My first hitchhiking trip was from Toronto to Cambridge.
With my long hair, beard and back pack
I blended in easily with the other hitchhikers.
The drivers were mostly lonely salesman,
who needed an audience.
My role was to listen,
almost priest like,
to their sins and troubles.
There was nothing scary except
for the man with 12 inch knife
attached to his belt.
Scary would come on our hitching
trip across Canada
when the trains were on strike.
We survived and have stayed hitched ever since.