An ode to hitchhiking

I was traveling on the Interstate last weekend, and I spotted a young couple hitchhiking at a truck stop. They reminded me of the couple being sung about in Janis Joplin’s rendition of “Me and Bobby McGee.” In the song, the pair are traveling the country, they are “thumbing it,” both are in love, but they’re searching for something unknown to them.

When I was young, hitchhiking was common. There were some that were wary of picking up or being picked up by strangers, but to me and a lot of my contemporaries, it was a component of our culture. When I was little, my parents would never pass by a soldier or sailor on the road who was carrying a duffle bag and had his thumb out. The cultural bonding from the World War II era was still resonating.

If I was waiting for a bus, I might have my thumb out also, and sometimes an acquaintance or someone my age would pick me up. When I first started as a mechanic at the Metro Transit on Snelling Avenue in St. Paul, a working man’s town, I worked nights in the inspections pit adjusting brakes and greasing zerks. Ironically, I got off at 5:30 a.m., and the first bus out of the garage was sometime after that. Traffic on Snelling was getting busy by then, and with a lunch box in my hand and wearing a mechanic’s uniform, when I put my thumb out, I usually got a ride most ricky tick.

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