Opposable thumb

I went into the city tonight to hear a little music from Watkins and the Rapiers – one of my favorite local bands. These guys have a really unique take on music – they are their own band and beholding to no one, as they do mostly original stuff. They throw in the occasional cover –tonight it was The Band’s “It Makes No Difference”, a decades-long favorite of mine and without a doubt the best vocal performance of the late Rick Danko’s long and distinguished career as a singer – but mostly it’s music under the Rapier’s influence, no matter which of the members’ compositions they are playing. They don’t shoot for a highly polished sound, but that doesn't mean thay aren't accomplished, just loose. They go for a fun and almost frivolous feeling, and have lyrics with substance. Another really endearing quality of theirs is that they find a way to keep alive the stylings of The Colorblind James Experience, the trombone being a key element in that aspect of their sound. It was a good night and some close friends unexpectedly turned out, the kind of night that the local music scene cultivates repeatedly. I wish I could take advantage more often.

I left at a reasonable hour, and headed back home. I got off the expressway as I always do and as I buzzed on down the feeder road to my normal turnoff I saw a van alongside the road, pulled completely off the pavement onto the grass, in spite of an oversized curb. Flashers were going, and already dimming and slowing a bit, it seemed. I slowed way down myself to see if someone was in the van, but didn’t spot anyone, so I kept going. About a quarter mile further I blew by a lanky guy slogging along in the snowy grass off the highway, carrying what looked like a gas can. I did a quick stop and backed up to him, rolled down the window and asked him if that was his van back there? He said, in a disgusted voice, “yeah, that’s me.” I asked if he wanted a ride and he said “sure,” and jumped in. Right away he introduced himself and asked my name and stuck out his hand, and it was obvious from the handshake he did manual labor. He began thanking me profusely for stopping, and said that he lived just up the road, and that he was “in big trouble with his girl” because it was so late (it wasn’t even midnight yet). He continued, almost ad nauseum, to thank me for stopping, like he couldn’t believe someone would do that.

I started rambling about how when I was young, hitchhiking was a very common part of life. I was hitchhiking all over the place when I was just a very young teenager, and never thought twice about it. It was a perfect way to get around. Free, reliable, fun even. Weekdays after school to my buddy’s house, Friday night to a party, Saturday afternoon to a pickup football game. It didn’t matter, you started walking and put the thumb out. It wasn’t even really called hitchhiking – you’d call it thumbing a ride. And it always came through for you. It was a given. Old ladies would pick me up. Some people would go well out of their way to take me where I was going.

I thumbed out to Indiana, twice. Adventures, both times. Kinda like this, only without the breasts:

My own van broke down in Sioux Falls South Dakota and somewhere in central Oregon; both times the thumb got me to where I needed to go to get parts for the repairs. Each time, another bonus adventure ensued.

Around 1980 when I was going to school in Geneseo, I stayed late at school one night studying for a test. After midnight I walked to the edge of the village and stood under the last street light before the road led into the darkness of the country stretch between there and Avon to the north, where I lived. It was a cold night and I stood for nearly an hour and none of the handful of cars leaving town stopped. I started walking, thumb still out for any passersby, but nobody pulled over. I walked and walked and ended up hoofing the whole nine miles that night. That was one of the last times I hitchhiked.

I pulled into the lanky guy’s driveway and he hopped out, but not without thanking me one last time for “this Samaritan act,” as he called it. Kind of made me sad that something that should still be a normal part of life is pretty much gone. Thumbs down.