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Over the years I've had this hobby of collecting hitchhiking stories. I suppose I've had a book planned somewhere in the back of my mind called Stuck in Wawa: a generation on the road; stories by Canadians and others about the golden era of hitchhiking. At one time I even sent off a few chapters to a publisher and got a form rejection letter back from an intern. I hate rejection so I gave up on the idea. Besides, what is published? One day maybe I'll put up a website and then anyone can read my stories whenever they want. Not all the tales are from the 70s, I've got ones from other eras as well. Some of them are my own, because I was one of those kids who stuck out my thumb in the summer with a few bucks in my pocket and not much else to my name besides a knapsack, a change of clothes and a few books. I can't find any record of this, but I think the prime minster at the time, Trudeau, encouraged young people to go thumbing. He'd been a great traveler as a young man, and been around the world. Those were different times, liberal, somewhat affluent times, and a series of hostels existed along the TransCanada, operated mostly on LIP grants from the feds, where you could stay for a couple of dollars a night, and get a lift to the highway in the morning. Most hitchhikers were male, and traveling with a female companion made getting rides so much easier. And I always admired those girls and women on the road, especially the ones who traveled solo. Here's a couple of interesting gals and their stories. Katherine Edwards Now in her 50s, Katherine Edwards owns a card and gift-wrap shop in upscale north Toronto. In 1970, she was working as a chambermaid at a lodge at Jones Falls, north of Kingston, when she decided to hit the road. I was going with a guy and we decided to hitchhike to P.E.I. His name was Lumpy. He reminds me of a guy in Bonnie And Clyde who was working in a gas station and ends up going with them. Those same chubby cheeks. The problem is that I've never been forgiven for this incident and I've never been able to talk about it with my family. It was something so frowned on that I don't have any memories. To top it off, I had been elected head girl in high school the next year. An officer of the student government shouldn't run off. Mostly, it was truck drivers that picked us up. I wore hip-riding jeans and a leather-cinched belt, and this terry looped top that was kind of rose-burgundy with a collar and zip front. It was the age of not wearing a brassiere and this thing was tight-fitting. It's nothing compared to what girls wear nowadays, but at that time it was very daring. I remember truck drivers staring at my top. New Brunswick was very barren and depressing. I soon grew weary of Lumpy, but I didn't have the confidence to leave him. Somewhere along the way I developed a bladder infection and it was agony. We weren't very clean on that trip; I don't think we bathed at all. I'm sure we stank to high heaven. We went to a community dance in Truro, Nova Scotia. I'd never seen so many black people in my life, being raised in Kingston. So that was eye-opening. In P.E.I we slept on the beach.

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