And this road...
there is a road calling my name
I’m not too sure where this one will lead, I guess I haven’t thought it out that far
but I feel it in my toes, as they curl and tap in unsettlement
and I see it in my thumb as it lifts itself as if to practice the movement to come
and I wonder if through all their fear they hear my tails of excitement
and I know that something wonderful is waiting for me on that road.
Slower Than a Caveman Rolling Down a Hill
“I will ride my bicycle around the World.” With an audible power, these words drew a fantasy into the realm of possibility.
People wanted estimates, people wanted answers. “What's your plan?” they asked.
“Plan? What plan? I told you – I will ride my bike around the world. That's the only plan.”
The only thing I knew for certain was that nothing is certain. On September 15, 2007, with a bike and a passport, I left my beloved Wisconsin. I went East on two wheels, food for fuel and freedom for breath.
Somewhere past Norfolk, Virginia, I discovered an ocean in my way. “What do I do now?” Deep inside, I knew I wouldn't fly across it. Airplanes are just too damaging to the environment, and besides, they move too fast.
So I went down to the docks to look for a boat.
Juggling Hitchhikers In New Zealand
We were driving north on the North Island of New Zealand, entering the Waipoua Forest that houses the largest kauri trees in the world, when we first spotted these interesting looking backpackers along the road. We were going to give them a ride, but we were too late as the car in front of us got them first.
The Miserable Hitcher
You have to be dead broke, or a romantic, to persevere.
“Why didn’t that last car pick me up?”, the constant refrain. With every passing car, the hopeful traveller hones their cynical, psycho-sociological observations, between the points when the driver first spies them and when they decide not to stop. If the car is full or driven by a woman alone, it doesn’t really count – no conclusions can be drawn. Otherwise, vehicle after vehicle disappoints, and thick, helpless misanthropy sinks in.
Of course, every hitchhiker knows that no driver is obliged - by any kind of social duty - to take an anonymous passenger. But as the percentage of benefactors dwindles, it is inevitable to begin to believe, by force of statistics and over-thinking, that at least some are dodging an act of kindness out of media-induced paranoia and increasing societal isolation of individuals. Each and every one afraid and alone, speeding from one protected environment to another. If they’re right to be afraid, it’s a sad, vicious world; if they’re wrong to be afraid, it’s a sad, vicious world.
Masaro, Hitchhiker From Japan
From Japan, I found Masaro at a petrol station in Paris. I think it is wonderful how he holds his sign. I met him first in Paris at the 888 hitchhikers gathering. He was in Paris and didn't know about the meeting at first. He came every day with his bicycle. Masaro can be found hitching in almost every country in Europe.
Text and images are available under the