The Hard Way.
September 7, 2011
I noticed a hitch-hiker—a vision more rare than the sight of caribou—on the Trans-Canada Highway in Newfoundland last week. I whisked by him without stopping, and wasn’t proud of myself.
Kids used to thumb to-and-fro across the country, and for a few golden years in the 70’s, they could even stay in government-sponsored youth hostels for 50 cents a night. We’d often pick them up on our travels from gig to gig. Doris, our ’69 Econoline, could fit up to seven extra passengers if people were willing to sit on amplifiers and squeeze between bass bins, and willing they were.
Almost nobody hitch-hikes these days, and even if they did, how many of us would stop to give them a lift? It may have been a hard way to travel, but a country without that kind of trust and generosity between strangers is a harder place to be, man. Some would say it’s a sign of the times.
rubbaboo 
in Uganda i was surprised to find that hitch-hiking was part of the transportation infrastructure
every time i’m stuck in traffic i note all the lone drivers and wonder how many of us are headed in the same direction…
I wonder about all those lone drivers, too, Mary. The North American quest for individuality—those pilgrims escaping from class and religious hierarchies in Europe, way back when (and for good reason)—has turned us into a paranoid Me society, with lots of notable exceptions, thank goodness.