THE NEW HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE TO THE OPEN ROAD
I've just read Echo Burning, my first Jack Reacher novel. You know how these things unfold: the incorruptible, enigmatic hero materializes to save the day and then — poof! — vanishes just as quickly. No one can be trusted and hellzapoppin'. Yada, yada. In Echo Burning, Reacher gives you a clue to just how very bulletproof he is.
The clue is his thumb. He hitchhikes.
The story opens with him hitchhiking, and it closes with him hitchhiking.
He doesn't wait around to be thanked. He just sticks out his thumb, and vanishes.
Into the sunset, of course. Now, we expect pulp fiction heroes to take risks and slay dragons, but hitchhiking?
When was the last time you saw that type of devil-may-care attitude? That sort of ironclad invincibility? That sort of bonedeep trust? I'm guessing it was more than two decades ago. Like phone booths, hitchhiking has disappeared from the landscape.
Had it not been for Reacher and his outstretched thumb, I'd have forgotten about hitchhiking altogether. There was a time, however, when we all did it — hitched rides as well as picked up hitchhikers. Europe was explored via an outstretched thumb, and locally, it's how you got to the mall. You stuck out your thumb and, before long, a Chrysler Town and Country station wagon, or maybe an Oldsmobile Cutlass Cruiser would pull over and let you in.
It was expected.
In fact, it was kind of hard to not pick up a hitchhiker. There was a sense of obligation. Especially if it was raining. Especially if you recognized the person.
Especially if you were stopped at a red light and the hitchhiker was right beside your car.
A sort of noblesse oblige … or Nissan oblige … or Nova oblige ...
If you were going only a few blocks or the car was undetectably full — say, a back seat full of groceries or golf clubs — you'd wince and mime your regret. It felt great being able to offer that kind of service, a sort of hyper-local, hyper-grassroots Uber.
But there were risks. Cleancut university student Ted Bundy dramatically disproved the assumption that clean-cut, university kids could be trusted. Locale didn't offer security. The grim statistics generated by the Highway of Tears provide a cautionary tale.
It all came down to trust. Maybe we trusted each other more back when hitchhiking was commonplace?
B.C. Motor Vehicle Act regulations declare that pedestrians are not permitted to be on schedule-one highways, thereby making hitchhiking illegal.
There is no specific provincial law, however, against picking up a hitchhiker unless stopping your vehicle presents a safety risk. So it still happens. There are people still hitchhiking all over the world, and websites like Hitchwiki dedicated to helping them navigate the world with their thumb.
Statistics on the subject are a little wobbly, but apparently hitchhikers are not a murderous lot. Some sources state that no hitchhikers have murdered their rides, and that one per cent of hitchhikers end up dead. One Canadian hitchhiker in particular learned the hard way. Two Canadian professors sought to test various tech/human interfaces back in 2013 by launching hitchbot, a hitchhiking robot that stuck out his mechanical thumb and crossed Canada, the Netherlands and Germany. Sadly, hitchbot met a gruesome end in 2015 when its body was found in Philadelphia, stripped and decapitated.
The fear associated with hitchhiking is now more commonplace than hitchhiking itself. If you decide to pick up some cheerful backpacker and he asks you if you aren't just a little bit worried he is a serial killer, tell him no — you figure the chances of there being two serial killers in one car are astronomical. That ought to ensure your passenger's very best behaviour.
Jane Macdougall is a freelance writer and former National Post columnist who lives in Vancouver. She writes on The Bookless Club every Saturday online and in The Vancouver Sun. For more of what Jane's up to, check out her website, janemacdougall.com