Nobody Rides for Free: A Hitchhiker's Memoir

By Bonanza D. Jones

From the late 1970s through the mid-1980s, I was an American
hitchhiker. I hitched across the entire United States and back twice.
Once I made it from Portland, Oregon, to Baltimore, Maryland, in
four and a half days. On another trip, I hitched from Birmingham,
Alabama, to Baltimore in twenty hours. I hitched down the East Coast
and up the West Coast. I rode across Nebraska in the back of a pickup
truck with a driver who wouldnt stop for anything and spent the night
in a school bus in Bodega Bay, California. I endured a continuous
stream of homosexual advances from drivers in the Bay Area and
was terrified by a pack of wild dogs while squatting on Crow Indian
land. I hopped a freight train in Portland, Oregon, and spent the night
under the famous Space Needle in Seattle, Washington. I almost got
busted in Montana for smoking pot out of an empty beer can and
was hassled by cops in New Orleans and Texas. I narrowly escaped
injury at the hands of commercial fishermen in Boston, who caught me
sleeping in their boat, and had the bejesus scared out of me by a
sixty-five-year-old Massachusetts woman who used her 1963 Rambler
as an offensive weapon. I met a bunch of gay guys, truck drivers,
stoners, petty thieves, ex-cons, heavily armed rednecks, and some very nice people too. I was a lot younger then, but I wouldnt trade those
experiences for the world.
You hardly ever see hitchhikers anymore, but a few years ago, we
were everywhere. But before I launch into my story, a brief history
lesson is in order.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493170609

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 by Bonanza D. Jones.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 03/06/2014

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Contents

Acknowledgments

Introduction

A Brief History of Hitchhiking in America

Baltimore

New Orleans

Texas

The Desert

Los Angeles

Northern California

Portland

Seattle

Montana

Wyoming

Nebraska

St. Louis

Maryland

PART 2

1983

The Scariest Ride of My Life

Afterword

For all those folks who stopped to give me a ride all those years ago.

Thank you.

Acknowledgments

I’d like to thank some folks for their help with this project: my wife, Elizabeth, for her support and for the back-cover photos, Tim Satterfield for his publishing advice, Tony Vittoria for his legal advice, Scott Sugiuchi / Exit10 for the graphics, Richard Hann for his continual encouragement, and Bob Kannenberg for his editorial advice and for all those great songs. Without all of you, this book would not have been necessary.

She drove a little purple Pontiac with California plates

She was tearing up the freeways tearing down the interstates,

Just outside of Phoenix I was thumbing for a ride

When she locked ‘em up and honked the horn and motioned me inside,

She asked where I was headed as the wind blew through her hair,

Brother let me tell you at that time I didn’t care.

—Bob Kannenberg

Peculiar travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God.

—Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

Introduction

From the late 1970s through the mid-1980s, I was an American hitchhiker. I hitched across the entire United States and back twice. Once I made it from Portland, Oregon, to Baltimore, Maryland, in four and a half days. On another trip, I hitched from Birmingham, Alabama, to Baltimore in twenty hours. I hitched down the East Coast and up the West Coast. I rode across Nebraska in the back of a pickup truck with a driver who wouldn’t stop for anything and spent the night in a school bus in Bodega Bay, California. I endured a continuous stream of homosexual advances from drivers in the Bay Area and was terrified by a pack of wild dogs while squatting on Crow Indian land. I hopped a freight train in Portland, Oregon, and spent the night under the famous Space Needle in Seattle, Washington. I almost got busted in Montana for smoking pot out of an empty beer can and was hassled by cops in New Orleans and Texas. I narrowly escaped injury at the hands of commercial fishermen in Boston, who caught me sleeping in their boat, and had the bejesus scared out of me by a sixty-five-year-old Massachusetts woman who used her 1963 Rambler as an offensive weapon. I met a bunch of gay guys, truck drivers, stoners, petty thieves, ex-cons, heavily armed rednecks, and some very nice people too. I was a lot younger then, but I wouldn’t trade those experiences for the world.

You hardly ever see hitchhikers anymore, but a few years ago, we were everywhere. But before I launch into my story, a brief history lesson is in order.

A Brief History of Hitchhiking in America

Hitchhiking is a uniquely American invention, and the history of hitchhiking goes back almost as far as the history of the automobile, when American soldiers in World War I were among the first hitchhikers. After the war ended, hitchhiking dropped off considerably till about the early 1920s, when it first became associated with adventure as well as with transportation. J. K. Christian hitched 3,023 miles in twenty-seven days in 1921, which won him membership in the Chicago Adventurer’s Club. At the time, this was considered to be an exceptional feat.

Sometime in the mid-1920s, the familiar thumbs-up hand signal appeared and proved far superior to other methods of attracting attention, such as standing in the middle of the road, feigning injury or exhaustion, waving, or smiling.

The 1930s was a decade of renewed interest in hitchhiking due to improvements in automobile technology and roads along with large numbers of unemployed people. The largest and most respectable group of new hitchhikers in this decade consisted of college students. Many hitchhikers who were not college students masqueraded as students just to get rides.

After America entered the Second World War, large numbers of military people were once again hitching around the country while gasoline and tire rationing helped to make hitchhiking the preferred method of transportation for many civilians as well. General Eisenhower was reported to have his drivers pick up hitchhikers in military uniforms on a regular basis.

Post-World War II economic prosperity, coupled with bad press from right-wing fanatics in the federal government (particularly the FBI), caused a decline in the numbers of hitchhikers in the 1950s. However, the cultural renaissance of the 1960s and 1970s created a more conducive environment for hitchhiking. Abraham Miller wrote in 1973, Spartanly dressed youth with outstretched thumbs or ‘hippie vans’ have become as common a sight on the American highway as the cloverleaf exchange.

Since the 1990s, hitchhiking has dropped off considerably. But who knows, with rising gas prices and growing numbers of people seeking simpler and less polluting lifestyles, hitchhiking might still enjoy a busy and colorful future.

We are all influenced, more or less, by the prevailing trends of our generation, and I believe that each generation embraces its own set of risky behaviors. As I look around today, I see young people covered with tattoos and piercings, texting while driving, or stretching their earlobes with large-diameter plug earrings. My generation, and I consider myself a child of the 1970s, had its own set of risky behaviors, which will become clear to anyone who reads this book. I felt the need to tell these stories pretty much as they really happened, risky behaviors and all, but I need to emphasize here that I was extremely lucky.

These stories are about my adventures, but I use the name Peter Bowers in this book. I am not Peter Bowers, have never been Peter Bowers, and don’t even know anyone named Peter Bowers; I chose that name because it has no connection to my real life. If your name happens to be Peter Bowers, I apologize in advance for any inconvenience this book may cause you.

This book is divided into two sections. The first section is a composite of my two cross-country hitchhiking trips in 1979 and 1981. It starts in Baltimore, Maryland, and ends with my triumphant return to Baltimore. Section 2 contains two stories from a subsequent trip that I made to New England in 1983.

All the names of the people I rode with have been changed, not so much to protect them, but because I can’t remember them.

Bonanza D. Jones

Baltimore, Maryland

December 2013

CH1_Baltimore_BW.tif

Baltimore

Boo hoo! I can’t believe you’re leaving me!

About thirty miles west of Baltimore on Interstate 70 is the town of Frederick, Maryland.

I really won’t be gone that long. Four, maybe five weeks tops.

And in that town of Frederick, there used to be this great truck stop. It’s gone now, and a Costco or a Sam’s Club or some other unspectacular business sits on that hallowed spot.

But you’re going to be out there all alone. You could get picked up by criminals or crazy people or Jehovah’s Witnesses!

I really do miss that truck stop. It was truly an oasis for any traveler, and it was where I decided to begin my first cross-country hitchhiking trip.

I guess I’ll just have to take my chances. Don’t worry, I can take care of myself.

The truck stop had this great little diner-type restaurant, which was where my girlfriend and I decided to grab some breakfast before I embarked on my journey.

Where will you sleep at night?

She was terrific. I knew this was tough on her, what with me leaving for four or five weeks, but she was willing to drive me out there anyway. A few years later, we got married, and we’re still married today.

Anywhere I can. Really, it’s gonna be fine. Don’t worry.

We got to the truck stop, went inside, and ordered some breakfast.

For me, breakfast is the best meal of the day, and diner breakfasts are the absolute best. I could eat diner breakfast three meals a day and never get tired of all those great eggs and home fries and pancakes and sausages.

I can’t believe you’re leaving me for four or five weeks to go out… hitchhiking!

After breakfast (and more tears and good-byes), she dropped me off on the entrance ramp for Interstate 70 (westbound) and headed back to Baltimore. I watched her drive off and then stuck my thumb out to begin this great adventure that I’d been planning for months.

My plan was to go first to New Orleans to visit with some friends, then head across the southern United States to California, where I’d