The second week into my vehicleless state and things are not going well. Being without polluting transportation is far more difficult than I planned.
It seemed a noble idea when I sold Old Red. The decision to reduce my polluting footprint was even hailed as commendable by some (three) people, including a reader who wrote, “More people should do this, but I bet you’ll die.”
But walking will take me only so far. My endurance (and knees) tap out at around two miles these days. That’s enough to get me to the closest grocery store, which is a mile and a half from porch to produce. Three miles round trip.
On Saturday, I reverted to my youth: hitchhiking. You don’t see people doing this much anymore. Back in the 1960s and ’70s, thumbing or hitching was all the rage.
If you didn’t have a ride and wanted to go somewhere like, oh, say, Southern California from Salt Lake City, you just went to the nearest highway, figured out which way was south and stuck out your thumb.
Granted, it could be dangerous. With all the perverts and criminals in the world, there’s no telling whose ride you might climb into. In all the time I thumbed, I was set upon only four times.
The first was an older guy who offered me $20 for “a very special favor.” When I declined (by trying to climb out a window), he wasn’t mad. He told me to calm down. But the offer stood until he dropped me off in Parowan.
The other three times I was victimized while hitching was by the cops, who invariably had a problem with “grubby-looking creeps” soliciting rides from the roadway.
A Utah Highway Patrol trooper picked me up in Iron County for being a runaway. He threatened to handcuff me to a tree until the Old Man showed up. He also offered to crack me in the head if I didn’t shut up while cuffed to the tree.
That’s still better than the cop in California who stopped, dragged me to a nearby fence, and forced me to climb over it just to get me off his freeway. I insisted that it was my freeway, too.
Me • “Because I’m a taxpayer, man.”
Him • “Really? If you have a job, I’m a Martian. Start climbing, freak show.”
That was a long time ago. Maybe hitching isn’t so hazardous now. On Saturday, I didn’t feel like walking the 1.5 miles to the store when my wife said we needed milk.
I got a shopping bag, walked out to a main road in Herriman, and stuck out my thumb. The second car pulled over. It was Dave, a guy about my age. He took me the entire 1.5 miles to the store. Said he hitched when he was young, too. Once, all the way to Florida.
I got what my wife needed at the store, went back out to the street and put out my thumb. This time is was the fifth car that stopped. It turned out to be a guy I used to home teach. He took me all the way to my front door, where we talked for half an hour.
In an effort to find alternate means of transportation, I might continue to thumb. I understand that it’s risky. In terms of potential victimhood, it’s about the same. I used to be young and oblivious. Now I’m old and slow.
If you see me hitching on the side of the road and don’t stop for whatever reason, please know that it won’t hurt my feelings. Just my knees.
Robert Kirby is The Salt Lake Tribune’s humor columnist. Follow Kirby on Facebook.
