On the Road Again

"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to."

Knoxville, Wednesday, July 16, 2025

On Wednesday, July 16th, I went out my door and began my journey hitchhiking across the country for a second time.

My friend Mark volunteered to pick me up at home and give me a ride to the I-40 East on-ramp just outside of Knoxville, and I happily accepted. Mark's a dirty guy, with a bit of a dirty vagabond past of his own, so it was only fitting that he saw me off on this adventure.

After a few thoughtful parting words from Mark, we said farewell and I stepped onto the I-40 on-ramp a little before 10am, as if revisiting a dream I had started some 14 years earlier. I think I remember where I was in this story.

But mostly, the story of hitchhiking is one of waiting. Patience. You smile, stick out your thumb, and wave at people as they pass by you, gawking.

I had made a decent sign, with an interstate shield logo written in Sharpie marked "81" inside, and NORTH written atop the shield. My goal was to head east on I-40 until it connected with I-81 north, then head up 81 through Virginia.

After just half an hour, a pickup truck pulled over and a younger fellow named Wes offered me a ride to Morristown, about 30 miles up I-40, which would put me on the southern end of I-81.

Wes was around 30 years old, and told me he and his wife had just started a homeless ministry with their church, which is presumably why he had an eye to pick me up.

He wished me well as he dropped me off at the ramp in Morristown a half hour later, and I was so thankful I had gotten a ride quickly as I sheepishly navigated my way back into the strange world of hitchhiking.

Just 15 minutes later while standing on the next on-ramp, a tractor-trailer pulled over and waved me up. I climbed up the step rails and thrust open the huge door:

"Hey! Where you headin'?" I asked.

"Huh?"

"Where are you heading?"

"Oh, I don' speak Inglesh." Said the driver, in some species of Hispanic accent.

Hmm. Snap decision required. He didn't seem like an unsafe fellow personally, but I didn't want to deal with the language barrier, and I didn't know where he was headed, so I stepped down from the truck and turned down the ride.

Cars continued to pass me by, and regret began to creep in. Should I have taken that ride? How long will I be stuck here?

Thankfully, after just about another half hour, a car pulled over, and a guy in his early 50s rolled down the window:

"Hey, you're not a serial killer or anything, are you?" He joked, trying to break the ice as we sized each other up.

"Oh no," I chuckled back, "I'm just a safe, middle-class homeless person."

We were both more at ease just from that brief exchange, so I tossed my pack in the back seat and hopped in the front as the driver, Jason, mentioned he was heading as far north on I-81 as Roanoke, Virginia.

Jason worked in the nuclear energy industry, and was returning home to Virginia after traveling to the Oak Ridge National Laboratory facility in Knoxville for job training. He worked as a "health physicist" for a France-based nuclear company, which meant that he was charged with making sure employees who were doing maintenance on nuclear equipment wouldn't get injured or sick from excess radiation.

What this means is: let's say they have to do a repair on a motor used inside a nuclear power plant. That motor might be loaded with radiation, so Jason will ensure that the right kind of chemicals are used to "clean" the motor to make it safe for maintenance workers to handle, and will detail the necessary personal protective equipment and allowable exposure time for each worker given the amount of radiation present. He said that they colloquially referred to some of the radiation-cleaning equipment as washing machines.

I will say, due to the adrenaline dump of returning to vagabond life and getting in random cars with strangers, I may be misremembering some of the details of his highly-specialized job.

The next three hours passed easily, as we discussed my own time hitchhiking and thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail, the politics of nuclear energy, and our shared, somewhat-embarassing interest in Subarus. I don't own a Subaru, but I've considered buying one, though I'm not sure I fit the target demographic.

Jason was a car guy, and even mentioned that he followed a popular car YouTuber, Regular Car Reviews, whom he knew was involved with the Appalachian Trail community. Coincidentally, I shared with Jason that I had actually gotten a ride with that YouTuber during my first thru-hike in 2021, where he took me to the grocery store in town.

I was happy to get a longer ride with Jason, since it'd been so hot, and I was aiming to get up north quickly away from the heat before I head out west.

Around 3pm Jason dropped me off in Daleville, VA off I-81 which, curiously, is a town that the Appalachian Trail crosses, and is where I'd stayed at a motel during each of my AT thru-hikes.

I had a bite to eat at the Mexican restaurant, as the blistering midday heat soon turned to clouds, and I started walking back to the I-81 northbound ramp. It was about 4pm at this point, with isolated showers in the area, though I wasn't expecting rain until several hours later.

Well, it started absolutely pouring on my half-mile walk to the ramp, as I ducked into a gas station porch to wait out the rain. Fifteen minutes later after it seemed the rain had passed, I got to the interstate ramp, when suddenly the downpour started again. Now soaking wet, I retreated to the outdoor concrete-walled hallways at the Quality Inn, considering my next move. Hey, at least it wasn't hot out.

It looked like there would be a break in the storm just after 5pm, so I thought I could give it another shot to make some progress up the road, even though it was getting late. But it was still pouring rain now, as lightning cracked open the sky and hail flew down from the heavens while I huddled under shelter, soaking, but smiling, as I reflected on how I had left a nice dry bed earlier that morning. This was my life now. I made this choice. Middle-class homeless. Vagabond life.

If the rain didn't let up or if I couldn't get a ride, I could just throw in the towel and book a motel room. Or I could walk back to the AT, hike up a bit and pitch my tent on the trail. Confident with a backup plan, I headed back to the ramp a little after 5pm once the rain subsided, and half an hour later a car zipped over to the shoulder, seemingly having spotted me at the last second.

The tinted window rolled down to reveal a young guy in his early 20s, looking a bit unsure of himself. He wasn't headed far, but that was OK with me since I wanted to make some progress up the road, and didn't get the feeling I was going to have much luck getting out of this area in Daleville. He assured me that there'd be some good traffic coming out of the Buchanan, VA area where he was headed, so I accepted.

The driver, Chase, was on the phone with his girlfriend as he picked me up, presumably with her flipping out at him over the fact that he'd just picked up a hitchhiker. The two of them were separately driving home together in their own cars, as we pulled up alongside her on the interstate and I waved from the passenger seat. He had never picked up a hitchhiker before, and I'm glad he helped get me out of Daleville.

Just after 6pm, Chase dropped me off at the Arcadia Rd. exit just outside of Buchanan, where he thought I'd have the best luck getting a ride.

As it turned out, there was very little traffic in the area. By 7:30, with the sun about to duck down behind the mountains, I called it quits for the day, and stepped off the ramp to hunt for a camping spot.

I was close to Cartmill's Gap, where during the Colonial period there had been a skirmish between the local Shawnee Indians and American settlers, where a number of people were killed during the Seven Years' War. This former farmland was settled near Purgatory Creek, where I now found myself stuck waiting for an indeterminate amount of time, paying off some sin I must have committed.

I guess paying for an Uber ride when you're in hitchhiker purgatory would be like buying Indulgences, right?

I continued to scout for a campsite. Wearing shorts in the 90+ degree heat, I was concerned about ticks and poison ivy if I were to bushwhack into the woods. I found a somewhat secluded area near a utility pole that had been freshly mowed, tucked behind some woods, and made camp, a bit nervous, wondering if maybe the Shawnee would show up to reclaim their land. Here's hoping I don't wake up with a hatchet tearing through my tent.

I set up my tent as an increasingly-loud cacophony of bug noise surrounding my makeshift campsite interrupted any chance of getting to sleep that evening. Oh the noise, noise, noise! I like to think that the katydids and the cicadas are mortal enemies who set aside their differences if it means they can keep awake a freshly sunburned, nerve-wracked vagabond desperate to get some sleep in the July heat.

Between the heat and the incessant bug noise, I finally drifted off to sleep a little after midnight, and woke up as the rain arrived a couple hours later. With a sound, dry tent, I stayed as comfortable as possible, and managed a few more hours of sleep, waking at dawn.

I broke camp and headed to the small gas station near the on-ramp, bought a coffee, then returned to the ramp to try to get a ride.

No dice; it was still very low traffic, with about one car passing every 5 or 10 minutes. After about two and a half hours, I reviewed my map, and saw that I could walk south down the frontage road that ran parallel to the interstate, where there was another northbound ramp coming more directly out of the town of Buchanan, where I might have more luck.

It was a little more than a mile walk, and I arrived at the new on-ramp around 9:30, pleased to see a bit more traffic.

After about half an hour later, a large new pickup truck pulled over, and I was on the road again. Phew. Finally free of Hitchhiker Purgatory.

I had a great ride with Dennis. He wasn't a long-distance hiker himself, but was very keyed in to the hiking community, having given thru-hikers rides for years, as his work took him along I-81 frequently, where he often saw those Appalachian Pilgrims. Thus he was comfortable picking me up.

Dennis had been picking up hikers, hitchhikers, and every manner of trashy vagrant for years, and had even by chance picked up the same hitchhiker about 7 months apart. He said that that traveler, Joshua, had started life on the road following a devastating personal heartbreak, where his wife and kids were killed in a car accident. He took to the road, sometimes hiking the AT, trying to figure out how to navigate life after such a loss. Dennis said that Joshua looked very worn-out the second time he met him.

After about an hour north on I-81, Dennis dropped me off at a great spot in Staunton, VA, as he knew exactly what I wanted in terms of getting my next ride. It was still blisteringly hot as I stood out on the ramp as the sun climbed overhead near noontime, and the temperatures crept into the 90s.

It really was one of the best on-ramps I've ever been to. Plenty of traffic, with drivers coming from both directions on U.S. Route 250, merging into a single broad lane, uphill, straight, so that they drive slowly with plenty of time to make a decision about pulling over.

I actually turned down a couple short rides within the first 30 minutes, confident that I could get a longer ride, and not wanting to be stuck in low-traffic areas.

Around noon, getting exhausted in the heat, I stepped down off the ramp and turned a corner to have lunch at a local buffet restaurant, now rather hungry since I hadn't had breakfast.

Well, it was an old person buffet. The food "wasn't half bad," as one friend of mine might say, but it wasn't great. Nevertheless it was cheap, and served as a nice spot where I could get out of the sun.

After I was full, I sat back, and shortly thereafter the waitress set down the check. I glanced at it (only $10), then pondered whether I was going to have another plate of food. A minute later, a different waitress (or manager?) came to the table, saying she thought they gave me the wrong check. A minute after that, my original waitress came by with a big smile:

"You're all set, sir! You're good to go whenever you'd like. Have a great day!"

Whether it was the restaurant itself or another customer, someone had paid for my meal, presumably having seen me enter with a big dirty backpack and a piece of cardboard.

"I can pay, really, I'm Middle-class Homeless!" I tried to tell the waitress, who again smiled broadly and assured me it was paid for. How kind.

Stuck in purgatory, then free, with someone else paying my tab? That'll preach.

I returned to the on-ramp, turning down another ride from a couple young stoners with expired registration tags on their car, then finally scored a ride with Gary, a well-mannered fellow in his 50s who initially took me for an AT thru-hiker (as I was close to the trail).

Gary was himself a regular day hiker, who sometimes did trail magic for long-distance hikers, often setting up a grill with burgers and hot dogs near the parking lot by the popular McAfee Knob section of the AT in Virginia.

Gary said he drove about 40,000 miles every year for work, so he knew exactly where he could drop me off by a busy truck stop in Toms Brook, a little south of where he was due to head east on I-66.

About an hour later we parted ways, and I was happy with the traffic flow where he dropped me off in the early afternoon as the midday sun continued to scorch my neck.

A car pulled over within 5 minutes, with a fellow headed to Baltimore. I glanced at the map, and saw that that ride wouldn't have put me very far up I-81, so I thanked him and stayed put.

Perhaps 15 minutes later, a couple young guys pulled over in disbelief, having never seen a hitchhiker, and asked what I was doing:

"Are you, like, a YouTuber?"

They offered a short ride, which I again turned down.

Around 3pm (maybe another 45 minutes), a tractor-trailer stopped in the ramp lane for just a moment and the driver bellowed out from across the cab window:

"Hey, you don't got any dope or guns on you, do you?"

"Oh no, I'm just a middle-class homeless hitchhiker," I yelled back.

"Middle-class homeless" I keep using that term - I'd never thought of it before - but so far it's usually been met with a chuckle from the driver, and seems to be a good way to dispel some of the tension that typically follows the initial offering of a ride.

"Ok let me pull up here, come on," as he proceeded down the ramp to the shoulder where he could safely get out of the way of traffic.

He introduced himself as Daniel, a long-haul truck driver who was headed to Canada, though his next stop was in Mertztown, Pennsylvania. We talked logistics for a minute, then I decided one way or the other, I could figure out a place to have him drop me off.

Daniel owned his own trucking company, which I guess meant he was able to give me a ride. Despite already two ride offers from truck drivers so far this trip, in my previous experience it's very rare to get a ride in a big rig, since all the large companies forbid picking up hitchhikers due to insurance reasons.

Most truck drivers who pick you up will talk your ear off, and usually have one or two screws loose. Daniel was no exception, and I'm sure he'd admit that.

Over the next three hours he detailed to me his life as a driver and trucking company owner. In one instance, one of his driver employees was stopped by the police and Department of Transportation (DOT) while speeding, and during inspection of his truck, discovered that the driver had been traveling with a 15-foot pet python loose in the cab.

"YOU CAN'T HAVE A 15 FOOT SNAKE IN YOUR TRUCK," Daniel relayed to me incredulously as he recounted the story. The DOT had called Daniel at 4am to handle the situation with his employee. The cops themselves weren't about to put the snake on layaway for the driver while he finished his delivery, nor was the driver willing to have his multi-thousand dollar exotic pet put down and discarded, so he was stuck. Daniel told me eventually he himself drove 6 hours to meet the driver, put the snake in a dog cage, and took it away, while the driver finished his delivery. He then fired the driver after he returned to the trucking terminal after his haul.

"I took the cost of the dog cage out of his last paycheck, and shorted him $125."

This was soon met by revenge, where a day or two after firing him, a strange soapy smell emerged from the truck that the driver had used. Apparently after he got fired, the driver sought revenge for the short paycheck by pouring laundry detergent into the truck's fuel tanks in the parking lot. Daniel said he had to drop the fuel tanks and discard about 200 gallons of diesel.

The hostility in that story was minor compared to the incident where Daniel got into a bit of a scuffle with another driver (not one of his drivers) at a rest stop somewhere. I guess they had a dispute about who had the right to a parking space. They exchanged some strong words, then the other driver returned to his cab. After a couple of minutes, a third driver started shouting out to Daniel from across the lot:

"Hey! Hey! Look out!"

Daniel turned around to see the hostile driver returning from his truck, charging towards him with a sword in his hand:

"Like, not a knife, an actual 3 or 4 foot SWORD!" Daniel recalled to me, "He wasn't quite running, but was walking as fast as he could and looked super crazy with that thing in his hand. He was about ten feet away from me when I whipped out my pistol and stuck it in his face. He got real friendly all of a sudden after that!"

Don't bring a sword to a gunfight, huh?

Apparently no one called the cops, and the story ended there, somewhere in a truck stop in Nebraska.

Unsure of my next stop during my drive with Daniel, I decided I would aim to visit my sister Mary, who with her husband and 5 kids recently moved to the Lancaster, Pennsylvania area. I could have asked Daniel to drop me off in Harrisburg, but it looked like I probably would have a tough time heading to Lancaster from there due to the interstate exchanges and urban sprawl. When two interstates meet, there's not really an option to hitchhike at the junction, since the lanes just merge at highway speeds. You want to look for an on-ramp from a lower road.

Thus I continued on with Daniel until we hit Bethel, PA, where I would aim to head almost due south to Lancaster on old Pennsylvania country roads.

I arrived off of I-74 at Bethel around 6pm last night, and after filling up my water bottles at a local Sheetz gas station, began a half mile road walk south towards the edge of town. If you're hitchhiking on back roads, it's generally a good idea to get away from residential areas.

I was about 90 minutes worth of driving time from my sister's, but really was not expecting to make it all the way there given the time of day, but thought maybe I'd get within half an hour of them, where they could then pick me up.

I arrived at what looked like a good spot, and was immediately picked up by the first vehicle that drove by. Doug had hitchhiked in his youth, and was happy to help out, taking me about 15 minutes down the road. Since he had experience, he went out of his way to drop me off at a spot where I'd have a good shot at another ride.

Within 10 minutes, a Christian guy named Jeff picked me up, surprised to hear that someone was hitchhiking across the country, but comfortable picking me up since he had himself hitchhiked a bit recently with his teenage son.

Jeff was on his way to a church meeting, and after building rapport for just a few minutes, offered to put me up at his house for the night if I didn't catch a ride out that evening. We exchanged contact info, and he dropped me off in the town of Lititz, just 45 minutes from Mary's house.

Within 5 minutes of posting up at my new spot, I got a ride from a driver with New Jersey license plates, who almost immediately remarked on my Appalachian Trail baseball cap I was wearing.

Bryan had recently begun volunteering with the New Jersey Appalachian Trail club, and was a big fan of AT thru-hikers. He was excited to hear about my new book, picking my brain about what kind of gear I had, while sharing his own experiences meeting thru-hikers. Some time ago, Bryan had even met my trail friend Hawk (Craig Mains), a living legend and YouTuber who is currently finishing up his eighth thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail.

I'm guessing he was only going down the road a few miles, but given the built-in rapport among trail folk, Bryan generously drove me for 45 minutes right to the front door of my sister's house, where I now finish the first journal entry of this adventure.

I'm so thankful for the success I've had over just the first two days. I was not expecting to be able to move this quickly, nor get rides this fast. I'm grateful for all of the generosity so far, and look forward to the milder weather ahead. But even with the incessant heat at this point, I endeavored long ago to be, as one writer put it, "done with indoor complaints."

So as the scorching sun beams down upon me, I beam right back with a smile.

And as I close this first chapter on the road, I nod to that same writer, Walt Whitman, and the opening two verses of his Song of the Open Road:

Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,

Healthy, free, the world before me,

The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.

Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,

Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,

Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,

Strong and content I travel the open road.

James