Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • I was walking along this very path with a friend, and we got onto the subject of hitchhiking. We're of a similar age (early fifties) and when we were youngsters, it was still quite common to hitch a lift from a complete stranger.

    I confessed I used to hitch home from school in my school uniform, if I got sick of it. Nine miles, across country. I had a rule: I never got into a car with a solitary male driver.

    (Disturbingly, this is what the serial killers Fred and Rosemary West counted on when they were picking up their victims, at about that time. Luckily for me, they were a whole county away, in Gloucestershire, while I was stomping moodily across Oxfordshire).

    My male companion was more adventurous. From the age of twelve he was hitching from Lincolnshire to Cornwall, mostly in lorries, on his own. He said he only got into trouble twice.

    "The first guy pulled over into a lay-by and suggested certain activities. I said no, and he was ok about it.

    The other one was weird. He unbuttoned his shirt and said "I can lactate, you know." He opened the glove compartment and a lot of bubble gum wrappers fell out. They fell all over the floor. They were printed to look like dollar bills, it was a kind of gum you could get then, I knew what they were. I thought he must be mad. I was about thirteen, fourteen. He said "Look, I'm really rich". He made me drink some, so I did, just to keep him quiet. Then he just buttoned himself up again, and we drove on."
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.