A Streak of Freedom

I promised myself I would give a hitchhiker a ride. I will, next time. But there was always reason not to. His hair is greasy. There isn’t enough room in the truck. The dogs won’t like it. It’s snowing too hard. Maybe if I had a friend in here with me. The list was never-ending and I stuck to my routine, unsure if my reasons were really because I was afraid.

It had been snowing all night and I decided to head to the mountain to go skiing. My excitement childlike, I loaded the dogs in the truck, piled my skis and boots in back, and threw my old thermos onto the passenger floor. I started the trek up to the mountain, Heart of Gold turned up as loudly as the dogs could stand it. This was our routine in the winter and they happily co-piloted.

I made it around a curve and in the distance saw a figure on the side of the road with a pack and skis. I slowed down, pulled up alongside, and rolled down the window. The man glanced inside; I could see the skepticism on his face. My hair was greasy and my clothes were a neon array of synthetics. He eyed the dogs, unsure of whether they were friendly or not. The man surely must have wondered why I stopped along a curve in a blizzard to give him a lift. It occurred to me that for years I silently judged, always driving past, and the one time I stopped he was going to refuse my offer for the same reasons.

But instead I saw him stare at the falling snowflakes, eyes alight with possibility. Without any questions he threw his belongings in the bed of the truck and climbed inside. The dogs glared and moved to the bench in back. I wondered if it is always this uncomfortable at first, the silence almost unbearable, so I turned Neil back up.

The man began to sing, removing his hat to reveal curly brown hair. He turned to me and asked if I was headed into the backcountry today. His smile was captivating, eyes bright blue. He said he had just got to town and was planning to spend the winter here. I nodded, unable to speak, because I didn’t anticipate my first hitch-hiker to be a dreamy mountain man.

We spent the winter together, every day accented with his smile sparkling beneath his helmet and his carefree spirit showing me how to live. He taught me to became the owner of my freedom. And then one day he was gone, just like the snow that melted in the spring and made the creeks big and flowers grow. I sometimes question if he was real, but now I always stop for hitchhikers, secretly hoping his smile will appear under a hood, and share that streak of freedom he instilled in me with anyone adventurous enough to say yes.