Don’t pick up hitchhikers! Didn’t anyone ever tell you that? Its one of the worst ideas in the world. You could get kidnapped, murdered, worse! Much, much worse, but the opposite can be true, as well. The hitchhiker may be the one in danger, in fact there is no simple way of identifying the dangerous party. So, please, do not act on the impulse to pick up strangers. It could go very wrong or it could go like this…………………
It was a dark and stormy night! No, no it wasn’t. But that was a good stage to set for a hitchhiking incident. It was actually a gorgeous sunny afternoon in early September. The air was crisp and smelled of smoking fish and ripe berries and I stood outside of our garage that looked like a barn as our neighbor took a picture of Birdie and I in our costumes. I gathered up our Halloween bags and jumped in the car. I was excited for Trick or Treat in the Heat, which is an early Halloween celebration, staged in designated neighborhoods, to raise money for children’s charities. It started in 2005, with a terminally ill five year old who wanted to experience one last Halloween before he passed. It is a highly anticipated event that spans several towns, and gives kids an opportunity to showcase their costumes in relative comfort, instead of the snow and freezing dark that is October 31 here in Alaska.
So off I drove, me and my nine month old, to participate in this event. Passing the trail head we loved to hike on, I saw a hitchhiker, a young man with backpack obviously coming down from one of the peaks on a day hike. It was not uncommon for people unfamiliar with the area to mistakenly take the wrong trail down the mountain, stranding themselves on the road I was on, instead of the parking lot where a pick up was probably waiting. It was 5 p.m., and I was just certain that was this dudes fate. I was about to make his day and pulled over to pick up my first hitchhiker ever! EVER!
Why now you ask? With the kid in the car? After all those years? Well, the time of day, location and circumstantial evidence of the trail head, gave me a pretty good clue as to his story and why his thumb was currently employed. All summer long I dodged people on the highway lugging unforgivingly large backpacks, looking for rides north, south and everywhere in between. It is still very much an acceptable way of travel up here. My husband would pick up anyone that needed a ride, as long as he had room, and even if he didn’t and the party was willing, his truck bed was always available, complete with a canine for travel companionship.
Warning signs are going off in your head, I know, a woman, a baby, this stranger getting in the car. Crazy! It was, true, and yet, in that moment, it was the thing to do. I opened the passenger window and said, “Hey, you need a ride?” He barely looked in, yelled “Yes, please, thanks a lot,” and went to retrieve his pack on the roadside.
My new passenger jumped in, placed his backpack on the floor and secured his seatbelt, while I put the pitchfork in the backseat. Placing the car in gear, I asked him what peak he had climbed and where he needed to go. There was no answer and I peered over at a clean cut young man with a gaping mouth. I repeated, “Where are you headed?” He looked at me hard for a moment, the back seat even harder and asked how long the road was that we were on. I said just another two miles, and he quickly replied that he needed to get out there. I didn’t get it? What? I maintain that I can get him down the hill but he said, “No, the end of the road is fine,” and placed his backpack on his lap, staring straight ahead.
I drove the two miles to the end of the road and started pulling over, when I suddenly remembered I was in my costume. In the few seconds before the car came to a stop, I hastily relayed that I could get him farther down the hill since I was, after all, just going Trick or Treating with my kid. In September! In my husbands big old boots, and his filthy work overalls, stained red from berries I had been picking, and dirty old leather gloves, and a pitchfork and shovel, me the farmer and my kid dressed as a chicken. The hitchhiker exited the car and walked briskly away, two miles from where he started, back up the same road we just came down. I watched him retreat and started laughing hysterically. Im sure he was not amused at his poor fortune to be picked up by a pitchfork wielding, crazy lady and her chicken, going to beg for candy, door to door in summer. I may have exited the car quickly too, if it were me.
I certainly hope someone picked that nice young man up that day. I will never know for sure but I am fairly certain no one was in danger. Strangers thumbing on the side of roads can be sketchy yes, but appearances are deceiving no matter what side of the vehicle you are on. The normal appearing ones could be truly nuts and the crazy looking ones with visible weapons just might try to give you a lift. My hitchhiking, chauffer, straw farm hat was initiated and officially retired on the same day with one short, two mile trip.
You need a ride? Find my husband, I am going Trick or Treating.
