Random question: You ever have a dream involving someone you’ve never met, then eventually meet them?

hands over DMT vape Just keep hitting this, you’ll get there eventually.

[/s, but people have reported the ‘living a surreal but otherwise ~realish life experience for a while’ experience before, rather than the more common ‘machine elves in psychedelic munchkin land’ experience. I personally wouldn’t touch that shit with a 20 foot pole - I like weird but there’s such a thing as too weird]

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Oof - glad your friend got out of it unmolested (…no pun intended, I swear). Given everyone came out ok, chalk this one up to live and learn.

Hooray for trail magic! Reminds me of the time I hoofed it to an outlying town and back (think it was about 8 hours round trip?), had a few folks slow down and ask if I needed a ride. Restores your faith in humanity a touch.

Since there’s nothing better than a close call story, are there any you’d like to share? Feel free to balance it out with one of the fun stories as well if you want (since close call stories, as well as sheer bad outcome stories, colour a lot people’s impressions about hitching).

I think there’s people who look at ‘traveller’ as an identity, much like a lot of folks do with other interests. I’d argue there’s some classism involved as well, as travel is a status symbol. However, there’s also the (frankly true) idea that travel can broaden your perspective as you meet people from different cultures living life slightly (or dramatically) differently than you do at home.

Ultimately, people who deride people with little travel experience are rude. A better approach is to encourage people who voice an interest in travel but seem uncertain. There’s also something to be said about a solid knowledge and appreciation of one’s own backyard and community.

Well that’s an instant sub. Thanks!

And 100%. Risky? Yep (here in Canada we have something called the Highway of Tears in British Columbia, which for a lot of folks is the first thing that comes to mind when you say ‘hitchhiking’). But there’s some great experiences to be had as well alongside those risks.

I will acknowledge that as a white guy, the risks are slightly lower than they might be for other folks, and this is definitely a function of privilege. But specifically Canadian context, can’t speak for other places.

Between 2005 and 2006 (can’t remember if the first trip was the year prior to the second one, or the same year at different points of the summer).

As I was reading through this, I noticed I didn’t mention cellphones. I did have a cellphone at the time of the second trip for sure. Whether I turned it off on the ferry, or didn’t have reception on Saltspring, or left it at home, I honestly don’t remember. Probably the first or third option to avoid interactions with my mom while I was doing something dumb (I used this strategy a couple of times).

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I’ve personally only hitchhiked twice.

The first time isn’t all that interesting. I was camping with my parents as a teen. I was a smoker at the time and had ran out of cigarettes. My parents didn’t know about (or were deliberately ignoring) my habit. The closest place that sold smokes was about a two hour hike away. So I told everyone at camp I was going for a hike and hoofed my way there. I managed to finangle a couple packs of cigarettes, but was at a loss - I knew I was going to be in shit if I just disappeared and returned four hours later. I decided to try my luck and stuck my thumb out. After about 15 minutes, I got picked up by some guy in a pick-up, pretty chill. Got dropped off at my camp with no one the wiser.

Again, not interesting in itself, but was a “Whoa, some people actually do pick up hitchhikers these days” learning moment.

Second story is only slightly more interesting:
Still a teen (about 16-17 I think?) living in Victoria, BC. A friend who had moved to the mainland had come back to visit. One evening, I asked “Hey, have you ever been to Saltspring Island?” He said no, and it was decided among our crew that this would change the next morning, since none of us had visited.

Saltspring is one of the southern gulf islands off the coast of Vancouver Island, about a half-hour ferry ride from Victoria. Naturally, as my mother would be quite concerned that her son was going on an ocean voyage, I spared her the worry and simply didn’t tell her. Three of my friends and I got on the first ferry of the day and made it to Fulford Harbour.

Now, Saltspring didn’t have a bus service, and while there is a taxi company it’s pretty expensive. So as my friends were starting to worry about how we were going to get anywhere interesting, I stuck my thumb out. My visiting friend stared at me like I was insane.

“You have to be joking.”
“Dude, just trust me on this one.”
“No one in their right mind is going to pick up four random guys.”

A couple minutes after he said this, a sedan pulled over. Suddenly, all of us were crammed in with this delightful seventy year old woman, telling us about the local artisan she was visiting and the sizeable artistic community on Saltspring. She dropped us off in Ganges, the main town on the island. We spent the rest of the day puttering around, smoking terrible green pressed hash we bought off some kid there (who took us on a small tour that ended at a glass shop for a pipe, disappearing by the time we made our purchase), and generally having a pretty chill time.

Eventually, it was time to go. We struck up some discussions with folks in a parking lot near the edge of town. There was a guy with a passenger van that seemed promising, but unfortunately he already had some hitchhikers and couldn’t take us. There was another couple who was willing to take us, but only had room for two passengers. After some debate, we split up and left the other two to finangle their own ride.

Originally, the couple said they would drop us off at the ferry terminal, but after a little while they changed their mind and dropped us off in front of a yoga retreat. We were there for about an hour and a half.

Now I was starting to get worried. If we didn’t make it to the ferry by the last trip, we were capital ‘F’ fucked. None of our parents knew where we were, we had no place to stay, we had no idea how the other guys were faring, etc. Finally, a passenger van stops. It’s the same guy from before, only now with more room and the other two guys in tow. Apparently, they’d talked to him again, and came to some arrangement where he’d come back and get them. Everyone involved was pretty relieved.

So we made it back to the harbour, got on the boat, returned to Victoria and made our respective ways home. My mom greeted me with the following:
“DID YOU GO TO SALTSPRING ISLAND?!”
“What? No! Why would I go to Saltspring Island?”
“I didn’t know where you were, so I called [friend who didn’t come with us] and he said he thought you and your other friends were going to Saltspring!”
“What? All four of us going to an island 30 minutes into the ocean, with little money and no car? That’s crazy, who would do that?”

I don’t think I’ve ever fessed up to my mom to this day.

Nice! Is there one moment of your adventure that jumps out when thinking about this time (granted, it’s likely a lot of interesting stuff could have happened along the way)?

This but mushrooms.

sad OSCAR noises

In an effort to fight modern techbros, all modern human writers start churning out Oulipianesque texts, and reading books is cast once again as a passtime for weird (perhaps dangerous) nerds.

…actually, there’s some half-decent stories you can tell and ideas you can bat around with this frame informing both format and content. The title Samizdat jumps to mind when thinking about some of them (I know there’s a contingent on Lemmy who might not be thrilled about the connotations, but it’s a good word). Hmm.

Bearded guy, so: “[insert any small talk compliment about my beard here]” “Thanks, it’s been growing on me.”

Ngl, I’d watch the fuck out of a movie about juggalos toppling a surveillance state. Culminating in the cinematic final showdown I’ve always pictured in my head when listening to I Want My Shit..

You have the rare honour of being the first comment I’ve both downvoted and saved.

(Downvoted simply because it’s the opposite kind of answer to what OP is looking for, if it actually bugs you let me know and I’ll remove, nbd).

Fuck yeah, Pocket Paint gang.

sh.it.heads