Random Roads - A Hitchhiking Zine

“Hey buddy, you lookin’ for a ride?”

With his thumb pointed skyward, saying ‘no’ would be an insult to the speaker’s intelligence. He was looking for a ride, just not from this bearded monstrosity of a man.

“I’m headed east on the 10 to Juntura,” the driver continued.

In his 22 years, Keenan Recker had heard enough gruesome campfire stories to know the fate of hapless hitchhikers. He imagined the horrors in store should he join this stranger. Torture. Decapitation. Ritual sacrifice.

The hills are filled with rust and gold.
It’s funny how one has a tendency to become the other, in a roundabout way.

“I usually don’t pick up hitchhikers. But you don’t look like the usual hippie… “

The 40-something man opens the door of the fancy car he drives to make an impression on his clients.
I’m in. comfortably sitting in the rear, with my shoulders finally relying on something smoother than a rock.

It was fun to sleep for few days in a tent under zero degrees and winking stars fighting to be brighter than the orange moon. Listening to the birds talking to each other the whole night.

Hvor skal i hen? I asked when I opened the door of the white transporter that dared to pull over on the narrow on-ramp close to Hjørring, in North Jutland.

I sat in the back of the speeding pickup surveying the desert in the direction the other hitchhiker was pointing. “There’s water in those mountains,” he said.

I wasn’t so sure. There wasn’t anything green as far as I could see. The truck was approaching a gas station where the guy wanted to be left off.

“You see this green part on the map? That means there’s water out there.”

December 14th. I spent the day today on the train, another stupid decision that weighs on my morals and will further reduce the time I spend with the people I love.