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This is a question Hitchhiking and fare dodging

Epic tales of the thumb, the open road and getting robbed by hairy-arsed truck drivers. Alternatively, travelling for free like a dreadful fare-jumping cheat. Confess.

Suggested by Social Hand Grenade

(, Thu 21 Aug 2014, 13:34)
Pages: Popular, 3, 2, 1

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Like many things in life, peoples fear of hitching is mostly overblown
there's only be two incidents in 20 years of hitching where I've felt I'd rather be somewhere else.
The first was one of my earliest rides. I'd been working in Kalgoorlie, and was heading to Perth for the first time to check it out. So I went to the truck stop to get hitch a ride. Unbeknown to me, in the days before all the states forced drivers to keep log books, some drivers would try and make more money by driving from Sydney or Melbourne to Perth only stopping to take a shit. That's thirty six hours straight. In order to accomplish this they'd pop amphetamines like tic-tacs, nasty trucker's speed. Kalgoorlie to Perth was the last eight hours of this trip. The reason he'd picked me up, the driver explained, was so I could talk to him to keep him awake. "Fuckin say anything, mate". His eyes were wired, you could tell straight way. The last two hours were the worst. He started to zone out just as we coming through the windy hills outside Perth. We went though a corner too fast, I think he was speeding up in order to get there before he crashed out, and he had swing out into the oncoming traffic. I don't know how the cars missed us. He offered to drop me at the station, a little out of his way. I accepted. Fuck it, I'd come this far...

The other time was in a town in Laos, in 96. I'd been drinking and smoking hash, the bar had kicked us out to close, and a heavy tropical rain downpour had started. A lao bloke on a motorbike outside the bar offered me a ride. I got on behind him and he started speeding quite fast through the darkness and rain.
Even through my stoned haze I was pretty certain we'd passed where I was staying. I said stop a few times but he ignored it, replying "home". I was puzzled, why did he want to go home? Then he reached behind himself and grabbed my cock through my pants. It then dawned on me that he was saying "homo?", not home. Now I'm not gay, and even if I was I'd expect this behavior to be a bit overfamiliar. Maybe if he'd bought me dinner first. By then we'd left the town way behind and were speeding to god knows where. I was holding off his groping hand but also thinking when you're on the back of a speeding motorbike it's probably not a good idea to punch the driver. He wouldn't stop, but had to slow down when the road turned muddy and I took my chance on a corner and pushed off the back and slammed face first into the mud. It was a very long walk back, drenched and muddy. I remember arriving back at my hostel to find the fucker had locked the outside gate, and ripping my pants on the spiked fence climbing in.
(, Tue 26 Aug 2014, 3:37, 2 replies)
I'm not reading all that unless you can guarantee buggery at the end

(, Tue 26 Aug 2014, 9:07, closed)
No such luck :'(

(, Tue 26 Aug 2014, 11:28, closed)

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Pages: Popular, 3, 2, 1