Does Anyone Still Hitchhike?
Most summers since I was 17, I’ve gone hitchhiking. In California, at 19, I rode with a stuntman who estimated he’d sustained 50 concussions. A few years later, in Utah, a young man said God told him to pick me up; the next morning, a mother coming off a night shift told me she regretted her disinterest in the Church. In Wyoming, an oil-field geologist steamed about his divorce after months alone in a trailer. “You’re the first person I’ve talked to,” he said.