Hitchhiking to California: A Mini-Memoir

It was the summer of 1974.

I had just graduated from college and my brother Dominic had graduated from high school.

We were in the back yard of my parents' house in Michigan, weeding the garden on a sunny early July morning.

In the middle of idly shooting the breeze with each other, Dominic casually turned to me and said, "This would be a great day to hitchhike to California."

[I had gotten the travel bug a month or so earlier and, through Mother Earth News, had contacted a farmer in that state. In those days Mother Earth News was the epicenter of the "back to the land" movement and its pages were full of ads run by farmers who offered free room and board for work. I had a destination, but not yet the incentive to go. Dominic proved to be the catalyst.]

So we gathered up a small tarp, a couple changes of clothes told our Mom what we were doing and took off with about $60 between us.

Thank God our Mom didn't try to talk us out of it!

Now, I'm by no means suggesting that hitchhiking, nowadays, would be a fun or safe way to travel. All things considered, it's not. But back then, it was a different story.

Dominic and I walked up the street and headed about a mile or so in the general direction of I-94. We got our first ride from a married guy who was maybe eight years older than us. We told him we were hitchhiking to California. He smiled and said, "Boys, this is the time in your life to do it! When you're young and free of obligations."

He was right. Neither one of us had a full-time job. We were living at home. It was the summer of a prelude to adulthood.

I had recently been given a State Farm Road Atlas, a reward for meeting with a couple of insurance salesmen while attending Olivet College. As the salesguys made their pitch in the Student Union, I kept smiling and nodding my head, answering their questions. But at the end, I told them, "I have to be honest with you. I'm only sitting here because you told me I'd get a free atlas." They weren't happy about it, but I suppose they knew, coming into the sales chat, that kids a few weeks away from graduating college weren't likely thinking about life insurance.

At any rate that road atlas was what we used to make our travel plans. We were traveling half-way across the country, roughly 2,400 miles one way. It proved to be the only guidance we needed.

Along the way, we stayed at camping grounds, the lobby of a dorm at Univesity of Columbia in Missouri (after being asked to leave by a Christian college), along the exit ramp of a freeway, and crashed on the sidewalk of a rectory. [That final resting place came after being up most of the night trying to get rides. It was my first experience of being so tired I almost fell asleep walking and  quickly succumbed to slumbering on concrete.]

For the most part, the people who gave us rides were very decent and helpful. [Except for some kids who dropped us off an exit ramp in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of  a pitch-dark night.]

In Colorado, just outside of Colorado Springs, a guy who drove a refrigerated truck offered to put our packs in the cooler unit so the water we were carrying would be cold. Another person, outside Denver, who managed an apartment complex, let us stay in an empty apartment for the night. In that same apartment complex, a wonderful Latina woman cooked us a steak dinner!

As we ate supper we watched a thunderstorm roll across the Rocky Mountains.

Right before entering California, we went over Donner's Pass and our driver, a New Zealander, told us the fate of a party traveling in 1846, forced to spend the winter in the mountains, half of them dying before the spring thaw came.

Our fate was much kinder, driving along I-80.

California Coast/Credit: KPBS

Going through San Francisco and Haight-Ashbury was a highlight. Our New Zealander friend dropped us off within walking distance of the Pacific Ocean. Another highlight.

Felton, the small town leading to the farm was filled with hippies. The farm where we stayed and worked had big bay trees which sent out an amazing fragrance. Meals in the dining room were shared with a very eclectic bunch of folk - all of whom slept in the house. But Dominic and I slept on cots in the garage. Which probably had something to do with the decision to leave.

Just as spontaneously as our trip began, about a week into it, the stay at the farm ended. One morning I was set for another workday. But Dominic wasn't. "We're basically doing this guy's work for free," he said. "And the only thing I've learned is how to use a wheelbarrow." I couldn't argue with him.

We had gotten to California in six days. Which, according to hitchhikers we met coming home, was some sort of record.

The trip back also took six days. The one ride I remember on this leg of the trip took place as we were going through the Midwest, in the back of a van, with several other hitchhikers. All of us talked about where we had been and where we were headed. In our case, back home. One of the guys in the group remarked, sarcastically, "Well, that was a waste of time, wasn't it?" Another, much kinder, woman, looked at me and smiled, "Don't pay any attention to him. Your experience is your experience. And you're going to look back and remember this trip as a happy one."

She was absolutely right!

I learned a few life lessons from that trip.

Like, people are basically decent and kind.

America is a huge place!

And it's beautiful!

And 45 years later, I still have that road atlas!