My Best Encounters: Hitchhiking

What you cannot predict, you can embrace.

Life serves its mysterious purpose of hurtling one into realms of the unfamiliar - perhaps from the perspective of a evolutionist, it's the very mechanism that constantly challenges and improves our survival instincts. The way I see it, I am an addict - getting a kick from the unexpected and having a whack-load of adrenaline going berserk in the system is my guilty pleasure.

That's what sets apart my alter egos, the traveller and the routine-pledged commuter. That's why I adore travelling.

It's clear that unpredictability takes off when you're travelling - and unexpected, serendipitous events are often where travellers source their inspirations from. Like when Matt Kyhnn, aka Backpacking Matt, recalls experiences of the unknown and reaffirms his love of travelling for....

And as muses of my travel writing, as features of my life's tale, as the very elements that better my personality and self as a decent human being, I tend not to just let unpredictability find me - I like to actively seek it.

One of the ways I hurl myself into the hands of fate is hitchhiking.

Some of my most treasured encounters are those immediately after the clueless, thumb-raised waits, sampled in different parts of the world. They were mixed bags of boldly-expressed emotions, extreme joys and polar grievances, and among the most heart-felt instants I've ever experienced in my life.

Best: Sheer efficiency

Location: Petrol station between Auckland & Hamilton, New Zealand

I recognised that emotion gleaming in his eyes: doubt. The more reason still, for the defending of my pride.

He berated my choice of location once again. He criticised my equipment. He assured me that he'll hang around for a while, in case I don't get a ride.

"That won't be necessary," I snapped, hoisted my rucksack and aimed for the restaurant door. "I'll be fine, dad."

A hundred yards later I rested the baggage against the news stand. It was a old trick I had learnt in the early days - loitering around the entrance of the petrol station shop, targeting people coming out of the building. Except - especially when a fog of pessimism enshrouded the observation - the numbers were few. I adjusted my scarf - I was expecting a long wait.

The bloke was the third individual I had approached on the day. I dropped the "where are you heading towards?" upon him; he responded with "Wellington". Optimism gauge half-filled, though I was secretly sceptical of my luck. "Any chance I can tag along?" was next - a warm agree was what I received.

The warm circuit of relief caressed the body - I hadn't planned, or realistically hoped, to complete North Island in one day! I also direly hoped that my dad was watching as crammed in the rucksack and wedged myself into the narrow backseat, where I would spend the next nine hours blitzing through 500km worth of countryside.

Turns out that the guys, Olly and Paddy, are freelance graphic designers whose impressive portfolio includes stints under contract with WETA, the company responsible for the visual effects in films like Lord of the Rings and King Kong. Though they'll be better remembered for helping me get on the evening ferry - which failed - talking his friends into letting me crash on their couch for the night, and giving up valuable sleep to give me a ride down to the terminal in the morning. Good job we exchanged Facebook details and have kept in touch.

Soon after I got out of the station I got a text from dad. In a congratulatory note, he mentioned seeing me sped off with Olly and Paddy.

Best: Spacial generosity

Location: Country road near Caen, France

It's one of those leap-athon days: a hundred million rides, all short-distance. Under this very circumstance, however, it was hardly surprising: when the ferry originated from Portsmouth had unleashed upon Le Havre some 50 hitchers, including me and Tori, where the main road of the port city was littered with over-eager-and-soon-to-be-demoralised thumbs-up'ers, no wonder we were up for a hard day. Trekking eight kilometres before landing our first hitch proved our misfortune.

We were on our fifth or sixth ride of the day when reached the outskirts of Caen. Dropped off along the major road, the pair of us settled and made peace with the possibility of a long wait - before sticking out our thumbs.

Nothing prepared us for his fiery entrance.

Read the rest of this story - and many more tales from a hitchhiker - here.