6. Putting the hitch in hiking

Person of the week: The European Lady

BONUS PERSON OF THE WEEK: GMC Guy

As previously mentioned, following day one (and Bill saving our hike), we were only carrying half of our food with us. For some reason the levels of our metaphorical grain silos maintained a consistent decline from day to day, and we eventually needed to resupply. With no better plan, we intended to hitchhike into town. We had no idea how much of the day that would consume, so we intentionally put ourselves a bit ahead of schedule in case we weren’t able to cover much ground that day.

Our food had been shipped to Helen, Georgia, and we stumbled onto the road leading into town and the adjoining parking area around midday. There were two older men sitting in a truck having lunch on one end; on the opposite end was another car, which appeared to be empty. After standing in the middle of the gravel lot for a bit, hoping we might just be majestically teleported to the Helen post office, we decided to approach the men in the truck.

Trying to avoid any sort of imposition, we asked through the open window:

 

Either me or Chandler: “Excuse me sir, do you know how to get to Helen from here?”

 

The guy in the driver’s seat: (Pointing) “Yeah, it’s about five to ten minutes right up that road.”

 

A little disappointed that our intentions weren’t communicated through the combination of our question and appearance, we nodded and tried to look like we were thinking. Then, realizing our meaning, he added:

 

The guy in the driver’s seat: “I would drive y’all up there, but we’re having our lunch here and then headed towards Blairsville, which is in the other direction.”

 

It wasn’t a thrilling answer, but, glad to have a definitive one, we thanked him and turned away. As we walked away from the truck, two ladies came out from the trail entrance at the far end—near the other car—and started reading over the information board there. Chandler and I talked for a moment about whether or not to ask them, conscious that it could be pretty uncomfortable for them. Realizing that they were our only hope for an indeterminate amount of time, we decided to give it a shot, very prepared to take no for an answer.

Walking over to them, we tried to explain our situation as fully as possible, eventually coming to say that we were looking for a ride into Helen. Only one of the ladies spoke; she was very kind, but clearly uncomfortable. She told us that she was from Europe and that, had we approached her there, she would’ve taken us in an instant; apparently hitchhikers are a lot more trustworthy across the Atlantic. However, in the United States, she had been warned several times not to pick anyone up on the side of the road. Yet she wanted to help us.

We were really trying not to put her under any pressure, and we told her that we understood her situation and would seek a ride from someone else. She looked around the lot and saw that nobody else was there—other than the truck, whom we told her we had already asked—and she told us that she really did want to help us out. We told her we’d really appreciate it if she could, be she didn’t have to. Second guessing her partial offer, she lamented her confliction.

After a bit, she very graciously—albeit quite uneasily—offered to drive us into Helen. Her self doubt briefly returned when we asked if we could put our packs in the trunk, but the four of us were soon comfortably seated in the car. We’re pretty sure she had the car’s hands-free phone dialed and ready to call someone the whole time, but she and her friend both became noticeably less tense as we talked. We told her about our school, our homes, and our trip, and she told us that she was a professor at a small college in the area. By the end of the drive, I think we were all friends.

At the Helen post office we thanked them for the ride, saying that we didn’t expect them to wait for us. She said that they were having lunch in town and offered to give us her phone number in case they were still around when we were ready. We gratefully accepted. Writing on the back of a business card, she made the remark to her friend, “Oh, I should probably give them my american number.” I’m not sure what that means for what followed, but we would later notice—when we tried the number and, if I remember correctly, it wasn’t active (Something was off about it. If it wasn’t inactive, it went to an unprogrammed voicemail.)—that it ended in 4 of the same digit. Whether intentionally fake or some misunderstanding, we were and still are very thankful for her willingness to drive us into town.

In the post office we picked up the package that Bill had sent ahead to be held and sorted through our food. We determined what we would need for the rest of the trip and shipped the rest back home. Unsure of our next move, we went over to the gas station next door, replaced the cash we’d just spent (so we could pay Ron for the ride back to Atlanta), picked up some snacks, and sat down to enjoy them outside a mini-golf place. After a bit we decided that we ought to try to get back to the trail, so we put on our packs and walked back to the post office.

We were standing in the parking lot, trying to think up a solution to the issue at hand, when an older man in a nice-looking GMC Yukon pulled up beside us:

 

The man: “You guys hikers?”

 

Us: “Yeah.”

 

The man: “You need a ride back to the trail?”

 

Us: “Yeah!”

 

The man: “Wait right here. I gotta run home quick and I’ll be back in about 15 minutes!”

 

As I’m sure you can see, by no work or wisdom of our own, salvation fell right into our laps on several occasions over the course of the trip.

So we sat on the curb and, true to his word, the man came cruising back up the road not much later. He stepped out of the car and opened up the trunk, helping us toss our packs in the back. Then we all loaded up and headed towards the trail.

He talked with us all the way and seemed particularly pleased to be driving us; I think Chandler might still have his business card. It wasn’t long before we were back in the gravel lot where we’d started, and we thanked him before he left.

Staring up the trail ahead, we realized that everything had gone much quicker than we’d anticipated; the day was still fairly young. We made the most of the opportunity afforded to us by the kindness of others, covering several more miles that day and keeping a good bit ahead of schedule.