I wasn’t sure that in our time hitch–hiking was still common in America. I asked the locals. But it turned out that none of them had ever tried it. The local Russians began to assure me that there was no thumbing a ride on American – no one would stop anyway.
Like in any business, the most difficult thing in hitchhiking is to get it started. It is clear that thumbing a ride in a city, especially in such a giant like New York is a challenge. In the traffic it is difficult to locate the one that goes in the right direction, and it’s even harder to make it stop. One needs to get on a highway, which is not so easy either: it’ll take you long if you go on foot, and public vehicles in the United States are rare. A famous hitchhiker Jack Kerouac in the novel “On the Road,” describes how he tried to reach the outskirts of New York City by subway, went by tram back to the center and bought a ticket for the intercity bus. For a hitchhike beginner it’s a total defeat.
Fortunately, I did not have to worry or spend money: Grigory (the relative of my fellow air traveler) offered me a ride from New York.
We left early in the morning. Passed the bridge, separating the city from New Jersey, and I thought, he shouldn’t be taking me any further: if I wasn’t lucky with hitch–hiking, I would call Grigory and ask him to take me back to New York – and then I would leave for Russia (I had no intention to fly to Florida or go there by bus).
In the outskirts of New York, not far from the huge city dump, I got out and hitchhiking – or rather, thumbing up – began.
In Russia, we just keep the palm of the hand open, and I felt awkward to hold the fist with my thumb up, as the American hitchhikers do. So, I decided to use a sign plate. I found a piece of white cardboard by the road and wrote ‘FLORIDA’ on it, and stood on the roadside.
One would think that thumbing up is easy: raise your hand and get a ride. But one can’t do without specific skills. It’s necessary to consider the speed of the car and the distance to it and raise your hand at the most adequate moment. In addition, it is desirable to make an eye contact with the driver selecting him among the others, showing that it’s him you want to stop. And what’s more important, you must show the driver that you are self–confident. All your looks must reflect it. Confidence is the key to success in hitchhiking.
Among hitchhikers is possible to meet those who adhere to the passive tactics of thumbing up – still like a pillar on the road, stretching out his hand and not reacting ignoring the passing cars – as well as those who prefer the active tactics – waving his arms and gesturing his urge to leave, sometimes even shouting after drivers, that is, meets each car appearing on the way as if it were the only car and it depended only on the driver whether the hitchhiker would reach his goal.
It is hard to tell what tactics is more efficient. Apparently, the choice is made solely on the basis of personal characteristics of the hitchhiker: the shier ones prefer the passive tactics, and those more insolent or more exalted choose the active tactics. Drivers also have their preferences: one gives a ride only to those who stand modestly on the road, while the others do not notice them and respond only to a more active hitchhiker.
I believed I was a rather experienced hitchhiker, but as it turned out, I had started my hitchhike odyssey with a gross violation of the law: thumbing up on the Interstate Highway * roadside was forbidden. If you come across a police patrol, you can’t avoid penalty. Fortunately, I did not have to thumb up for long.
There was the first car. A twenty–year–old Chevrolet with large spots stains – in the free America, unlike in the conservative Europe there are no rules governing the car’s appearance. Are the steering wheel, the motor and the wheels all right? The rest is not important. Sometimes, you could see most unbelievable clunkers!
The driver of the Chevrolet – had the air of an intellectual, but wore a working overall – opened the door:
– Are you really going to Florida? Well, get in, at least I’ll take you to the right road.
When I got in he immediately offered me his hand:
– Michael.
When he heard I was Russian, and the driver got so excited as if he had been waiting for this meeting for his entire life (and that was the response from the majority of Americans):
– Where exactly do you live in Russia? In Moscow? I’m from New York – he was clearly eager to tell me about himself. – I am an architect. Before, I lived in Canada. I graduated from the University there, then studied here, at Harvard. I got a Master’s degree and went back home. I went into landscape architecture. I became the chief adviser to the Government. I would have been a millionaire by now, like my brother, but I did not belong there. Moreover, I started to have problems with my wife. Got divorced and decided to go to America. Now I live here in New York, work as a carpenter. I don’t own so much money as before, of course, but I am happy with my life, I belong here. Honestly, the work of an architect was very exhausting. I realized that I needed physical labor rather than intellectual…
You know, I do not advise you to go along the coast. There are mostly the major cities – Philadelphia, Washington … You’d better take the 81st Interstate highway. It goes to the south almost parallel to this one, the 95th. As soon as you’ve got to Atlanta, and Florida is at a stone’s throw – to convince me thoroughly, he added. – By the way, I’m going to the 81st highway …
This is how it is in hitchhiking: the driver normally chooses the way, not the hitchhiker.
The 81st interstate highway passes by the cities with predominantly German names. Between Chambersburg and Harrisonburg, Michael turns out of the highway. We said good–bye and I stepped out on the road again.
A Ford stopped, it was an old one too. Two guys in jeans jackets were at the front seats.
— You’re lucky. We’ll give you a ride up to Atlanta…
Bipin and Geoff were going to drive all night long without a stop, making turns at the steering wheel. We started making the basic questions: where we were going, where we were from, what we were up to. It turned out the guys were from New York. They had some company business to handle in Atlanta. Judging from the car, they did not earn much – they had to make a few maintenance stops on their way.
When a big chunk fell of the car we parked at a parking lot in the middle of the night. It was dark, cold and windy… The south did not seem any warmer at all. It took Bipin and Geoff long to fix the car. At first I hoped we would part soon, but I got bored. I curled comfortably on the back seat and fell asleep… When I opened my eyes it was morning and we were entering Atlanta.
I had a good rest that night and felt like resuming my journey to the south.
— Don’t you want to see Atlanta? — asked Goeff looking surprised and offered: — You can stay in our place. We’ll show you the city.
The offer was unexpected but tempting – I just couldn’t say ‘no’.
The American Georgia
We came to Atlanta, crossed the intricate web of streets and reached the residence block ‘Peach Orchard’ (two dozens of two–storey multiapartment houses, an open swimming pool, a self–service laundry; on one side – a rather dirty small river, on the other – a railway branch). Here Bipin and Geoff rented one apartment for both. They planned to stay for about three months in Atlanta and apartment fees were much lower than those of a hotel. I had my rest that night, instead the friends had to drive in turns and had no time
