Stephen Krewson | A truly alternative spring break

With the coming of spring break began the part of my life you could call my life on the road.

The afternoon of March 8, 2008 found two college sophomores in Penn T-shirts and bulging backpacks standing by the side of I-495 south of Washington D.C., their thumbs turned skyward in the sun-warmed air. I still can't believe I was one of them.

Looking back, it's unclear exactly why I decided to join my friend David in hitchhiking down to Atlanta.

Perhaps it was his hair-raising stories from previous trips; maybe it was because my other plans had fallen through; or perhaps it was simply the age-old urge to collect one's belongings and set forth to a new place with nothing but fresh legs and an open mind.

It took two days, one night in a Laundromat and 13 rides to reach our friend in Cumming, Ga. and two and a half days and 13 rides to return to the corner of 38th and Spruce streets.

By the end of the journey, I was fluent in the unwritten language of hitchhikers. I had learned to be a student of human behavior, an observer and participant in the endlessly-varied interactions between people who, if just for a moment, cease to be strangers and become fellow travelers on a road that might lead anywhere.

The details stick with you: The first day alone we were picked up by an Indian couple, three Mexicans, a State Trooper who ran our licenses, two crewmembers of Marine One, a tobacco-chewing ex-hitchhiker with almost no teeth and a single mom bringing her two adorable elementary-age daughters back from a birthday party.

Their names were Patience and Hailey and they asked their mom to play Jay-Z's "Hard Knock Life."

Singing along with them as they sucked on candy and sipped Sprite is just one of many memories sure to linger.

There are better, more entertaining ways to spend a spring break - certainly safer. Still, once you've felt the highway turbulence on your skin, tensed at the crunch of a slowing car and experienced the thrill of a friendly wave from the driver's seat, it's hard not to believe in hitchhiking.

In many ways, it's a gospel of nostalgia: a hearkening back to the days of unlocked doors, long Sunday drives and old-fashioned notions of neighborliness. But that's not why you should consider it.

Talk of inner journeys or a restored faith in mankind is facile. Truth is, the world is a big, messed-up place and you have to be on your guard, especially when taking lifts from strangers.

What you get from hitchhiking is perspective - something that's hard to find at home or lounging poolside at a resort.

There are thousands of towns between Philadelphia and Atlanta and tens of thousands of roads, a great web of humanity right under our noses.

We get caught up in our own existence sometimes: too preoccupied with our stuff, our problems, our smug, parochial lives. There are millions of people out there: enough places and stories to make us all feel small.

We were driven from Chattanooga to Knoxville by a man named Kevin whose brother had unexpectedly died the previous day. He was headed to Ohio for the funeral. Kevin told us that he prayed about whether or not to take two college kids on board and something or someone told him that he should.

I like to think that our paths didn't cross by accident - that we were meant to keep him company on perhaps the saddest drive of his life.

If you're reading this, your hitchhiking window is probably still open - if just a crack. Responsibility lurks around the corner, so go now.

Grab your buddy and take the first bus south or whatever direction you please. When you get off, throw your old, cautious self to the wind. Step up to the shoulder, stick out your thumb and smile.

Life's too short not to live part of it on the road.

Stephen Krewson is a College sophomore from Schenectady, N.Y. His e-mail is krewson@dailypennsylvanian.com. Every Other Time appears alternating Tuesdays.

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