Picking up hitch hikers

I can spot ‘em from a country mile. Literally. Staggering along Highway 126 toward Bristol. Inmates, fresh out of the Sullivan County Jail. Though they usually don’t smell so fresh when you give ‘em a ride. Yep, that’s what I do. As long as no one’s in the car with me and I’m not in a big hurry, I often pull over and offer them a lift.

Yes, I fully understand the potential dangers involved in such a humanitarian enterprise. However, I see it as a ministry of sorts. Applied religion, so to speak. A calling, even.

There are inherent dangers involved for the hitch hiker themselves, too. More than a few I have picked up have been a bit wary and even frightened of me. Put yourself in their shoes. A complete stranger has offered you a ride. Once you get into that stranger’s car, you are at his mercy.

I have found many a hitch hiker to be either hot and sweaty … or cold and shivering (depending on the season). But I’ve found all to be grateful. I suppose there’s nothing like an open car door, a friendly face, and a cheerful voice to lift your spirits a bit after having your hopes dashed - sometimes for miles.

Many have fit the somewhat stereotypical role of being free spirits and/or homeless. Many have been veterans. Most I never saw again.

Before I type another word, I must make it known that I fully understand why most people don’t (and should not) pick up hitch hikers. Believe me, I truly do. Certainly I am in no way advocating here that any reader should. My friends know I am anything on Earth but a male chauvinist, but I especially understand why you lady readers don’t pick them up. There are many ways to minister and help the downtrodden in our world - and picking up hitch hikers is far from being the only way.

I don’t remember them all, though for many years I did. Most faces have now long faded away. A few still stand out in my mind.

No doubt the most memorable soul to whom I’ve ever given a ride was the very first hitch hiker I ever picked up … a beautiful young lady.