Travelblog 1: Boulder to Chicago

The first leg of my hitchhiking journey, Boulder to Chicago, has been completed and I am now chillin' in the Windy City (the town which is to become my home in the coming months).

The first day of my trip was a dud. There was a heavy snowstorm in the Boulder/Denver area, which made things difficult. I started in Boulder, got a ride to dowtown Denver, took a bus to I-76, stuck my thumb out for a while, walked to a gas station, got a ride to a truckstop, tried to get a ride there unsuccessfully, took a taxi to a Greyhound station with the intention to get a ticket to get me just outside of Denver where it would be easier to catch a ride, but decided against it and hopped on the bus back to Boulder.

The next day, the weather was much better, and my friend Lindsey gave me a ride out to I-76, just outside the city, where hitching would be much easier. I barely stuck my thumb out before I had a ride. A guy in a big pickup truck pulled over and said that he was only going about ten miles up 76, but I got in anyway even though it was a short ride. He was a former leader of a motorcycle gang turned preacher at an Anglican church, or something like that, and he asked me if I believed in Jesus Christ. I told him that I try to keep an open mind around religious matters. He didn't respond. He dropped me off at a good exit with plenty of traffic and plenty of room for cars to pull over. I stood on the corner with my sign, which read "It's a long walk to Chicago. No ride is too short!" (a bit wordy, I know), and stuck my thumb out. I waited for about forty-five minutes with no luck. So I went to the gas station to warm up and go to the bathroom. Then, back to the corner. I waited for another forty-five minutes or so, no luck.

I thought that maybe people might be seeing the word "Chicago" on my sign and instantly thinking "Oh, I'm not going that far" and driving past. So I put my sign down, and within two minutes, I had a ride. The guy pulled over and asked me where I was headed. I said "Chicago, but I'll go as far east as you can take me." "Ok," he said, and I got into his big blue Suburban.

He didn't say where he was going. In fact, he didn't say anything, and neither did I. I didn't want to speak unless spoken to, cuz, you know, it's important to be extra polite when hitching. But he never said anything. We just sat in silence. No music, no talking. Just the sound of tire hitting pavement and wind hitting windshield, and the occassional ticking of the turn signal when we changed lanes. About an hour into this, I saw a big yellow sign that read, "Correctional Facility. Do not stop for hitchhikers." It was the first of many. This made me increasingly nervous, seeing these signs and not knowing where this guy was planning to drop me off.

Suddenly, he took an exit, right after we passed yet another big yellow sign. To my relief, he said, "I'm just gonna stop for lunch," and we pulled into a gas station with a Quizno's. We ate lunch silently, then as we were walking back to his car, I asked, "So what's your final destination?"
"South Bend," he said, "It's just a couple hours past Chicago."
"Oh, wow. and you don't mind taking me all the way to Chicago?"
"No."
"Well, thanks man, I really appreciate it."

And that was that. I had a ride all the way to Chicago. And thank God, because after those yellow signs had ended, some new anti-hitchhiking signs popped up in their place when we hit Nebraska. About every ten to twenty miles, there was a sign with a picture of a hand with it's thumb out with a big red line through it, as if hitchhiking was like smoking at a gas station, all the way through Nebraska. I remembered that I had read somewhere that this part of the country was notoriously difficult for hitchhikers, but it didn't really sink in until I saw these signs, one after another. I felt that I had truly lucked out in getting a ride straight through all of this.

More stuff happenned after that, but I'll write about it later.