Feb 24, 2023
Please contact us
with corrections
or breaking news
Please contact us
with corrections
or breaking news
On the Road in America: The Hitchhikers Report
by Alex Grardel
Please support our stories by liking articles—thanks!
Alex Grardel (center) on the road with Anthony the Fireman (left), who he met at the 9/11 memorial ) and old friend Foucauld, in upstate New York, fall 2019. photo: A. Grardel IF YOU READ OR WATCHED 'INTO THE
Wild” (1996, 2007, book and film, respectively), you might know that Healy is the closest town to where Christopher McCandless, the hero of the story, retreated into the Alaskan wilderness. Indeed, the famous bus where he took shelter still stands.
And it still attracts pilgrims, like me. I hitchhiked from Fairbanks to Healy, hiked in on the Stampede Trail and slept two nights in the magic bus. I wanted to capture the emotions of other pilgrims walking in the footsteps of Christopher McCandless, aka Alexander Supertramp, and pay tribute to the hero who changed my life.
McCandless helped me discover that hitchhiking is not only a way of travelling but a mindset. To live amazing experiences, you have to be open to the unexpected.
I remember very well watching “Into the Wild” in a theatre in Versailles, France, when I was 18 and had never been “on the road.” It struck me that Alexander Supertramp journeyed from thrilling adventures to great encounters, thanks to hitchhiking. Yes, it also included his death, making it a tragic inner quest, but hitchhiking still appealed to me.
The next day, I met my friend Foucauld, who had already gone hitchhiking, and told him, “I want to be like the hero of ‘Into the Wild’ and hitchhike into the wilderness. Since we don’t have the money to fly to Alaska, what do you say to Sweden?”
Off we went on a three-week adventure from Paris to Stockholm and many other cities but no wilderness.
From then on, I’ve had the hitchhiking virus.
I thumbed out to dozens of European destinations—Spain, Belgium, Netherlands, Germany, UK, Hungary—and introduced many friends to hitchhiking: the thrill, the challenge, the unknown, the wait, the surprise and the ongoing friendships.
In 2013, as the semester I was doing abroad in Toronto, Canada, was coming to an end, a fellow French student came to me and said:
Alex Grardel pilgrimages to the grave of one his heroes, hitchhiker and survivalist Christopher McCandless, of 'Into the Wild' renown. photo: A. Grardel “You told me you like to hitchhike. I want to try as well. Let’s hitchhike to New Orleans. You in?!?”
His “You in?!?” still resonates with me seven years later, as I finish my fifth trip hitchhiking across North America, which started at McCandless’s bus. A journey of six months, it took me all around the country—Seattle, Denver, Boston, Atlanta, Memphis, Phoenix, Los Angeles, San Francisco—the experience of a lifetime.
I’m so glad I answered, “Hitchhiking, sure, I’m up for it,” even though first thought was: “No way man! New Orleans is in the southern US, not Europe. They have guns, a completely different ballgame!”
But is it, really? People are people everywhere and I found Americans quite friendly, especially in the South.
Plus they have a fascination for the road, I discovered. I’ve stopped counting the number of people who told me they fantasized about travelling the US coast to coast. The love of the road is Americana.
After I landed in Fairbanks, I immediately hit the road, looking for a lift to Healy, which was two hours south.
“Man, I love this road during this time of the year,” said the man in his early twenties who stopped. “I’ll take you to Healy and drive back to Fairbanks tonight.”
Later, in Seattle, after waiting in vain almost all night at a truck stop, two employees offered me a lift to the eastern boarder of Washington State, a five hours drive. “We like your travelling project and we’ve never been to the East part of the state,” they said. “Tomorrow is our day off. Let’s go together.”
My hitchhiking gave them an excuse to go on an adventure.
Over my five hitchhikes across the US, I have met people with amazing stories: leaving home in their early teens to join a circus, walking for weeks thru Central America to enter the US, caring lovingly for an ill husband for decades.
Alex Grardel at the grave of another hero, Jack Kerouac, in Lowell, Massachusetts, October 2019. photo: A. Grardel I noticed that during hitchhiking encounters people felt a certain freedom with me, perhaps because they would never see me again. They would open up and share personal stories, which I found fascinating. To collect these stories, I undertook the six-month trip currently coming to an end, this time with a recorder.
Picture this: a bearded man standing by the side of the road, backpack by his side, hat on his head, smile on his face, right arm raised high, thumb sticking straight up. In his left hand, a whiteboard with two words: “Bay Area.”
If you stopped and asked me, “Hey man, what are you doing here?” I would tell you: “I am on a ‘journey of remembrance,’ what you might call it a pilgrimage, hitchhiking across the US to interview people.”
“I’ve been to McCandless’s Magic Bus, Jimi Hendrix’s grave, Graceland, civil rights sites and much more. Now I am going to the Bay Area to do more interviews and pay tribute to The Grateful Dead, Harvey Milk, The Beats and John Coltrane.”
“Can you help me take the next step of my journey?”
As well as interesting interviews for my podcast (see https://www.instagram.com/alexgrardel/), my rides also provided data for my study:
Who picks up hitchhikers?
1. The first type are people who have traveled intensively before. Typically, they are former hitchhikers in their 60s or 70s, and very good at giving advice about where to go, whom to interview for my podcast, or whom to contact.
One was Rick whom I met in Lowell, Massachusetts, at the grave of Jack Kerouac. Rick and I both came for the 50th anniversary of Kerouac’s passing and both had a copy of “The Dharma Bums” in our hands.
Grardel meets another ‘Dharma Bums’ enthusiast, Rick (left), at Kerouac's grave and they become fast friends. photo: A. Grardel Rick had crossed the country several times hitchhiking and invited me to get all the way to New Hampshire to meet his wife. Then he took me to Walden Pond to interview the Henry David Thoreau buffs who meet there on Sundays. Last, but not least: one of his friends hosted me in Salinas, California, during my interviews with fans on a pilgrimage for another major road writer: John Steinbeck.
There are also women among these intense travelers. Brook picked me up in Utah, in her van, as she was touring the West. At one point, she asked: “You’ve been to Kurt Cobain’s house?”
“Yes, I have,” I tell her. “Why are you surprised?”
“I was Courtney Love’s business partner for ten years,” Brook answers, “and I went to Kurt Cobain’s house six weeks ago,” and had a fantastic story to share about it.
2. The next group open to hitchhikers are civil servants: military, rescue team members or firemen. In New York State, I was picked up three times IN A ROW by firemen from the Bronx! And I was not alone.
Eleven years after going with me to Sweden, my friend Foucauld joined me for one week in New York. We visited for three days at the 9/11 Memorial, looking for pilgrims to share their moving stories.
Anthony, from NewYork State, 75 miles north of the Memorial, told us: “I’ve been on a pilgrimage to 9/11 Memorial. 9/11 is actually the main reason I wanted to become a firefighter.” We recorded another fantastic story !
Among civil servants, I include nurses or people working for NGOs. One of the former, Alice, picked me up a few miles North of Wounded Knee. At the Native American site, I did interviews with pilgrims paying tribute to the victims of the 1890 massacre. When in the car, Alice tells me she’s going to a sweat ceremony and explains, “it is a sacred Native ritual taking place in a sweat lodge on her property “. I ask if I can come and she agrees.
Grardel (left) on the road with his new friend Josh in Alaska, summer 2019. photo: A. Grardel “You’re not the first European on my property this month,” she adds. “A Dutch guy came to do a documentary about my son.” So I was hosted for three days by the mother of the Native World Champion of Bull Riding, introduced to rodeo as well as to the sweat ceremony, with a medicine man calling the spirits.
Alice created an association to help deliver food and cloth to people in Pine Ridge Reservation, South Dakota. And she has been to Wounded Knee on a pilgrimage every year to keep fighting for the Natives rights.
I would have loved to add policemen to the list of civil servants who pick up hitchhikers, but none of them gave me a lift. I asked a policeman in New Jersey for a lift once, but his answer was: “Don’t you know that hitchhiking is now illegal in New Jersey ? Get yourself an Uber ! “ At least I didn’t get a ticket.
That was how I learnt that New Jersey was the third state to forbid hitchhiking, after Nevada and Utah. Hitchhiking is also forbidden on every highway of the country, as well as in many Indian reservations, oddly enough.
3. The last type of people who gave me lifts are from abroad. They might have lived in the US for a while, like Max, from Belarus. Max picked me up in Seattle when he saw my “Kurt Cobain’s house” sign.
“Man, you’re not in Europe anymore,” he told me. “Nobody will pick you up. But if you tell me where Kurt Cobain’s house is, I’ll give you a ride.”
Some of my lifts were also with people on a vacation or working in the US, like three young people from Saudi Arabia, driving down Highway 1 to LA, including Nara.
A Saudi woman in her 30s from Mecca, who had hiked the Pacific Crest Trail, Nara was an experienced pilgrim. She and her friends picked me up after I visited the fabulous Henry Miller Memorial Library, where other visitors told me their passion for Henry Miller took them not only to Big Sur but also to Paris, my home.
“You’re from Paris? “, Nara asked me, “I was there recently to talk at UNESCO in the name of Saudi women”. It’s a small world.
As Jack Kerouac said, “The road is life.” Indeed, I feel so alive when I am on the road. Every car that stops is an opportunity to live a new experience, to meet a new person, to listen to a new story.
On the road, I also feel I might luck out, and really score big, like the time in the South I got a ride with funk band and they took me on tour for three days. That was fun!
Nara (left), her Saudi Arabian friends (backseat) and Grardel on Big Sur's Route 1, one of America's most popular roads. photo: A. Grardel Obviously, there are times when I wait for hours at traffic lights or, when looking for a long distance ride, at truck stops. When night or rain comes and the temptation to get a bus ticket is strong. But I rarely cheated. I know that someone will eventually show up.
Perhaps you?
The next time you see a hitchhiker on the side of the road, think about it: he, she or non-binary might have been waiting for a long time. There might be a great adventure waiting for both of you.
Also, if you hitchhike yourself, make sure to be nice enough so that your driver wants to keep picking up hitchhikers.
I might be waiting down the road.
Alex Grardel is a French journalist specializing in hitchhiking, living in Paris and working at turning his stories into podcasts and books. Follow him at [email protected] or his blog
Posted on Apr 13, 2020 - 10:02 PM
by Alex Grardel
Please support our stories by liking articles—thanks!
Alex Grardel (center) on the road with Anthony the Fireman (left), who he met at the 9/11 memorial ) and old friend Foucauld, in upstate New York, fall 2019. photo: A. Grardel Wild” (1996, 2007, book and film, respectively), you might know that Healy is the closest town to where Christopher McCandless, the hero of the story, retreated into the Alaskan wilderness. Indeed, the famous bus where he took shelter still stands.
And it still attracts pilgrims, like me. I hitchhiked from Fairbanks to Healy, hiked in on the Stampede Trail and slept two nights in the magic bus. I wanted to capture the emotions of other pilgrims walking in the footsteps of Christopher McCandless, aka Alexander Supertramp, and pay tribute to the hero who changed my life.
McCandless helped me discover that hitchhiking is not only a way of travelling but a mindset. To live amazing experiences, you have to be open to the unexpected.
I remember very well watching “Into the Wild” in a theatre in Versailles, France, when I was 18 and had never been “on the road.” It struck me that Alexander Supertramp journeyed from thrilling adventures to great encounters, thanks to hitchhiking. Yes, it also included his death, making it a tragic inner quest, but hitchhiking still appealed to me.
The next day, I met my friend Foucauld, who had already gone hitchhiking, and told him, “I want to be like the hero of ‘Into the Wild’ and hitchhike into the wilderness. Since we don’t have the money to fly to Alaska, what do you say to Sweden?”
Off we went on a three-week adventure from Paris to Stockholm and many other cities but no wilderness.
From then on, I’ve had the hitchhiking virus.
I thumbed out to dozens of European destinations—Spain, Belgium, Netherlands, Germany, UK, Hungary—and introduced many friends to hitchhiking: the thrill, the challenge, the unknown, the wait, the surprise and the ongoing friendships.
In 2013, as the semester I was doing abroad in Toronto, Canada, was coming to an end, a fellow French student came to me and said:
Alex Grardel pilgrimages to the grave of one his heroes, hitchhiker and survivalist Christopher McCandless, of 'Into the Wild' renown. photo: A. Grardel His “You in?!?” still resonates with me seven years later, as I finish my fifth trip hitchhiking across North America, which started at McCandless’s bus. A journey of six months, it took me all around the country—Seattle, Denver, Boston, Atlanta, Memphis, Phoenix, Los Angeles, San Francisco—the experience of a lifetime.
I’m so glad I answered, “Hitchhiking, sure, I’m up for it,” even though first thought was: “No way man! New Orleans is in the southern US, not Europe. They have guns, a completely different ballgame!”
But is it, really? People are people everywhere and I found Americans quite friendly, especially in the South.
Plus they have a fascination for the road, I discovered. I’ve stopped counting the number of people who told me they fantasized about travelling the US coast to coast. The love of the road is Americana.
After I landed in Fairbanks, I immediately hit the road, looking for a lift to Healy, which was two hours south.
“Man, I love this road during this time of the year,” said the man in his early twenties who stopped. “I’ll take you to Healy and drive back to Fairbanks tonight.”
Later, in Seattle, after waiting in vain almost all night at a truck stop, two employees offered me a lift to the eastern boarder of Washington State, a five hours drive. “We like your travelling project and we’ve never been to the East part of the state,” they said. “Tomorrow is our day off. Let’s go together.”
My hitchhiking gave them an excuse to go on an adventure.
Over my five hitchhikes across the US, I have met people with amazing stories: leaving home in their early teens to join a circus, walking for weeks thru Central America to enter the US, caring lovingly for an ill husband for decades.
Alex Grardel at the grave of another hero, Jack Kerouac, in Lowell, Massachusetts, October 2019. photo: A. Grardel Picture this: a bearded man standing by the side of the road, backpack by his side, hat on his head, smile on his face, right arm raised high, thumb sticking straight up. In his left hand, a whiteboard with two words: “Bay Area.”
If you stopped and asked me, “Hey man, what are you doing here?” I would tell you: “I am on a ‘journey of remembrance,’ what you might call it a pilgrimage, hitchhiking across the US to interview people.”
“I’ve been to McCandless’s Magic Bus, Jimi Hendrix’s grave, Graceland, civil rights sites and much more. Now I am going to the Bay Area to do more interviews and pay tribute to The Grateful Dead, Harvey Milk, The Beats and John Coltrane.”
“Can you help me take the next step of my journey?”
As well as interesting interviews for my podcast (see https://www.instagram.com/alexgrardel/), my rides also provided data for my study:
Who picks up hitchhikers?
1. The first type are people who have traveled intensively before. Typically, they are former hitchhikers in their 60s or 70s, and very good at giving advice about where to go, whom to interview for my podcast, or whom to contact.
One was Rick whom I met in Lowell, Massachusetts, at the grave of Jack Kerouac. Rick and I both came for the 50th anniversary of Kerouac’s passing and both had a copy of “The Dharma Bums” in our hands.
Grardel meets another ‘Dharma Bums’ enthusiast, Rick (left), at Kerouac's grave and they become fast friends. photo: A. Grardel There are also women among these intense travelers. Brook picked me up in Utah, in her van, as she was touring the West. At one point, she asked: “You’ve been to Kurt Cobain’s house?”
“Yes, I have,” I tell her. “Why are you surprised?”
“I was Courtney Love’s business partner for ten years,” Brook answers, “and I went to Kurt Cobain’s house six weeks ago,” and had a fantastic story to share about it.
2. The next group open to hitchhikers are civil servants: military, rescue team members or firemen. In New York State, I was picked up three times IN A ROW by firemen from the Bronx! And I was not alone.
Eleven years after going with me to Sweden, my friend Foucauld joined me for one week in New York. We visited for three days at the 9/11 Memorial, looking for pilgrims to share their moving stories.
Anthony, from NewYork State, 75 miles north of the Memorial, told us: “I’ve been on a pilgrimage to 9/11 Memorial. 9/11 is actually the main reason I wanted to become a firefighter.” We recorded another fantastic story !
Among civil servants, I include nurses or people working for NGOs. One of the former, Alice, picked me up a few miles North of Wounded Knee. At the Native American site, I did interviews with pilgrims paying tribute to the victims of the 1890 massacre. When in the car, Alice tells me she’s going to a sweat ceremony and explains, “it is a sacred Native ritual taking place in a sweat lodge on her property “. I ask if I can come and she agrees.
Grardel (left) on the road with his new friend Josh in Alaska, summer 2019. photo: A. Grardel Alice created an association to help deliver food and cloth to people in Pine Ridge Reservation, South Dakota. And she has been to Wounded Knee on a pilgrimage every year to keep fighting for the Natives rights.
I would have loved to add policemen to the list of civil servants who pick up hitchhikers, but none of them gave me a lift. I asked a policeman in New Jersey for a lift once, but his answer was: “Don’t you know that hitchhiking is now illegal in New Jersey ? Get yourself an Uber ! “ At least I didn’t get a ticket.
That was how I learnt that New Jersey was the third state to forbid hitchhiking, after Nevada and Utah. Hitchhiking is also forbidden on every highway of the country, as well as in many Indian reservations, oddly enough.
3. The last type of people who gave me lifts are from abroad. They might have lived in the US for a while, like Max, from Belarus. Max picked me up in Seattle when he saw my “Kurt Cobain’s house” sign.
“Man, you’re not in Europe anymore,” he told me. “Nobody will pick you up. But if you tell me where Kurt Cobain’s house is, I’ll give you a ride.”
Some of my lifts were also with people on a vacation or working in the US, like three young people from Saudi Arabia, driving down Highway 1 to LA, including Nara.
A Saudi woman in her 30s from Mecca, who had hiked the Pacific Crest Trail, Nara was an experienced pilgrim. She and her friends picked me up after I visited the fabulous Henry Miller Memorial Library, where other visitors told me their passion for Henry Miller took them not only to Big Sur but also to Paris, my home.
“You’re from Paris? “, Nara asked me, “I was there recently to talk at UNESCO in the name of Saudi women”. It’s a small world.
As Jack Kerouac said, “The road is life.” Indeed, I feel so alive when I am on the road. Every car that stops is an opportunity to live a new experience, to meet a new person, to listen to a new story.
On the road, I also feel I might luck out, and really score big, like the time in the South I got a ride with funk band and they took me on tour for three days. That was fun!
Nara (left), her Saudi Arabian friends (backseat) and Grardel on Big Sur's Route 1, one of America's most popular roads. photo: A. Grardel Perhaps you?
The next time you see a hitchhiker on the side of the road, think about it: he, she or non-binary might have been waiting for a long time. There might be a great adventure waiting for both of you.
Also, if you hitchhike yourself, make sure to be nice enough so that your driver wants to keep picking up hitchhikers.
I might be waiting down the road.
Alex Grardel is a French journalist specializing in hitchhiking, living in Paris and working at turning his stories into podcasts and books. Follow him at [email protected] or his blog
Posted on Apr 13, 2020 - 10:02 PM
