Hitch hikers, thoughts?

Canuck, do whatever you want to. You may get fired as a result, or lose your life. Its your decision in the end.
I come from a violent place, where people are not who they seem, and I would never give a ride to a hitch hiker. However, at -40 I might reconsider, and then I would assess the situation carefully before coming to a complete stop.
Its too risky for my taste, and my job is worth more to me.

 

Like others have said, picking up a hitch hiker is a gamble. Could be as innocent as a person in need of a ride (who may or may not be stinky), but could be as serious as you dead by the road and your load leaving without you.

My uncle, who drove for 10+ years not long after deregulation, tells me stories all the time about crazy stuff he's seen or heard about over the years.

Two stories that really stick out in my mind, which happen to involve lizards and not plain old hitch hikers, are as follows:

Scenario 1: Driver picks up a lizard who, when done with business, asks if the driver can just drop him off at the next truck stop down the road. When he gets there, her pimp pulls the driver out of the truck, knocking him unconscious, and they steal his load.

Scenario 2: Driver picks up a lizard who has the same scenario, just a ride down the road to his next stop. Along the way, she promises "free services" if the driver will just let her try to drive his truck, because she's always wondered what it would be like to drive a big truck. She promptly wrecks the truck, and the driver is out of a career.

I'm sorry to say, but I'll never let anyone I don't know into my vehicle- commercial or otherwise. The risks just aren't worth it.

 

My dad gave permission to post his story:

After graduation from Hope College, Holland, MI (June 1934), I decided to take a hitchhiking trip to the west coast expecting to find some work along the way, even though we were in the midst of the “Great Depression”. I started out from Holland, MI riding with a classmate who lived in northern Iowa. After that, I had to depend on rides with strangers, carrying my belongings in a small black suitcase. Through South Dakota and Montana rides were scarce. At one point while I was thumbing in a small town, a freight train with open gondola cars stopped near the road and I saw four or five hoboes riding the freight. Deciding that was the best way to move on, I climbed on board and struck up a conversation with a burly guy who looked German. We discussed Hitler’s Putsch which had taken place shortly before. There were three other hoboes at the other end of the car who began moving to our end with ulterior motives, I’m sure. My friend immediately let it be known that they were not welcome at this end, and they backed off. The next time the train came to a stop at another town, I was out of there pronto, even though my new friend objected.

My route took me just north of Yellowstone Park and I got a ride with a young couple going into the park. Hitchhikers were not allowed, but I got to visit the Sulfur Springs. Due to visitor restrictions, I did not go further into the park but took rides headed west.

One of my rides was with a man and wife and two children. We were into the east side of the Rockies and climbing. At one point the car didn’t have enough power to make a grade. All the passengers got out and the driver “gave her the gun” and just barely made it over the hill.

In Idaho, I got a ride with a fellow driving a convertible. He was about my age and was headed for Seattle, Washington with a stopover in Yakima. That was a great ride, over 700 miles although I was sunburned and windblown in the convertible by the time we reached Seattle. From Seattle I got rides to Portland, OR.

Portland was my primary destination because my father had a friend from his hometown in the Netherlands living in Portland who had a large gladiolus bulb farm outside of town. Dad had written to him about my plan to get to Portland. He invited me to stay at their home and since the bulb harvest was underway, gave me a job as one of the harvesters. I worked there two weeks earning some cash to help cover my meals and lodging on the way back east. He also got me a ride with a salesman traveling to Ogden, UT. I got other rides to Laramie, Wyoming and I intended to head south to Denver, CO. Rides were scarce again and I found it necessary to hop a freight of boxcars climbing the mountains towards Cheyenne, WY. After I climbed on top of a boxcar, a member of the train crew came back from the engine. He didn’t order me off, but advised that the train would be going through a mile-long tunnel that would be filled with smoke and cinders from the steam engine. He suggested that I hold a handkerchief over my nose and mouth while going through the tunnel, and to get off the train when it stopped outside the train yard at Cheyenne to avoid being caught by railroad detectives. I sure appreciated his warnings.

When trying to catch a ride near North Platte, NE a car went by, stopping down the road and backing up to me. It was another couple with children. The driver asked if I could drive a car. I assured him I could. He said he had been driving straight through since they left California. I took over the wheel and headed east on the highway. We took turns driving, and I got a ride for 1000 miles ending in La Porte, IN.

The next day I got rides to Grand Rapids, about 2 months after leaving from Holland. Upon arriving home, I discovered that my parents had given me a new car to take to law school.

 

My hitchhiking adventure was not as eventful as my dad's, but there is a trucker in my story. During the summer after high school graduation in 1959, a classmate and I hitchhiked to New York for the purpose of returning with two Volkswagen "Beetles" for a used car dealer in Grand Rapids, MI. The Volkswagens had been demonstrators in Europe. An importer in New York installed sealed-beam headlights and re-wired the turn signals from the door post flippers to the tail lights. I know it was 1959 because on a subsequent trip by train with another classmate, we drove a second pair of Beetles to Rutgers University where he would be entering as a freshman in the fall.

Why is the year so important? One of the rides we got while hitchhiking was in a strange, new, rear-engined car. The driver said it was a test run and he would not show us the engine. We figured he was fooling us. Later, I realized we had ridden in one of the first Corvairs on the road, test run or not. A Wikepedia entry reports that Corvair was in production from 1960-69.

We got stranded in a turnpike oasis. Finally, a tired truck driver asked whether either one of us could drive a truck. I had a chauffeur's license having worked as a go-fer, chasing parts for a trucking company and moving trailers as a wash-boy and yard jockey. In those days, a basic chauffeur's license was qualification to drive any commercial vehicle. I won't mention the truck driver's name, although I remember these details as though it was yesterday. The driver of the stake-rack straight truck hauled pipe for a water main cleaning company. He was returning to their home office in a brand new truck. His old truck had finally given up the ghost, and a truck dealership had lifted the loaded stake bed and backed a new cab and chassis under it. So, I drove from somewhere in Pennsylvania to New Jersey while the tired driver took a nap against the passenger door and my classmate sat in the middle of the bench seat. After we got our Volkswagens, we spent an evening in Greenwich Village. Those were heady times for a seventeen-year-old.