The Pros and Cons of Hitchhiking (Part 1)

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Having arrived in Prince Rupert on the ferry around 7am the Polish couple gave me a lift to the Greyhound Bus station ticket office, where I discovered how expensive it was to try and get North - have to go way out east to Prince George to get another bus that will go up north. And pay a small fortune to do it. So I decided to hitch instead. I set out on the road, and before long a car stops without me even sticking my thumb out. "This is easy!" I think. The following conversation goes something like this:

Nice Lady: "Do you want a lift to the ferry?"
Me: "No thanks. I'm going out on Highway 16 - trying to get to Whitehorse in the north."
Nice Lady: "I see." (pauses) "This road only goes to the ferry terminal. You're on the wrong road."
Me. "Oh."
Nice Lady: "I advise against hitching on that highway - it's known as the Trail of Tears, so many homicides and missing people over the years."
Me: "Ah."
Nice Lady: "So... would you like a lift back to the Greyhound bus station?"
Me (meekly): "Yes, please."

So I have to return to the Greyhound ticket office feeling like a lost sheep that has been shepherded back onto the path of righteousness. Twelve long, boring hours later I arrive in Prince George, having seen not very much from the bus window, and a lot of highway service station rest areas with nothing available to eat except at the 'A&W Burger' (home of the slightly disturbing 'Burger Family'). Then find out that Prince George has no hostels. So have to shell out for a motel, which is far from cheap. But at least I have a double bed, a bath, a TV (the Tour de France is televised here after all!), and coffee-making facilities. So it's not all bad.

Next morning I realise I have misread the bus timetable - thought the bus left at 11.30am, but it's actually 11.30pm. I'm not waiting around all day, so in a fit of bravery, and bearing in mind I am now on a different highway, I resolve (once again) to hitch. I have a map of the downtown area which shows the road I need to be on goes over a bridge. I head for the bridge. It is hotter than the sun again today, and I have overpacked, so I'm not enjoying this trudge. I enjoy it even less when I discover the bridge is closed for repairs. The map only goes to the bridge, so now I'm blindly trying to find another way across the river. After another 2 hours of sweating and cursing, I eventually get out onto the highway slip road, where I immediately get a ride.

The driver is an old hairy-biker looking guy whose house is on the highway further out of town, where he says I have a better chance of getting a ride from non-local traffic. He turns out to be very cool indeed, and when we arrive at his house, I'm handed a cold beer and shown around his collection of what his wife called his "toys": from a proper Easy Rider style Harley Davidson hardtail chopper to various modified cars complete with flames painted up the side.

Before long I've got another lift, and a further lift later it's early evening and I'm in Dawson Creek, 400km up the road, and the start point of the 'Alaska Highway'. There don't appear to be any hostels anywhere this far north, but the money I've saved on the bus fare pays for the motel, so I decide it's hitching, Tour de France and coffee-making facilities all the way.

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Photos

Dodgy motel
Tour de France & coffee-making facilities! Luxury!

Dawson Creek
Mile 0 of the Alaska Highway

Comments

[Andy Walmsley]

Lol!!!
Hilarious, and feel for you mate!I remember some lonely stomach churning times in my brief hitching days oh so many moons ago. Keep the blogs coming, great stuff. Andy