Hitchhiking from Vermont to Hawaii

My little blue Mazda has been tearing up the New York Thruway all week: Manhattan, Buffalo, Rochester and Syracuse. You'd think by Friday I'd give my overworked cylinders a rest. Think again.

Friday was too balmy not to escape to the Green Mountain State for round 2 of skiing at Stratton. Coming home on Route 7, Nola and I agreed to pull over and pick up a hitchhiker. Hey, it's Vermont - it's practically mandatory that locals bum rides from strangers long before their learners permit.

The pretty little thing wore long red hair in braids and struggled with a heavy black backpack. She was just hippie and alternative enough for me to deem her trustworthy and there was plenty of room for her beside our skis.

Plus, who doesn't fear the worst when they see a lone female hitcher? Better that she get an earful of motherly caution from Nola and I than a ride or something far worse from a pervert.

She had just hitched 50 miles from the capital of Vermont, Montpelier, and was destined for Hawaii but first she needed a lift to the Amtrack train station in Rensselaer. "No problem," I said. "I'll take you to the front door. Hop in."

I didn't mean to pry but hitching always conjures up so many questions for me. Who are these souls who can wander the country with limited concern for safety, shelter, food, money or direction? Lea dropped few hints in the way of answers.

In a hushed voice, she said that a friend wasn't speaking to her and that upset her enough to skip off to Hawaii. I dug a little deeper. She confessed that her parents didn't approve of her hitching lifestyle and four years studying at a top college in Maine yielded no degree and no work.

At 24 years of age there would have been no way I'd dream of doing something so carefree, uninhibited, risky, and might I dare say naive as Lea? Even today when I travel, I Facebook, Twitter, blog and email beforehand so everyone knows where, when and how I'm getting to my destination. Unlike my new backpacking buddy, I am never without an itinerary or contingency plans.

I guess that would make Lea the ultimate thrill-seeker, the bonafide adventurer, the globetrotting heroine and the brave drifter.

Once at the train station, I helped her with her bags and hugged her goodbye. "Stay away from rides from men!" I blurted. I waved goodbye, hopeful that she'd find her way to Hawaii but, still, no closer to relating to the world of a chronic hitchhiker.