The way back machine takes us to the early 80's when yours truly was working at Kensington golf course and for whatever reason, had no transportation home. What is a guy to do for a ride after a long day watching the hackers of the world try to get that little white ball in the hole? The thumb.
I had heard stories of my dad and his brother hitching in their youth throughout the tranquil streets of Detroit (no sarcasm, it was tranquil when they were young). If they could do it, why not me?
So there I was in my tough looking brown and yellow Metropark uniform (yes, that is sarcasm). I walked down Kensington Rd for a bit with my thumb in the air and a few minutes later, a husband/wife combo, out for an evening ride together, complete with a cooler full of beverages, picked up this young lad. We had some nice conversation (no, didn't get a beverage) and 15 minutes later, I was home. Good deal. But my hitchhiking career didn't end there.
Fast forward to the late 80's when young Tim was getting educated at Michigan State. I do recall my reason for a lack of transportation during this time. My 1975 bright orange, slightly rusted, Dodge Aspen went to the car graveyard. It cost me more to have it towed to the dump than what they gave me. As I said, I was getting educated at the time. Learned something there. Here nor there, I did a fair share of hitching during that vehicle hiatus. On a trip home from school, the guy picking me up turned out to be the Brighton High varsity basketball coach when I played and he recognized me. Bonus. I had a school professor pick me up another time on the way home. Good conversations on every ride.
The thumb also assisted during this time for trips up to see friends at Mt. Pleasant. I did that twice and had little trouble getting rides as the U.S. Route 127/27 circuit is nothing but students going back and forth. My favorite story from that era was when I was heading up there for Central's Mayfest. I've got the thumb out somewhere near St. Johns and along comes the bitching blue Ford Escort driven by Gus. I pointed at him as he drove by and there was my ride. Party on.
The hitching career continued as my work career was evolving. My first job out of college was working for an auto rental company. Their niche was that the car would be delivered to your home or job. I won't get into how I managed to total two vehicles, one driven, one towed, at the same time as that is another story for another time. This hitching story takes place somewhere in southwest Detroit; the non-tranquil years. For whatever reason, it was arranged that I was going to drop off this car and a co-worker would come pick me up. It was normally done with one person doing it all. Well, long story short, the co-worker never showed as I later learned he quit that afternoon. With that, young Tim was left to either wait uncomfortably in this stranger's home or get walking. I chose the latter. This is the pre-cell phone era as well. Good times. So I make it out to the main road, out comes the thumb and a good Samaritan picked me up. His first words were more or less, "What the f*** are you doing out this way?" as he took me back to my office in Dearborn.
My last hitching story was actually quite recently. I take the bus downtown to work each day. The earliest bus coming home leaves at about 3:30 PM. It was a work day before a holiday so the great bosses I have let us out early that day around 1 o'clock. With a couple of hours to kill before the first bus came, I walked over to the casino and played some black jack. I came out ahead in cards and had a few beverages there so all was well when I boarded the bus; until the beverages started doing the normal process through my system (i.e. I had to pee). I would be remiss if I failed to mention that the bus has no bathroom and my stop was the VERY LAST! The ride itself going home is a little over an hour with about 10 stops before mine. I had mind over matter going pretty well until we got to about stop seven and I had a choice to make. I was still about four miles from my stop but made the executive decision to exit and take care of business. I was not up for walking four miles and out came the thumb and within a few minutes a Brazilian woman picked me up and was telling me stories of how she used to thumb it back in her home land.
Keep on trucking.
Trail Head
In the spirit of the holiday season, the way back machine takes us back about ten years to my parent's place. It had always been a tradition in my family that the tree was a real one; fake trees need not apply. Of course, when the purchaser of said tree is the master negotiator (my dad), some of the trees over the years were, let's say, original. My mom would always work her magic, though, in getting the tree up to Christmas standards. Whether it was moving the bald side of the tree to the corner or jimmy-rigging the tree holder to accept the crooked stump where it actually looked straight, she had a gift. That all changed one chilly December evening, however.
