Hitchhiking is the subject of many tales of terror around the campground. It’s also the focus of one of my favorite authors David Sedaris, who tells of awkward, hilarious and downright frightening tales of being a young man on the road with his thumb stuck out.
On Orcas, tales of hitchhiking have a different flavor. But before I learned that, I cut my “hitching” teeth during a 1,200-mile bike trip from Colorado to Oregon in 2010. My tires got so worn out that even the smallest piece of tin would pierce the tube, so I often stuck out my thumb. The families of four, the demographic that picked me up the most, had loads of questions and seemed to get a kick out of the “adventure” of picking up a forlorn cyclist. One family emailed me after giving me a lift in Yellowstone National Park and said, “Our 10-year-old daughter’s favorite part of the trip was picking up a real live hitchhiker.”
On another occasion my bike broke down and 30 cars passed without even slowing down. So I picked up my 40-pound bike, loaded with 40 pounds of gear, and started walking down the road. Thankfully someone took pity on what was a ridiculous scene and gave me a ride into town.
After “relying on the kindness of strangers” during that trip, I vowed to never deny a fellow hitchhiker. I felt I had been selected for an exclusive club of wayward travelers.
When I moved to Orcas in February, I found that this promise would easily come to fruition.
The first hitchhiker I picked up was a chatty older gentleman, who imparted some knowledge on the consequences of living in a small town.
“You make one mistake and they won’t ever let you forget it,” he said. “And don’t even get me started on the women.”
The smell of alcohol was a tad overwhelming, but I took note of the message and thanked him for sharing.
Over the summer I had several pleasant hitchhikers climb aboard my 2007 Toyota Camry.
Once a group of three young girls crammed into the backseat and whispered nervously to each other. But mostly people like to talk about their travels, their business or their passion about how to deal with solid waste on the island.
One island resident, Sandra Mursu, summed up her time hitchhiking over the span of 20 years in a few choice words.
“Those excursions of necessity and preference were always interesting and part of my enjoyment of people and feeling free,” she said. “Just my feet and me.”
Hitchhiking is one thing that makes the island special. It’s an opportunity to spend a few minutes with a stranger, maybe learn something new or help someone out. It can also simply give you a funny story to tell over dinner.
During the holiday months, it’s always a good time to lend a hand, give a lift or just share a few kind words. You never know where it will lead and what adventures you will have.
