Hitch Hike
It was the 1970's and young people had hitch hike fever. Just stick your thumb out at the freeway on-ramp and GO! You never knew who you might meet. I think the TV show Then Came Bronson helped get it started. A guy riding around on a motorbike discovering the people of America.
We did it without the motorbike. With a small pack on our back, a sleeping bag, ground sheet or army surplus rain poncho, and a loaf of bread and can of beans. Destinations like Big Sur, California or Boulder, Colorado or maybe the big city too. Wherever we felt a calling. Wherever we wanted to explore. It wasn't just the sights and sounds, but the people. I met all sorts of characters. I still remember them to this day.
The woman driving barefoot on the San Jose freeway. The guy in the railroad car who like to smoke dubies and then clam up. The gal who picked me up and drove me around Oxnard just cause she liked my smile. She was on her way to work, a waitress. I was singing “Monterey” by Eric Burton and the Animals.
She stopped and gave me a ride. She said “I just had to pick you up. You looked like you were having such a great time.” All she did was drive me around town smoking a joint to get me high and then to a good hitch hiking spot at the edge of town. Just a cool little person to person contact that was fun and pleasantly memorable.
So much water under the bridge since then. I used to pick up hitch hikers all the time myself, but not anymore. Times have changed. More fears have moved in and taken over. It's not good, but there you have it. It was another time. Simpler, innocent, and even picturesque. It's the memories, the moments, and the fever we all experienced on the road.