"On the outskirts of nowhere"

Ok I'm going try & reconstruct the remainder of yesterday's post that blogger ate.

I was about 3 weeks short of my 16th birthday when I first hitch-hiked. I still had another week off school & I wanted to go to Crapsville to visit my friend Married A Proper Bitch &, more importantly, Monochrome Baby with whom I was quite taken with.
I'm not sure how I managed to fob off my parents regarding my travel plans but I did somehow. Thinking about it now, I will go loopyloo if I find The Boy to be planning any such hair-brained scheme when he gets to 15.
Anyway I wondered up to Junction 41 of the M1, stood at the top of the sliproad & stuck out my thumb. Much to my surprise I had been picked up within a few minutes of standing there. My very first ride was only going as far as Sheffield but it was a start. I remember nothing of the driver of that first lift but the second one I remember all too well.
He must have been mid to late 20's & he was quite an unkempt fella. I'd been making small talk with him for about 20 minutes when out of the blue he asks me; "What's the gay life like in Wakefield?".
Now although I was seemingly able to embark on a career in hitch-hiking at age 15, I was still quite a naive boy. At this point in my life I hadn't smoked a cigarette nor had I ever seen or heard of anyone doing any drugs. I also had not gained membership to that exclusive club who had witnessed the contents of a girl's undergarments.
(Hey! That's it! My membership must have expired!)*
So I sat there genuinely thinking to myself "perhaps he means gay as in happy".
"Well?"
"Dunno" I said "I wouldn't really know anything about that"
"So you've never given a man a wank then?"
Now I knew that he didn't mean happy.
"NO! Course not!" I exclaimed with all the composure of a rabbit viewing the oncoming headlights through binoculars.
It then went quiet for a while...
My dodgy chauffeur finally broke the silence; "This is my junction coming up"
Oh thank fuck for that
"but I'll take you a couple of junctions further if you wank me off"
Oh fuck
"No thankyou, I'll get out here please".
I noticed him smile, I remember that smile. These days I even partially recognise it as a relative of the smile my face wears when one of my only-half-joking "if you were really my friend, you wouldn't let me suffer like this!" routines falls on Buddy With Boobs' deaf ears.
Anyway the car stopped & I got out.
And I ran.
It was only when I was free that fear began to really manifest itself. I was shaking, I felt sick & despite the snow & the early evening January chill, I was sweating.
After a short while I regained my calm & returned to the motorway. Seeing little other option I raised my thumb again. Soon I was Crapsville bound again & I arrived there a couple of hours later. I told no one of what had happened. Thinking about it I'm not completely sure whether I've ever told anyone.
Now after that you would correctly assume that any right-minded person would call a halt to any further hitch-hiking.
As I'm sure you know by now; Flash into right-minded just will not go.

I hitched pretty much everywhere I went for the next 7 years or so. To Edinburgh in the north, to Bournemouth in the south, Bristol in the west & loads in between. I met many wonderful, kind & entertaining characters on my travels. Never again did I ever have cause to fear for my safety, with the exception of the nutter who drove the whole journey at 125mph in torrential rain. However that trip still holds the record for Wakefield to Crapsville: 1 hour & 20 minutes.

I also met lots of fellow hitchers. The general wisdom was that every hitcher at some point will have a troubling experience. Guess I was just exceptionally unlucky to have mine on my very first trip.

It's really brought it all back to me. They were so many journeys & so many stories.
Hmmm, maybe my second novel, eh?

*I actually laughed out loud at myself when I wrote that bit!