Dangers of Hitchhiking

I've never hitchhiked.  There was a time (the 50s and 60s) when it was considered practically normal for young people without cars to thumb a ride if they needed to get somewhere.  It's one of those things that we seem to have lost our innocence on. Sure, statisically, it's probably just as safe, if not safer, to hitchhike these days then it was years ago, but nowadays, everybody's afraid of hitchhikers and those who would hitchhike are afraid of everybody else.

My dad hitchhiked when he was my age.  And he told me a story about one of the last times he did.

My dad and his friends were up in the Adirondacks, near Old Forge, in the late 60s. I think my dad said he was 19 at the time, but honestly, he could have been anywhere between 16 and 23.  Their vacation was coming to an end and they were planning on driving back to New York City when one of them made a bet with my dad.

The bet was that he couldn't hitchhike from Old Forge to some address in Manhattan before sundown that day. The terms didn't really matter. Knowing my dad, chances are it was a Gentleman's Bet.  He lived for the little challenges life sent, like the time he bet he could walk on his hands from one end of his prep school's dining hall to the other and back, or the time he bet in the same dining hall that he could start a food fight. When he was young, my dad never lost bets, and would almost never turn them down.

Well, my dad took the bet, and leaving with only his backpack, some money, and an iron determination, he walked down to the side of the road, stuck out his thumb, got in the first car that stopped, and was never heard from again.

...

Kidding.  Of course that didn't happen, he was around 20 years later to father me.  But he did hitchhike towards NYC.  He was lucky, and made some pretty good time until finally he came to the outskirts of the city.  It was nearing sundown, so the next car that came by would have to drive him the rest of the way or he was going to lose the bet.

Sure enough, a man soon drove up, stopped by, and said "Where you heading, boy?"

My father replied politely in his southern drawl, and the man told him he could drive him the rest of the way. Elated, my father jumped in, shook the man's hand and introduced himself as John.

They talked about nothing as the miles spend by, and my father remembers the man as being very polite.

It was shortly after they crossed into Manhattan when the man turned down to my father and asked, "Say, John, do you mind recompensing me for giving you a ride?"
"Not at all, sir, I can pay for gas."
"No, no, I wouldn't ask that from you," said the man, patting my father's leg, "I was just wondering if you ever messed around with boys..."

At that point, my father noticed that the man's hand had changed from a gentle patting to slowly running up and down his leg. He knew exactly what the man wanted, such things did happen at the boarding school he had attended.  And he did have a bet to win, a bet he would lose if this man dropped him off too soon.  There was no way he could thumb another ride in time...

But my dad had never messed around with boys, had never wanted to mess around with boys, and he wasn't about to start now.  "I think you're gonna have to drop me off here, sir. I'll gladly pay for gas, but that's it."  The man dropped him. As the car drove off, my dad looked west and saw the sun sinking beneath the horizon.  He looked up at the street sign, and then bent down to tie his shoes. He had twenty blocks to go. He started sprinting. My dad doesn't lose bets.