coogansbluf has inspired me, with his terrifying tale of a bad hitchhiking experience, to share my own hitchhiking stories.

I've only picked up hitchhikers once when I was alone. I was driving across the never-ending state of Montana to visit my mother in Billings, and saw two disheveled women standing beneath an overpass near Bozeman with their thumbs out. It was beginning to get dark, and I worried about leaving them out there at night, so in a split-second decision I pulled over to the side of the interstate. They climbed into my rickety '87 Mazda and the woman in front, Debra, told me that they were headed back to the Crow Reservation near Billings, but if I could drop them off in downtown Billings that would be good enough. 

And we were off. It was very quickly apparent that Debra was drunk and that her partner, Susanne, was either crazy or stoned out of her mind. Debra sang along loudly and off-key to my Fleetwood Mac tape and repeatedly offered me swigs from the bottle of whiskey she cradled in her lap. Repeatedly, I declined. Meanwhile, Susanne's escapades in the back seat grew more and more outrageous. She started the trip fairly calm, occasionally emitting low, long moans, to which Debra would respond with a slurred "Shut the hell up!" But as the miles behind us lengthened, she became more erratic, rolling around on the seat, kicking the seats in front of her, screaming. At one point she tried to open the car door while we traveled 70 mph down the highway, but fortunately Debra was able to put stop to that. Although I did not fear for my own safety, I was certainly worried for Susanne's, and I was anxious to be rid of these two. That drive seemed to take longer than it ever had before, but finally we arrived in downtown Billings and they piled out of the car. A week later, when I arrived back home to Idaho, I discovered a lone shoe in the back of the car that didn't belong to me. I hope that Susanne had an extra pair somewhere, and that she didn't miss that one. 

That was the last time I picked up a hitchhiker, despite the guilt I feel every time I pass one by. But I have since then done my own fair share of hitchhiking. I'm a long-distance hiker, and along the Pacific Crest Trail and even the more populous Appalachian Trail, there's no way to get to town to resupply without bumming rides from strangers. So bum rides I do, and I'm pretty good at it. Fortunately, I always have had a partner when hitching, and have yet to be picked up by anyone too scary.

There were a few uncomfortable rides: one in California, when the driver who picked us up drove at top speeds down winding mountain roads in a car without seat belts, out of the Sierras and down into the small town of Independence; and the following year on the Appalachian Trail when a young woman and I were picked up by an all-male construction crew who had turned around and gone the wrong direction for the sole purpose of picking us up. But the majority of the time I've been offered rides by friendly, unthreatening folks with interesting stories, and it's always been worth it. I have a lot of hiker karma to pay back, so the next time I see obvious hikers near a long-distance trail, I'll pick them up. There’s more than enough fear and distrust in the world as it is.