…”That’s Belanglo State Forest isnt it?”, he muses out loud. He glances over at me with a “did i say that out loud or just think it” sort of expression on his face, and theres a tense silence for a few moments as we both stare out the windshield. For a few seconds the specter of Ivan Milat dances between us, and in my minds eye, high contrast Hollywood images of shallow graves in the forest flicker for a moment…
Its my first time on the road, on my feet. The first day’s been pretty intimidating, facing the traffic and going,
“hey, I could use a ride. This is what I look like. Do you care enough about me to stop? Do I look friendly enough for you to stop?”
…no. no. no. no. no. fuck no! no. nnnno… no.
Im getting myself judged every couple of seconds and for a newbie its confronting. I start to wonder if this is going to work.
Im in the outskirts of Sydney, Australia – my hometown for seven years. My destination is Adelaide, the capital city of the state of South Australia. Theres a girl there I want to be with badly. Ive not got much money. I don’t have a job. I’ve never hitched before, but I’ve seen it done in movies and I’ve stuffed a few clothing items and a bulky cheap sleeping bag into a duffel bag.. and im gonna keep trying – fuck it – what have I got to lose?
Car horn! I swivel my head. I’ve got a ride! My first ride. I grab my shit and run to the faded 70’s holden stopped on the shoulder.
My first ride is a pleasant, deep voiced bloke in his 60’s. Like his old holden, he’s faded, but full of character. He’s the archetypal Aussie bloke; stoic, leathery, paunchy, kind. He’s easy to talk to and he has a story to get of his chest about his 20 something daughter (“about your age”) who he hasn’t seen much of since he divorced her mother, and who he is now on his way to see for the first time in years.
Over the kilometers ahead, as I hitch more and more, I find this is a repeating pattern. Rides often have a story to tell. A specific immediate story, something that’s on their minds, and that telling will lighten the burden of. One of the key skills of a successful hitcher, I discover, is to be a generous listener.
The conversation is easy and friendly, and I feel confident that the estranged daughter is going to be glad to have this gentle, articulate father back in her life, now the anger of adolescence has passed.
Theres a lull in the conversation and the driver turns his head to look out his side window at the gum forest racing past.
“That’s Belanglo State Forest isnt it?”, he muses out loud.
He glances over at me with a “did i say that out loud or just think it” sort of expression on his face, and theres a tense silence for a few moments as we both stare out the windshield. For a few seconds the specter of Ivan Milat dances between us, and in my minds eye, high contrast Hollywood images of shallow graves in the forest flicker for a moment. Then, we both laugh at the faux pas, and the tension dissolves.
Seven tragic deaths in the 1980’s have haunted Australia’s lonely highways for more than a decade, but the reality of hitching is right here in this old holden, with this good hearted man, who is embarrassed to even have made me feel uncomfortable with a slip of the tongue.
We talk about all kinds of things until he drops me off in Albury five and a half hours later; parenting, getting older, hitchhiking (he hitched all over the place in his younger days), love and divorce. He buys me dinner in a truckstop diner near Gundagai.
24 hours and 1400 km later I’m still a newbie, but I’m also passionately in love with hitchhiking. Over the years I do it as often as I can in as many different places as possible and I never lose the sense of excitement. Ivan Milat is still in prison, and cruel men are still in the tiny minority in the world. I never worry about meeting unkind drivers, just like I never worry about being run down by a drunk when I’m riding my bike, or about being eaten by a shark at the beach.
Hitchhiking brings out the best in people. The average person gets a lot of happiness from being generous and helping a stranger, all they need is the opportunity.
