They're All Murderers

I've never picked up a hitchhiker. I've often thought about it, as I drive past them on the side of the road, looking desperate, running after cars that slow only to realize they are slowing to turn the corner, thumbs out, a look of pleading and discouragement competing for prominence in their eyes. I zoom right past them because I was told they are all murderers and rapists. Even that cute little couple with their full backpacks and him trying to hang just a little bit behind and the sign for Banff hanging casually from her fingertips. Zoom. Because you never know. That cute backpacking couple might have knives in their packs. Or a gun. Or a chainsaw.


So here's the irony. I've BEEN a hitchhiker twice. I've relied on the kindness of strangers who's mother perhaps never told them that I was probably a murdering hiker and I'm THIS filthy and stink THIS much not from 8 solid days in the woods but because I have the blood of a girl scout troop on my hands.

I came to realize that both of the times that I was in need of a lift was a direct result of spending a good number of days in the wilderness and emerging from said wilderness no where near where I needed to be to get home. And both times, sticking the universal symbol for "hey brother can I have a lift" out seemed like the most normal thing in the world to do.

Hitchhike #1 - a four day canoe trip cut short by a day by mutual decision. We hauled the canoe up to shore. Trusted that all items would be safe due to outdoorsmans code of do not steal anothers gear lest you find yourself caught without one day. We had never been in this area of the park before but knew roughly where a phone might be so started walking. And walking. And walking. And finally, the two drenched women (oh did I mention it was POURING??) with nothing but a quarter and an innocent smile threw out the thumb in an empty provincial park and managed to snag a lovely green Ford Taurus bursting with overweight, middle-aged couple doing a good deed for two stranded girls. We shot each other a quick look when the doors automatically locked once we got in, a sure sign they wanted to cut us into numerous pieces and dine on us with a nice bottle of red. We giggled a nervous giggle because TRULY that was just ridiculous. Right? They took us to a resort area where we called for a ride and then we walked back towards where we started from. We did not get as lucky on the way back to our gear but at least the rain had stopped. It brought out the mosquitoes but hey, we had just survived a hitchhiking, we can't have EVERYTHING.

Hitchhike #2 - After seven days in the Alaskan wilderness, somewhere along the unending Alaska highway, 6 weary backpackers stumbled out of the forest, a stinky, hungry bunch. We were, for all intents and purposes, 6 days away from where we left the van. There was much rock-paper-scissoring to see who would be stuck doing the hitch to go get it and I won the honor alongside the big cheese who came with us. So there we were. Standing on the side of a highway somewhere between Anchorage and Fairbanks, two thumbs out, watching motorhome after motorhome go by in a blaze of "Where the Hell is Walldrug" technicolor. How sweet would it be to get a lift from a motorhome and be all showered and clean when we picked everyone up?? But alas. None were prepared to pick up the two dirty hikers on the gravel shoulder. "Show some leg" the editor said. Now heres the thing. I probably had more muscle-y legs than he did and I was all "dude, YOU'RE the one wearing a skirt!!!" (There's a really cool mens hiking skirt, trust me, its wicked). So I just told him to stand back a bit pulled the ol' polyester shorts a little higher up the mud-caked thigh and voila, a sweet young pockmarked pothead in a rusty little red jalopy pulled over for the chick with the killer calves. Oh. And Dennis too. Yeah, he's with me, sorry. We listened to bad 80's music and carried on some clearly forced and uncomfortably awkward conversation for what would amount to 6 days of hiking a ridgeline trail and suddenly we were thanking the kid profusely and joking about "wouldn't it be funny if we forgot the van keys??".

Two safe hitchhiking tales. No murderers to be found. Maybe that's what we are allotted in a lifetime. Maybe we each get 2 free rides. So, you ask, will I be sharing these stories or my "2 free rides" theory with McK? Oh HELL no. 1-800-CALL-MOM in FULL effect.