The Pro's & Cons of Hitchhiking

I have wanted to write a biography about my life for many years however attempting to get a life down on paper (or in this case a computer) is a formidable task, placing faces, names and locations along with their corresponding dates proved to be too much for my old brain to cope with.

As such I thought I would tell my readers a little about an activity that was a big part of my life and although the following is completely true the order and context of the events did not take place in the order I have written them.

For 17 yrs of my life I discovered a form of travel which would take me the length and width of England and to the middle of Scotland, visiting so many towns, villages and resorts that they are all jumbled in to memories which return every so often in a swift blow of recognition.

My first taste of hitch hiking was at 14yrs old walking home from the swimming pool with my two friends, five and a half miles was quite a distance to us especially after spending an hour or so in the pool.

I decided it would be a good idea to stick my thumb out as I had seen someone doing it in one of the movies my dad watched, I don't recall which movie it was now but as I stood there my friends began to panic with thoughts of a mass murderer picking us up.

Within twenty minutes a middle aged gent pulled up and asked us where we were going, I told him we were heading home and the name of the council estate we lived on, he gave us all such a telling off for trying to get lifts from strangers, he also informed our parents who did the same, when I think back now it wasn't the brightest of ideas at the time and we were lucky the man who picked us up was a parent himself and wasn't someone with a hidden agenda.

A couple of years later I found myself hitch hiking a much larger distance, work was scarce around Yorkshire and my mum's boyfriend had heard of a job opportunity in a rural village 146 miles away in Bedfordshire.

Of course he was required to attend an interview first so he decided it would be a good idea to take me with him as an experience, and it was an experience I never forgot, not in a bad way but something that resonated deep within my soul, I felt at home on the road.

The only parts of that particular journey I remember well enough was on the journey down south when we were given a lift by a scruffy looking man in an old army jeep which rattled and was so uncomfortable,he was very chatty and friendly and took us quite a distance.

The journey home took us much longer and I can only recall several car and van occupants waving and laughing at us as they sped past.

The latter was something I learned to put up with as it was a regular occurrence from people who thought they were jokers, this and the inevitable vehicle stopping, waiting until I had picked up my heavy rucksack and jogged up to them before they drove off without letting me in to the vehicle.

For such an apparently "dangerous" form of transportation I can honestly say the worst situation I had to endure was the weather, that and a gentleman telling me that he got aroused by leather (while I was wearing motorcycle leathers) hence to say he was asked "Politely" to let me out of the car which he did with a little persuasion from showing the knife I always carried in my boot.

The knife wasn't there just for protection, it had its other uses such as creating kindling from branches for a fire, cutting food etc and was more of a tool to me than a weapon, I haven't carried a knife in a long long time though and it was a different time back in the late 80's and early 90s.

Around this time I also began riding motorcycles and it was while I was heading from Bedfordshire to Yorkshire that I discovered a new trick to getting lifts, my motorcycle broke down a few miles out of town, I wasn't far from a friends house so I pushed it to his and left it in his garage, taking my helmet with me I continue my journey north.

Within minutes of walking from my friends house a bike stopped, it was one of the lads from the local motorbike shop, he had seen my helmet and stopped to offer me a lift, his bike was a big Yamaha FJ1200, a fast plastic crotch rocket (as I affectionately call those type of race replica bikes).

It took us less than five minutes to reach the A1 dual carriageway and within those five minutes my open faced helmet had risen up above my forehead, my goggles were around my neck and my back had been pulled in directions I didn't realize were there, the speed he had gone was unfathomable and with a large metal framed ruck sack on my back I wasn't the best pillion that particular time.

From that day onward however I always carried a motorcycle helmet with me as it tripled my chances of someone stopping to give me a ride, Truckers would often stop however there were many who, for insurance reasons, just were not allowed passengers, cars were the main supply of transportation along with the endless majority of white vans, I have been in so many different makes and models of cars it would be impossible to list them all.

But bikes were what I really loved and getting a lift from a biker on a bike I would never own myself was always a treat, from the rattling Triumph 650 Bonneville to a sturdy Honda CB 550 or an armchair of a Honda Goldwing seeing the world pass you by with no particular destination in mind is as close to true freedom as I can describe.

As much as I loved those type of bikes my real love was customs, not the ones you could buy in the bike shops manufactured in some warehouse in Japan, the unique works of art created by down to earth grease monkeys in their own garage, low to the ground with long forks and T-bars or ape hangers, custom paint job or engraving they were as beautiful as any Playboy model to me.

To get a lift on one was a rare thing and the only two that I recall were like chalk and cheese, the first was a stunning red Ducati chopper belonging to the President of the NCC (I couldn't say which chapter), I was standing at Leicester forest services on the slip road to the M1 when a young girl in her twenties approached me.

Spotting the helmet she mentioned that she was heading to London and that she had just seen about 40 or so bikers inside the services, she asked if I would give her a chance to get a lift and suggested I ask the bikers as I had the gear, so I agreed and wandered around to the lobby of the service station.

Sure enough there was a small crowd of leather and denim clad bikers gathered chatting and drinking coffee, I approached one of them and asked if any of them could give me a lift, aware that there was a large bike rally in Bedfordshire that weekend run by the NCC (National Chopper Club) I felt sure if I mentioned I was going near where it was being held I would be in luck.

Of course I was and the biker pointed me in the direction of their club President, again I approached, introduced myself and asked the same question to which he nodded with a big smile "Of course you can ride with me mines the red Duke".

I have to admit that bike was one of the most comfortable rides I have ever been on and as promised we cruised along in a pack to the entrance of the rally where I dismounted and thanked them all as they rode in, two minutes later I was picked up by another biker who took me to my home, waited while I got changed and then took me back down to the bike rally where I was welcomed with open arms and given another lift back home at the end of the evening.

There were some very kind and friendly people around in those days, my regular trips between Bedfordshire and Yorkshire gave me the opportunity to run into the same person on the road on many an occasion, two of the regulars who picked me up a few times through the years were a nurse and a trucker, I don't recall their names but the nurse told me she had a son my age who was a biker.

I have even had on-duty Police officers give me a lift usually short distances when I found myself dropped off on a motorway slip road (where I wasn't supposed to be) the odd few times this happened I was given a ride to the next slip road where it was legal to stand and hitch or to a service station.

Life on the road wasn't always as easy as I have made it out to be so far, there were many days and nights that I could be stood waiting for someone to pull over for hours on end, in wind, rain, hail, boiling heat and freezing snow, miles upon miles of leather worn from my boots from walking to try and find a more suitable spot to hitch from.

Sleeping was often an issue and I have found myself falling asleep in strangers cars before now, pitching a tent in the middle of a roundabout somewhere near Yeovil and falling asleep sat on my bike helmet in Exeter service station to name a few of the obscure locations I have had to sleep.

Sometimes I would hitch hike through the night, the peace was breathtaking especially if I was standing somewhere with a stunning view, one particular place which I will never forget was Taunton in Somerset, I had to walk from one side of the town to the other but I soon found myself on a desolated road sometime around midnight on a cool November night, the sky was crystal clear and stars littered the velvet blanket dancing around the bright moon, in the distance I could see the dark silhouette of a church on a hill side and beyond this the lights of Taunton.

Unfortunately I was also dressed in black at the time and found it difficult to get a lift, eventually using my zippo to give a little light I managed to flag a car down after a few hours of waiting and I was dropped at a service station.

Wearing dark colours probably wasn't the best of ideas (when I look back now I had a lot of terrible ones) and there were a few circumstances I found myself walking along a road without street lights.

I didn't always wear black, especially when it was hot weather I would strip down to jeans and t-shirt and carry my jacket attatched to my rucksack, I also began carrying a guitar around with me, spending every spare moment plucking away at the strings and teaching myself to play.

Within a couple of years I could string three chords together and play at least two songs so I decided busking would be a good idea, this was actually one of my better ideas and became the basis for my travelling for some years, as my talent grew so did my confidence and anywhere I travelled I would sit and play for the people on the streets.

I even recall sitting by the side of the A14 somewhere near Kettering and being approached by a lad about my age also hitchhiking and carrying a guitar, the sun was beating down as hot as the Sahara that day.

We ended up chatting and sitting and jamming with our guitars for a couple of hours before continuing our journeys, I caught the sun really bad and my bare arms were burnt to a crisp.

Before we parted ways we were given a lift by a gent in his 50s who was out for a drive to "calm down" as he had had an argument with his wife, we dropped the other lad off at his turn off and I was taken to the pub for a drink with the man who had picked us up.

We spent a good hour talking about music and drinking our pint of bitter and I think the man had calmed down quite a lot by the time I thanked him for the lift and carried on my journey, I do hope he and his wife managed to make up.

Even if I didn't have an audience to play to I would sit by a river, on the ruins of an old castle or on the promenade of a seaside resort and play to the wind, but playing for people brought happiness to my soul and money to my pocket so whenever I found myself in a town or city I would spend a few hours busking, this gave me a wage to spend on essentials like food anything left was saved up and went on music equipment.

I could make on average £40 in two or three hours busking at one time, although there were also days I only made 50 pence but they were few and far between.

That young lad wasn't the only person I made music with on my travels, I can remember two other instances, the first was a band which I think said they were called "Bongs and Basses" and they were travelling to Reading to play at the festival.

The small van they drove was cramped with me and two of the band members in the back along with their instruments and my own guitar but as we drove along the M40 myself, the guitarist and the drummer/percussionist from the band had a little jam.

The second time I was given a lift in a converted horse box by a bunch of Hippies, the horse van had been converted into living quarters and even had a sofa, I don't remember where they were headed or much more other than playing guitar with a couple of them as we drove but it all added to my experiences.

As I sit here now I wonder how I actually survived in those days, I hardly ate anything and lived off Mars Bars, Ginsters Pasties and Lucozade as well as the odd greasy spoon dinner if I happened to be near a cafe.

There was one greasy spoon cafe that I used to really enjoy visiting, this was situated on the north side of the roundabout on the A1 at Worksop, again the name eludes me but I do remember for £2.50 you could get a large mug of tea/coffee and probably the best, greasy, bacon and egg butty (sandwich) I have ever eaten.

Despite spending so much time on the road I always had a home somewhere as a base and for years I would flit between my home and well basically anywhere I felt like, I had a paper map of the UK on my wall and would close my eyes, throw a dart at the map and then head to the closest city, town or historic monument to where it landed (providing it landed in the map).

Sometimes I would set off to go to one place like Tintagel in Cornwall (which I still have never been to) and end up in a totally different location like Bridlington on the East coast of Yorkshire, purely because I decided to head an alternative direction or someone who offered a lift was going that way.

For some reason I never once hit Wales and the closest I came was Bristol and Chester, I have hitch hiked in Scotland though and out of everywhere in the UK that I have been it has to be Scotland that was the hardest to leave.

This wasn't through lack of lifts, or the fact that the first time I hitch hiked from Scotland (I had been given a lift up there by a friend) I ended up going the wrong way and heading north when I should have been heading south to get home.

Standing somewhere near Stirling on a road which seemed to stretch for miles into the distant mountains I found myself at a small garage/service station which must have been closed for at least twenty years, the sun was shining though and the air was fresh, without warning it began to rain, as it often does in Scotland, but as soon as it started it began to drift to the opposite side of the road.

Here I was soaked to the skin with the sun once again shining down on me as I stood at one side and on the other the rain was falling like a winter torrent, a strange phenomenon that I have never witnessed since.

This was an experience that still stays with me today, technically stranded in the most beautiful part of the UK, a place my family came from originally (my Father was born in Falkirk) and it felt like I was in the safest place I could be.

Going back to leaving Scotland I have to admit trying to get a lift out of Edinburgh is nigh on impossible and I found myself having to walk from Princess Street train station to the start of the A1 south.

That was one long walk late at night, I arrived in Edinburgh at around 11pm and found myself walking the dark streets, I passed the Scott monument dedicated to Sir Walter Scott, I walked past a large football ground silent and dimly lit, just like the streets.

It was here I was passed by the only other person out at that time of night, a young woman, I didn't get a good look at her face or other features but as she past me she just said "You're brave".

I often wonder what she meant by that, was I walking through a bad part of town? and surely she was the brave one being a lone woman walking dark streets past midnight, it was almost 12:30 pm when I reached the A1 and by some miracle a youngish man stopped in his family carrier and gave me a lift to the outskirts of Dunbar where I was lucky enough to sleep at a B&B for the night and carry on my journey the next day.

This also happened to be the last time I ever hitch hiked, around 13/14 years ago.

This isn't the end of this article however, there are many more experiences of my life on the road that I would like to share and none more so than walking along the A303 at 5am just before sunrise I reached the point opposite the infamous Stone Henge, this wasn't my first visit to the henge but it was the first time I had been there alone, completely and utterly on my own, no traffic, no people only a few wild deer grazing in the distance.

As the sun began to rise over the henge I could feel the hairs on my arms tingling, whether this was from tiredness or something more spiritual I cannot say but I have never felt anything so magical in my life as I did that morning, I drank in the surroundings of Salisbury plain like I had a desert thirst before eventually pulling myself away and continuing my journey.

I have witnessed some sights some may find it difficult to believe, coming from Cornwall to Bedfordshire one particular day I was given a lift in one of many white vans and as we drove past Bodmin Moor the driver pulled over very quickly and began pointing excitedly toward a field of cows, it didn't take me long to see what he was pointing at as a large black cat dragged a half mauled cow into the treeline and disappeared right in front of us.

I didn't always hitch hike for the fun of it sometimes it was essential that I got to a place. for example when I moved from Bedfordshire to the East coast of Yorkshire I had to hitch hike around 300 miles each way to see my two eldest kids, I also travelled to see girlfriends and when my mother was taken ill while I was 146 miles away but my proudest achievement where hitch hiking is concerned took place in 1992.

At this time I was volunteering at a local Unemployment workers center, a drop in for those needing benefits advice, I was chatting to one of the workers there about hitch hiking and bikes and happened to mention I would be interested in doing some kind of charity work to pay back all the bikers who had helped me through the years.

I decided I would do a sponsored hitch hike and Jim who was a colleague from the center, agreed to join me, it took us a few months to organize but by the time we were ready to leave on our journey we had the support of several motorcycle clubs, Unemployed Workers Centers from around the country and a few local newspapers and national motorcycle magazines.

Our trip took us from Bedford along the A1 north our first stop was Knaresborough where we were offered the use of someones garden who had given us a lift, we pitched our tent and explored the small town, castle and a chip shop, next morning we were woken with a bacon sandwich and a cup of coffee by the owner of the garden.

From here we visited Edinburgh where we were given the keys to the local Unemployed Workers Center, a crate of beer and a fish supper, again we spent the evening exploring before heading back to sleep this had to be one of my favorite places.

The next day we arrived in Lockerbie where we thought we were meeting a bike club, however it turned out we had crossed wires and the bike club had been waiting for us back in Edinburgh the night before.

Many apologies to the club later we headed to the midlands and to Derby which was our first destination where we actually met up with one of the bike clubs, the NHMA, National Handicapped (and able bodied) Motorcyclists Association were a friendly bunch and even made Jim and I affiliated members of the club in recognition of our efforts.

Some photographs from this night appeared in one of the major bike magazines (I think it was A.W.O.L) one of which featured a bike being wheelspun inside the Island rock pub, now the bar itself was up a flight of around 36 steps opposite Derby bus station.

The bike in question was an adapted FJ 1200 belonging to the NHMA president "Bandit" this heavy machine was dragged up the stairs by myself and several much bigger bikers into the pub where Bandit put on a show of burnouts to raise money for our cause.

We were also photographed and interviewed by one of the local newspapers that night and for a fund raiser it was one hell of a party I couldn't say how much we actually made that particular night but I am sure it was a large chunk of the total, there were women selling kisses, people paying £10 for a pint of beer another paid £20 for me to choose a song for the DJ to play, of course I had to choose AC./DC's Highway to Hell.

For 21 days Jim and I hitched from one place to another staying with motorcyle clubs or people associated with the Unemployed Workers Center, or camping in a service station grounds and waking up to our tent flooded.

Eventually we reached a small motorcycle club in Hampshire, the Captives National Mcc, they were kind enough to put us up for a few days and I couldn't thank them enough as I had caught a bad chest infection and fever, they looked after me until I was well enough to get back on the road.

Unfortunately I still wasn't well enough to continue our journey which was meant to take us to Lands End and so we cut the sponsored hitch hike short and made our way home, at the end count we raised over £1100 and had bought a motorcycle for the National Handicapped Motorcyclists Association to modify for one of their riders in need.

We presented the money and the bike to the charities on my 21st Birthday at Bedford Corn Exchange, I stood on the same stage where the Beatles and Benny Goodman had played and handed over the keys and cheques, later we threw a party at my mums house which leaked out into 3 different pubs because so many bikers had turned up, bikes lined the street where we lived like a bike rally.

It was my 21st birthday as well and definitely one never to forget as I flitted between pubs and home to socialize with everyone, eventually wobbling back home and crashing out very drunk and happy.

We had a lot of fun and adventure on that particular journey we were shown more kindness in one month than I have seen in the rest of my years, I must give a mention to one particular lad who's name I only know as Asterix, he was a member of the Royal Air Force and lived in Nottingham, his bike was a blue triumph chopper with no rear foot pegs.

When I first met Asterix I was headed to Clay Cross during the sponsored hitch hike, myself and Jim had separated temporarily giving each other more of a chance to get a lift on our own, Asterix had stopped to give me a lift from the slip road off of the M1 to the Shoulder of Mutton Pub at Clay Cross as he was headed there for the party they had waiting for us.

Unfortunately I only got a short distance on the rear of his bike due to the lack of footrests and so he headed to the pub and sent someone with a car to pick me up, later that night he told us he was going on maneuvers with the RAF and we were welcome to use his flat while he was away as he knew we were headed to Nottingham next.

A total stranger left his keys for us under a bike seat parked outside his flat and let us stay without his supervision in his home, let that sink in for just one moment, of course we treated his home with the fullest respect and left it in the same pristine condition we found it, but the kindness and trust this man showed is now a very rare thing among humanity.

We met a lot of funny, kind, beautiful and amazing people in those 21 days and I wouldn't change that for anything, even now as I sit in my flat with health problems preventing me from even walking any distance I wouldn't change how I lived my life.

In the 17yrs that I spent travelling the kindness of the human race that was shown to me was more than anyone could imagine but that was a long time ago now and unfortunately the world is a different place, even if I was fit enough to hitch hike I don't think I would feel safe not like I did back in my younger days, I had no fears and to be honest dressed in my bike leathers with patches and rally badges, a Mohawk and plaited hair hanging down the back of my leather cut I probably scared more people more than they scared me.

I am still playing guitar but it has been a long time since I rode a motorcycle or hitchhiked.

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