“I flick the flashlight in the direction of the treeline and the light is shot back at me from five, six, maybe eight sets of flickering eyes. Dogs. They are standing there, just inside the treeline. Still, watchful. Tails curled between their legs. Shoulders tense…”
“I see many films, and hear many stories about hitchhikers, and they always meet with some crazy guy, who kill them. I see you there, and I think I better give you a ride, because otherwise maybe some crazy guy will come along. You must be careful. Especially here in Australia…”
When Craig and I played music KC was always around. I started to notice that KC really liked certain harmonies. If I played an A or a G chord, she would stretch her neck out and howl a little bit. Like she was singing. The first few times it happened we just laughed and patted her on the head. After a while though, KC’s singing improved and we really started to pay attention…
As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I notice a slight, flickering glow, away beyond the treeline, silhouetting the grass stems and low hanging branches of the trees. I come to the edge of a steep bank, and peer over it. Below me is a shallow watercourse. He’s sitting on the creek bank, beside a tiny fire. He’s facing away from me but I can see his profile in the firelight; creased brow, hook nose, stained grey beard. Rage surges up in me…
What was it like for a sixteen year old girl hitchhiking across Canada with a rock band?
I meet Marlene in the Embassy foyer and take delivery of my beer.
“Do you have a car?” she asks me.
“No. Just this.” I show her my scooter.
“Did you ride this from Scotland” she gasps.
“Not all the way” I reassure her. “I’m a hitchhiker.”
Marlene stares at me, wide eyed.
“You hitchhiked from Scotland?”
“Most of the way, yeah. All across Europe.”
“Aren’t you exhausted?”
“I could use a beer…”
In the last four years I’ve hitchhiked across more than 25 countries. I’ve camped in the Sahara Desert. I’ve visited the Louvre Museum in Paris. I ate out of dumpsters on the streets of Los Angeles.
I live on a small budget. Everything I own fits into my beat up backpack. It’s all about having time to do the things I want to.
Watch the video trailer…
“Here’s the thing. Hitchhiking is… a complete shit show. Nothing ever goes to plan. Actually, scratch that, there is no plan. You set out, you keep moving and if you’re lucky you get somewhere, but hardly ever where you intended to be…”
Nicky waves his arms and yells something Bulgarian at the driver. The driver brakes. He doesn’t have a choice. Nicky is blocking the road. As soon as the van slows down, Nicky is at the side window, bellowing. The van accelerates and drives away down the motorway ramp…