood at the beginning of the ramp with a sign reading “Please Pick Up Trash” while my friend stood farther on with a sign that said simply “Trash.” In no time at all we had a ride with a couple who immediately complimented us on our cleverness. Unfortunately, when they were through praising us they went back to what appeared to be their favorite pastime: arguing. They argued so much they really should have been called the Bickersons. While my friend and I sat in the back seat, they were in the front continually sniping at one another. And whenever Mrs. Bickerson managed to get a good zinger in, Mr. Bickerson became angrier which then caused him to drive faster until ultimately his driving became a point of contention as well. He dropped out of warp speed long enough to let us out and after our laughter subsided we found one more ride and soon we were home.

With winter approaching, the frequency of my hitchhiking decreased until eventually it was simply too cold for me and my thumb. By the time spring finally rolled around I’d lost my passion for the road and my hitchhiking days were over. For a few months though, my magic thumb and I were able to go anywhere we liked. Although I’m never tempted to stick my thumb out anymore, my recent encounter has left me wondering. Maybe, just maybe, when I’m 80 years old, I’ll see if there is any magic left.