Hitch-free

It was a beautiful, warm autumn Saturday on the coast path from Weymouth to Lulworth Cove.  We walked along with hardly a care in the world.  Except, that is, the nagging thought of how we were going to get back.

I guess that, not so long ago, there would have been a bus.  But such services have shrunk in response to financial cuts and the seemingly inexorable rise in car use. 

I’d rung a taxi firm, who would be very happy to take us back.…for £35.  Which seemed even steeper than the Dorset cliffs that we had scrambled over for 12 miles.

So we began to consider hitching.  It seemed a good plan, but when we reached Lulworth, I began to have my doubts.   It’s one thing having a romantic notion of sticking your thumb out.  But doing it seemed rather harder.

We considered standing at the exit to the car park.  But it seemed so public, and we feared the humiliation of still being there after an hour, watched with amusement by the queue at the ice-cream kiosk. 

We decided to walk out of the village a little way, and found a quiet spot just before a lay-by.  And, much to my astonishment, the first available car stopped.  In fact I was so taken aback that I assumed they had pulled up for another reason, and I continued standing with my thumb out while Annie opened the door and started chatting to the driver.

She was from Canada and couldn't have been more friendly or accommodating.  She diverted from her intended route to take us to Weymouth, dropping us right back at our car.    

Perhaps we were just lucky.  Although, as we reflected, we would have presented a good bet as hitch-hikers go:  a reasonably-presented, friendly-looking couple in their late 50s.  I guess most people just assumed that our car had broken down.