Over the years I ve had this hobby of collecting hitchhiking stories. I suppose I ve had a book planned somewhere in the back of my mind called Stuck in Wawa: a generation on the road; stories by Canadians and others about the golden era of hitchhiking. At one time I even sent off a few chapters to a publisher and got a form rejection letter back from an intern. I hate rejection so I gave up on the idea. Besides, what is published? One day maybe I ll put up a website and then anyone can read my stories whenever they want. Not all the tales are from the 70s, I ve got ones from other eras as well. Some of them are my own, because I was one of those kids who stuck out my thumb in the summer with a few bucks in my pocket and not much else to my name besides a knapsack, a change of clothes and a few books. I can t find any record of this, but I think the prime minster at the time, Trudeau, encouraged young people to go thumbing. He d been a great traveler as a young man, and been around the world. Those were different times, liberal, somewhat affluent times, and a series of hostels existed along the TransCanada, operated mostly on LIP grants from the feds, where you could stay for a couple of dollars a night, and get a lift to the highway in the morning. Most hitchhikers were male, and traveling with a female companion made getting rides so much easier. And I always admired those girls and women on the road, especially the ones who traveled solo. Here s a couple of interesting gals and their stories. Katherine Edwards Now in her 50s, Katherine Edwards owns a card and gift-wrap shop in upscale north Toronto. In 1970, she was working as a chambermaid at a lodge at Jones Falls, north of Kingston, when she decided to hit the road. I was going with a guy and we decided to hitchhike to P.E.I. His name was Lumpy. He reminds me of a guy in Bonnie And Clyde who was working in a gas station and ends up going with them. Those same chubby cheeks. The problem is that I ve never been forgiven for this incident and I ve never been able to talk about it with my family. It was something so frowned on that I don t have any memories. To top it off, I had been elected head girl in high school the next year. An officer of the student government shouldn t run off. Mostly, it was truck drivers that picked us up. I wore hip-riding jeans and a leather-cinched belt, and this terry looped top that was kind of rose-burgundy with a collar and zip front. It was the age of not wearing a brassiere and this thing was tight-fitting. It s nothing compared to what girls wear nowadays, but at that time it was very daring. I remember truck drivers staring at my top. New Brunswick was very barren and depressing. I soon grew weary of Lumpy, but I didn t have the confidence to leave him. Somewhere along the way I developed a bladder infection and it was agony. We weren t very clean on that trip; I don t think we bathed at all. I m sure we stank to high heaven. We went to a community dance in Truro, Nova Scotia. I d never seen so many black people in my life, being raised in Kingston. So that was eye-opening. In P.E.I we slept on the beach.
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