It was 8:30 p.m. on Tuesday. I was standing at an intersection across the street from a gravel production plant, an empty commercial building and a gas station. After 12 hours of hitchhiking, I decided to call it a day and ordered a Lyft.
Here’s how I got here. My cousin had invited me to a party in Oregon. She got me a one-way plane ticket and told me to figure out my own way back. I’d forgotten until the night before the party when I realized I didn’t have a way home. I frantically searched for plane, train and bus tickets from Oregon to San Francisco, but they were all too expensive or too long.
“I guess I’ll just hitchhike,” I thought.
Hitchhiking was something that had fascinated me for years, and seemed like the perfect solution. After the party, my friend dropped me off in the parking lot of a motel in Medford, OR, and I began my journey.
Lesson #1: Appearances matter
I had been walking along the shoulder, cars and trucks speeding past, for about 20 minutes before I saw my first ride. An old Chevy van honked as it pulled onto the shoulder behind me.
Soren was a dirtbag van-lifer. He had a kind face, a scraggly beard and long unkept hair under a faded baseball cap. When I opened the door, his dog greeted me with a sniff before she moved to the back, curling up on the unmade bed crowded with clothes and random knickknacks. My gut told me this guy was safe, affirmed by his Canadian accent.
Soren told me he didn’t normally pick up hitchhikers in the US because of bad experiences in the past, but decided to make an exception for me.
Lesson #2: It’s illegal to walk on the freeway
For an hour and a half, Soren and I exchanged stories about our travels and our latest philosophical musings. When we arrived at Mt. Shasta, CA, Soren pulled into the narrow shoulder of the interchange and we wished each other the best.
I had no luck waiting by the I-5 south ramp so I went back to walking along the freeway. I walked for about half an hour when I heard a voice behind me telling me to stop.
I turned around and was shocked to see a cop pulling over. I was certain hitchhiking was legal so I wasn’t sure what to expect. The officer, a short round man with too much gel in his hair, told me walking on the freeway was illegal, even though multiple cop cars passed me since I began walking. He gave me a warning and drove me to the nearest town. After he drove off, I made my way back towards the freeway.
I stood on the on-ramp next to the sign that read “pedestrians, bicycles, motor-driven cycles prohibited” for five minutes before an old pickup truck pulled over.
Lesson #3: Sometimes you’ve just got to ask
John, a die-hard Pink Floyd fan, former meth dealer and current climate change denier was on a work errand when he saw me. He also said he didn’t usually pick up hitchhikers, but I looked weak enough that he thought he could beat me up if necessary. John was skinny and in his mid-60s, but looked older. His sunbaked face had wrinkled into a permanent frown.
“I could take him,” I thought.
As we drove through the Shasta Trinity National Forest, I told John I had never been to Shasta Lake so he suggested driving me up to the dam. I was apprehensive to go on a detour but I couldn’t think of an excuse to turn down his offer.
When we got to the top of the dam, there was a gate stopping vehicles from crossing. A security guard came out and told us they weren’t letting anyone across, but John insisted. He told the guard that his “friend” (me) was from out of town and had never seen the dam. John’s explanation got us through. We drove down to a campsite at the bottom of the dam, where we marveled at the incredible feat of engineering.
Lesson #4: Rejection therapy
Afterwards, John drove me south to Redding, CA and dropped me off at a busy truck stop. It was noon, I was halfway home and I was feeling confident.
I stood next to the on-ramp and held out my thumb and a cardboard sign that read ‘SF’ to each passing car. After an hour of standing in the 95-degree heat, I began to doubt myself. Nevertheless, I invoked the confidence of four elite anthropomorphic spy penguins and continued to smile and wave. As hour two and three went by, my phone was nearly dead and my water was lukewarm. By hour four I was exhausted. When a white pickup finally pulled into the shoulder behind me, the driver told me I looked miserable so he offered me ice-cold water and an energy drink, but no ride. I went back to my spot feeling refreshed and soon another pickup truck pulled up.
Travis was a young dude, probably in his twenties. He reminded me of Soren — but if Soren had an outdoorsy cousin with a stable job. He was headed to Sacramento, close to my destination, so I happily took the ride. For the next couple of hours, I was so absorbed in our conversation that when we got to Sacramento, I told Travis to drop me off wherever he exited.
Lesson #5: Know when to quit
So there I was, on a deserted street corner, waiting for my Lyft. It was frustrating not being able to get all the way home, but I felt satisfied. I didn’t learn the meaning of life or anything. Instead, I thought, “At least I have a good story and a cardboard sign to remember this.”
As I got into my Lyft I took off my backpack and looked for my sign. Glancing out the window I saw it — witness to my journey, now just a meaningless scrap in the gutter.
Contact Sabastian Luyen at luyen@oxy.edu
