Nobody Rides for Free

From the late 1970s through the mid-1980s, I was an Americanhitchhiker. I hitched across the entire United States and back twice. Once I made it from Portland, Oregon, to Baltimore, Maryland, infour and a half days. On another trip, I hitched from Birmingham,Alabama, to Baltimore in twenty hours. I hitched down the East Coastand up the West Coast. I rode across Nebraska in the back of a pickuptruck with a driver who wouldnt stop for anything and spent the nightin a school bus in Bodega Bay, California. I endured a continuousstream of homosexual advances from drivers in the Bay Area andwas terrified by a pack of wild dogs while squatting on Crow Indianland. I hopped a freight train in Portland, Oregon, and spent the nightunder the famous Space Needle in Seattle, Washington. I almost gotbusted in Montana for smoking pot out of an empty beer can andwas hassled by cops in New Orleans and Texas. I narrowly escapedinjury at the hands of commercial fishermen in Boston, who caught mesleeping in their boat, and had the bejesus scared out of me by asixty-five-year-old Massachusetts woman who used her 1963 Rambleras an offensive weapon. I met a bunch of gay guys, truck drivers,stoners, petty thieves, ex-cons, heavily armed rednecks, and some very nice people too. I was a lot younger then, but I wouldnt trade thoseexperiences for the world. You hardly ever see hitchhikers anymore, but a few years ago, wewere everywhere. But before I launch into my story, a brief historylesson is in order.