Nine months into an eighteen month sojourn on the Big Island of Hawaii—ostensibly to attend the University of Hawaii in Hilo, though my academic studies took a back seat to cultural exploration—this haoli, or outsider, discovered yet another taboo experience:  hitchhiking.  A close friend suggested a three day-long jaunt down the winding coastline of our island home, and despite being plagued by apprehension at the very idea of setting out so blithely, sans plan of any kind, I said yes with shockingly little hesitation. 

By the time our spring break arrived, what had once been a large group of enthusiastic participants had been whittled down to two:  myself and my adventurous friend, Luis.  I didn’t mind.  Fewer bodies traipsing along the highway meant a greater chance of someone taking pity on us and picking us up.  

We still had no plan and set out from campus on foot, heading toward Kamehameha Highway a few miles away.  I had opted to bring a sleeping bag, but other than the compact black stuff sack tucked under one arm, all of the supplies we would need for the week fit into the two small backpacks slung over our shoulders.  We wore swimming suits, shorts, and slippers in difference to the heat and pleasant humidity; nevertheless, we were sweating within a few minutes.  Again, I didn’t mind.  I was enjoying the spontaneity, the freedom of travel, and for once, a cerulean sky empty of bruised clouds. 

When we reached the highway, a mild case of nerves struck us both, and we temporarily lost the daring that had led us into the situation in the first place.  We continued to walk, joking and jostling each other, speculating on where we should go, both eyeing the steady flow of traffic and gradually reviving the courage necessary to hail a ride.  Luis made the first attempt.  Laughing breathlessly, he hooked one thumb on a strap of his pack and tentatively lifted the other.

Within ten minutes, a truck pulled onto the shoulder. 

Now, at five-foot-eight, my friend Luis was shaped more or less like a teddy bear that had been thinned out some by inconsistent eating habits and the occasional ambitious run.  He was charismatic, had warm brown eyes and an infectious smile, and to this day I still believe that our first hitch had been drawn to us by the powerful combination of these traits.  Of course, it probably hadn’t hurt us any that both the driver and the passenger had been women.