Mountain Man and City Girl

In June, 1994 I found myself hitchhiking on one of my favorite roads – the Pacific Coast Highway.  I had been hitching around the country since mid-April, and now it was early June.

I got up one morning after sleeping on a beach near San Luis Obispo, California.  A magnificent sunset had concluded my previous day, and now an eerie, yet calmingly invigorating, fog-shrouded morning greeted me.  I packed up my sleeping bag and backpack and headed for the highway.

In the parking lot, I met a woman, with bicycle and guitar case in hand, who had also spent the night on a different part of the beach, unbeknownst to me.  We swapped travel stories for a while, then I got back on the road heading north toward San Francisco.

This was a day of short rides, but the view of the Pacific Ocean from the cliffs was dazzling.  The fog by now lifted, and the end of each ride found me walking to the edge of the cliff to sit and reflect on the beauty of the desolate beaches and pounding waves.  It was also a time to write notes in my journal.

An afternoon ride took me past San Simeon.  The driver, a young guy and his wife, spotted a stretch of beach where elephant seals were basking in the sunlight and we pulled over.  Other cars were also pulled off the highway to watch.  We couldn’t get out of the car fast enough, the sight of the seals getting our adrenaline pumping.  We jumped a fence, then headed across a meadow to the beach.

We watched the elephant seals, in awe of the brute strength of the 15 or 20 big adult males.  Occasional battles between them took place, but the rest of the herd of 1oo were peacefully lounging.  After a while, the couple was ready to leave.  “Thanks for the ride,” I said, “I think I’ll stay here.”

I sat at the edge of the beach and meadow, my eyes transfixed on this surreal group of animals.  An hour later, I heard a “Hello again”.  It was the woman from the parking lot.  She sat down and we shared the wonderment of this setting.

Several times before her arrival, the highway patrol had cleared the cars from beside the ride.  They were enforcing the “No Stopping or Standing” rules.  The road was narrow there, so they were doing their duty.

I told her of my plans to spend the night with the elephant seals.  She had the same idea, so we went back to the road to fetch her bike and pass it over the fence.

That night we sat on the beach, no more than 50 feet from the 3,000 pound males and 1,200 pound females.  She played her guitar, lulling the beasts with her soft voice and soothing melodies.  The ocean waves pounding rhythmically added to the music’s harmony.  Eventually, we each crawled into our sleeping bags as the symphony and inspiring day came to an end.  But to this day, I can still hear the gentle sounds of that night.

- Mountain Man

Just about everyone thinks that they’re the world’s best at something.  Admit it, don’t you think you’re the world’s best soda guzzler, television show critic, cell phone talker, make-up applicator, pizza eater, belly button lint remover, armchair pro football expert, or something?  Deep down inside, you feel you’re the cream of the crop at something.

I think I’m the world’s best long distance hitchhiker.  Maybe I’m really not.  But since there is no criteria, I will continue to reflect on my abilities and think no one is better.

I have hitchhiked over 20,000 miles in my life, logging enough miles to practically circumnavigate our planet.  But mileage isn’t what made me No.1, it’s what I learned it those miles that helped me refine my craft.  Let me share a few tips.

When I hitchhike, I always make eye contact with drivers.  And if they pass me by, I just smile and look toward the next vehicle.  I don’t cuss them out or flip ‘em the bird.  My philosophy is that the ride I’m meant to get just hasn’t arrived yet to pick me up.

I always use a sign.  I make them from cardboard, which is always easy to find, and I always carry a magic marker in my backpack.  If I’m in a city, I’ll pick a destination about 50 miles away.  If I’m outside a city or out in the country, I’ll shoot for somewhere 200-300 miles away or more.  The bottom line is that I don’t want a ride that’s just a few miles away, especially if I’m standing in a good spot – one that offers good visibility and ample room for a car to pull over.

So let’s say I’m in Albuquerque, New Mexico heading east and my sign says “El Paso”, the westernmost city in Texas.  If I see a possible prospect checking out my sign, I pull another sign from behind the El Paso one and it says “Please”.  I’m looking for a reaction.  If I get a sympathetic look, I flip that sign over and it reveals the show stopper “Aw C’mon”.  That almost always solicits a smile.  A third of the time, it also gets me a ride.

Once in a car, you have to carry on a good conversation, while also making the driver feel at ease and not threatened that you’re a weirdo or mass murderer or something.  Never reach into your backpack, lest they think you have a gun.

With the right personality and gift for gab, which I have, the driver will open up to you.  In a half hour you both feel as if you’ve been lifelong friends.  More times than I can remember, a 300 mile ride has ended with me staying at their house for a night or two, getting fed the whole time, and even being taken out to meet their friends.  I’ve ended up the center of attention at numerous parties and bars.

My budget when hitchhiking is $4 a day.  Impossible, you think.  Actually not.  People are extremely generous.  They want to feed you, even give you money when you part.  I accept food, but never money.  I’m not in it for money, in fact I usually have hundreds of dollars stashed in my socks.  Four bucks a day can go a long way in a grocery store, especially if you live on fruits, nuts, and vegetables.

I’m into hitchhiking for the thrill, the adrenaline rush, the adventure.  Meeting new people, seeing new places.  Hitchhiking always restores my faith in humanity.  People, for the most part, are decent folks.  That rediscovery makes it all worthwhile.

- Mountain Man