Hitchhike Attempt #2

When last we spoke, I was still in Sydney, fighting the magnetic pull of fate and wondering if I'd ever see any other part of Australia. I wanted crocs and kangaroos and outback, dammit! When oh when do I get to see all the marsupials and homicidal reptiles?

I've got to take the train out of Sydney. It's the only way I'm ever going to get to a proper spot to hitchhike. I'm told Hornsby is a good place to start. I don't have a clue how much the train is gonna cost and I'm pretty sure I had about $14 at this point. I walk 2 or 3 Ks to Bondi Junction instead of catching the bus, just to save a few bucks. As I'm approaching the train depot, a shop that buys scrap gold jogs my memory: I'm carrying around a gold tooth I found at the bottom of a dusty convenience store candy box about 6 or 7 years ago. This might just be my ticket out of Sydney.

It was only 16 karot and I walk out with $40 cash. I splurge on a pair of sorely needed fingernail clippers and head to the train station. I buy the ticket at the student discount and it's only $3.80. Didn't need that 40 bucks after all.

The trains are all triple decker and there's tons of room to spread out. I do sudoku and/or crossword puzzles and don't realize I'm on the wrong train until we've already backtracked 4 or 5 stops. Sooner or later, I get to Hornsby. Just about dusk, as luck would have it.

Hornsby has an older, touristy section occupying one or two streets on the west side of town and a big fat shopping mall on the east side of the tracks. I wander around both, still scoping out somewhere to stand with my arm and pointy finger casually extended (i'm told the thumb technique is all wrong), and still end up with squat to show for it. I do get a fantastic deal on personal size savory pies at this place called Pie Face in the mall. Everything was a buck at closing time! I'd been passing these shops all over Sydney and they always smelled like hot, buttered scrumtrulescense. I think I got the thai chicken and the steak and cheese. For those who are wondering, yes, I've put vegetarianism on the shelf for now. When you're penniless and starving and a million miles from home, being picky about what you put in your gut seems completely frivolous. I stow the pies away for later, along with my supply of peanut butter, jam and bread. I start walking down what I think is the Pacific Highway, the one that's supposed to head North to warmer climates and, hopefully, dangerous wild animals. The "highway" looks so suburban, it seems silly to try hitching. I can't find a street sign so i just keep on walking. It's getting pretty dark by this time, and I find a good spot not far from a McDonalds with a big streetlight overhead. After grabbing a coffee, I get comfy on the curb, hold up my sign and wait.

And wait. And wait. I was probably sitting around for an hour or so when Brydette rolled up. She says she can't give me a ride and hands me a twenty dollar bill instead.

I thank her profusely and make her pronounce and spell her name several times so that I'll remember when I'm writing about it later. Thanks Brydette!
The next person who stops lives a half a block away and he arrives on foot. He's seen me on his way home from work, thinks I'm in some sort of distress and has come to rescue me. His name is George. I'm sure he means well. He's very sincere. Forty five minutes later, he's driven me to the ACTUAL Pacific Highway, which runs parallel to my fake Pacific Highway, and left me with a full presentation of some multi-level marketing scheme, a plastic "coin of unfathomable value" with jesus' face on one side, and a wallet size prayer card. I think I made his night. You're welcome George!

It turns out George doesn't know jack about hitchhiking. That makes two of us I guess. The place he drops me has cars flying by at 120 KPH in the pitch black freezing cold. I stand there for a while, hoping someone will spot me with their high beams, but eventually decide I've got to go elsewhere. It's either climb back up the ramp in defeat, or head straight up the highway and find a better place to get a lift. Playing it safe hadn't gotten me anywhere yet, so I choose sheer stupidity. I flip on the flashlight and start hiking down the shoulder, over broken glass and other trash, sticking out my finger and pulling it back when the trucks seem close enough to rip it off. The only song that seems appropriate is "Walking After Midnight" and I sing/whistle/hum the tune on repeat for hours.

This is where things get a bit fuzzy. Somehow I end up walking to a dinky little town called Berowra. I either see or hallucinate a bunny rabbit hopping around in the street ahead of me. I find a bus shelter and sit around eating PB&Js for an hour or so. It's about 4 in the morning when I decide to find the train and ride further north, partly hoping that I'll locate a better place to solicit rides but mostly just to get out of the frigid wind.

I may or may not have seen a wild animal, I'm definitely not in Sydney anymore, and though I haven't yet been successful at getting a lift from a stranger, it's not for lack of trying.

PS: I just realized my story sounds contradictory. Yes, George was a stranger and he did give me a ride, but seemingly only for the purpose of talking my ear off and "saving" me from imagined calamity, both physical and spiritual. Total drive time was about 2 minutes and I really could have walked if he had only pointed the way. Now I just sound like an ungrateful jackass.