Hitchhiking was once a preferred mode of transportation on Martha’s Vineyard.
Hitchhiking was once a preferred mode of transportation on Martha’s Vineyard. If you had no wheels, no matter. If you had a thumb, you could move. To come to this realization at the age of 14 or 15 was like getting a get-out-of-jail-free card. Suddenly, the whole of the Island was within your reach.
Instead of having to rely on parents, older siblings and driver-age friends, you could set out on your own adventure just by hitting the road and sticking out your hand.
Returning from an Aquinnah beach day along Moshup Trail the road would be filled with our contemporaries walking backwards towards State Road as the sun lowered in the sky with our arms outstretched and thumbs pointing homeward. A station wagon would stop and we would pile in — sandy feet, wet bathing suits and damp towels — and breathlessly thank our benefactors as the car roared off.
Quickly the talk would turn to news of parties that night, people you knew and where you were staying. You felt part of a larger community that made you thrilled with the world and glad you were a part of it.
The safety and comfort I felt hitchhiking across the Vineyard did translate to the larger world as I got older. In 1970, after my freshman year of college, I headed to Europe for 10 weeks with no particular itinerary except to go to Wimbledon and stay a few days with family friends in London. Wimbledon was all I hoped it would be — Rod Laver, Stan Smith, John Newcombe, Illie Nastase, Arthur Ashe were all there and many others. But after a few succeeding days of museums and sightseeing, I ditched my suitcase and bought a backpack.
Reimagining my summer travels, I went through my things and selected a few key items to stuff the backpack with, including a light blanket, T-shirts, bluejeans, two pairs of underwear and a toothbrush, and set off for the European continent.
I caught a boat for Le Havre and then took trains exclusively at the start, going from Paris to Barcelona to the Spanish Gold Coast and up to Nice before stops in Florence, Venice, Rome and a memorable day spent in the ancient past in Pompeii. My ultimate goal was Corfu where I spent two weeks, the last one simply camping out on the beach.
But this is a story about hitchhiking and here’s where it comes back in. I met up with an English girl at the hostel on Corfu and she quickly became my traveling companion. Kat was chatty, five-foot-three, red-haired and 23 years old. A teacher, she had been traveling with a friend from London until she and I decided to hitchhike back to England. I had the confidence of my Vineyard travels to sustain me and we had seen many hitchhikers along the European roads. Word was if you had a Canadian flag stitched to your backpack, you would get picked up more often. The Vietnam War was at its height and our neighbors to the north were simply more popular. We took the overnight ferry from Corfu to Brindisi, located on the heel of Italy’s boot, and set out on foot for points north.
We were youthfully oblivious to the many dangers lurking on the open road, and like dharma bums went where the wind, or vehicles, took us. We were picked up by an empty bus on a deserted stretch of Italian highway bracketed by hot and dusty empty fields that took us to a tiny town on the Adriatic Sea with a name like Margharita. It was festival time and decked out with flowered arches that crowned its narrow main drag.
In Switzerland, we were given a ride in a tiny Opel Kadett that climbed up and down the Alps at a terrifying speed that repeatedly took us to the road’s edge and near disaster. Nights in Dijon and Paris finally led to LeHavre, England, and a bittersweet goodbye.
Armed with this European roadside success, I returned to Philadelphia at summer’s end, determined to hitchhike to the Vineyard by myself to catch what remained of vacation and Island fun. But it wasn’t the same. After one friendly ride I was let out by the side of the road on I-95 in acrid, smoke-stack-marred Paramus, N.J. There I was picked up by an intense Vietnam veteran who only knew how to drive one way — with the pedal to the floor just as he drove an Army jeep through the jungles of Southeast Asia. He dropped me at the off-ramp to the Bronx where the remains of burned-out cars threatened malingerers and the menacing, hollowed-out high rises in the background warned, “Not here.”
I eventually found my way to the Vineyard, somewhat shaken but thankful. I was back on familiar roads and the warm embrace of Island spirits. But the call of the open road? I decided not to answer for a while.
David Lott owns Vineyard Open House Real Estate. He lives in Vineyard Haven.
Comments
Summer of 1971, I shared an
Franceen A. Lyons ARLINGTON, TXSummer of 1971, I shared an Oak Bluffs house with 9 college girls who needed to earn money for college and grad school. We had 2 bikes and zero cars. We hitchhiked to work in Vineyard Haven and Edgartown, beginning at 5:30 a.m. and ending after restaurants closed in Edgartown. Our waitress outfits gave us away. It was safe, even late at night. And one girl was picked up by James Taylor, driving a beat up small truck. Looking back on those days, I can't believe I did that, usually alone. Ah... the good old days on the Vineyard.
The last place I ever hitch
Adam Kaye Oakland CAThe last place I ever hitch hiked was on the Vineyard in 1991. After spending time on the Vineyard in the early 1980’s, and having not been there for a few years, I headed out with my girlfriend (now wife of 30 years) to the Vineyard to visit some friends, and our thumbs were our preferred mode of transportation. Funny, I told my daughter this story today, before reading this article.
Having now lived in California for 34 years, it was my last time on the island. I miss it and dream about it often. I think 2024 is the year. I can’t wait. Thanks for the article.
I have no idea where this
Dorothy R Edgartown-Paramus NJI have no idea where this person was dropped off but it definitely wasn’t Paramus, NJ. I-95 does travel through an industrial corridor and even past Newark airport but it does not go anywhere near Paramus.
Dorothy, thank you for your
David Lott Vineyard HavenDorothy, thank you for your comment. I should have been more specific--rather having been dropped off IN Paramus, I was left near a sign signaling a turn-off TO Paramus. A big difference, sorry for any slight towards Paramus. That industrial area on the Jersey Turnpike in the '70s, by the way, had such acrid air that when driving through it, our family made sure to have the car windows wound up tight. On some days, though, even that precaution wasn't enough. Thanks for reading!
I really did enjoy your story
Dorothy Edgartown/ParamusI really did enjoy your story. Guess that whole Jersey Shore nonsense has us a bit touchy.
I can commiserate with your description, children in the early 70s, we’d try to hold our breath for entire length of that industrial section.
Sadly it hasn’t improved all that much.
Cute story, but I-95 doesn’t
Jersey Girl PA/KatamaCute story, but I-95 doesn’t go through Paramus NJ, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t filled with smokestacks in the 70s.
It's hard to believe now but
Oak Bluffs Grandma Oak BluffsIt's hard to believe now but when I worked summer jobs here in the 80's, I would regularly pick up couples who had gone out for dinner and needed to hitch a ride back to where they were staying. There was no Uber and a taxi meant a phone call and a wait. When my car was in the shop here, I myself then hitchhiked every day to work that week. Women and men both picked up hitchhikers then. It's been a long time since since I've seen a hitchhiker. It takes a belief in the goodness of humanity to get into the car of a stranger.
David Tenenbaum, Aquinnah
David Tenenbaum Aquinnah/WisconsinDavid Tenenbaum, Aquinnah/Wisconsin
Hitching on the Vineyard in the early 60s sent me up for four or five memorable years of hitchhiking on continental US. My sister, Jane, and I hitched from New York through Canada, down the coast and memorable couple of weeks in the summer of love in San Francisco. In the following years I made for cross-country trips between Wisconsin and California. Looking back, hitchhiking seems too good to be true. In that time I had three rides worth 2000 miles apiece I met a priest and the ex-con he was helping out as we drove from Nevada to Cleveland in an astonishingly fast and reputable Volvo. I got stuffed in the backseat of a VW bug with luggage for two college students headed to Ohio. I rode 1000 miles in an Econoline van where you had to feed the radiator every 10 miles or so. 1000 miles out from Berkeley, I bought a 49 Chevy pick up from a friend in Laramie, and drove it for the next 10 years. I skirted legal disaster with a couple of Vietnam vets, who did not give a damn about much of anything, in the parched plains of Oklahoma at the end of the democratic convention in Chicago. Hitching on the Vineyard was liberating in every sense of the term.
As a child, and accompanied
Hugh Taylor Gay HeadAs a child, and accompanied by my older brothers, I was shown the freedom of hitchhiking at about 6 years old. Nearly everyone driving around up-island in those days knew who we were and happily stopped…well, maybe not happily. Throughout our childhood summers we would think nothing of thumbing to O.B or over to Edgartown to by penny candy at the Country Store. As we got older and the outings would spill over into night, we thought nothing of walking home from West Tisbury or Menemsha as the traffic dwindled after twilight. This freedom to self motivate, like being able to go most anywhere a boat could take you, at these early ages, was what shaped us and drew us back here to make permanent homes.
I guess it’s still safe, for riders and drivers, if it weren’t for the fact that a car has to stop in this crushing traffic to make it all happen.
Maybe more hitchhiking would mitigate the traffic….hmm?
Hugh! The Wiesners lent me
Jane Tenenbaum Cambridge MA and AquinnahHugh! The Wiesners lent me their army jeep one summer, and you taught me how to drive it! I think you were about 8 years old -- or less.
Hugh, such memories! My
Dorothy Straight Chilmark and NewburyHugh, such memories! My father, till the end of his life, could never resist an upturned thumb and whoever might be attached to it. Once in the late '70s, on Middle Road, I think, he picked up an older fellow who was scruffily dressed (though weren't we all, then as now?) and appeared down on his luck. It turned out he was J. P. Elder, a professor of Classics and former dean at Harvard, in whose Latin classes I always made sure to enroll for an easy A....
I think you used to give me a
Carol formerly ChilmarkI think you used to give me a ride home to Abel's Hill sometimes after I was done shucking scallops in Menemsha in the winter, back in 1974-75. Thanks!
I am now in my 70s and fondly
Darrell King EdgartownI am now in my 70s and fondly remember hitching many times in the '70s and '80s before there was 'regular' bus service here on the Island. The last two times I hitched were just before COVID, both times being passed by many cars before being picked up, once by a woman from India and once by a black man (who said he was Obama's caddy). That says something about today's society, since I am white.
Did a little hitch-hiking
Sara Oak BluffsDid a little hitch-hiking myself in the '70s here, but I did have a car that was chronically in the shop. In fact, the "shopkeeper" used to pick me up hitchhiking in my own car! Also I got a reasonably unforgettable ride down Beach Road from OB to Edgartown with Craig Kingsbury, whatever year it was that he was actually driving a licensed truck on the roads. Bemusedly he did introduce himself to me; said, "you might have heard of me." Must have been very early on my residency because I naively told him, "No," and the stories started. I really do miss those days.
A few years ago, I picked up
Allen Karaniuk Plymouth NH /KatamaA few years ago, I picked up a high school kid that was hitch hiking, dropped him off where he wanted to go. Made me feel good doing something nice for a perfect stranger.
Sometime later, I stop to pickup an older man hitch hiking. He was carrying a large duffle bag. He hops in and says I shouldn't worry, there isn't a dead body in the duffle bag.
He said he was homeless but had a daughter living on the island he was hoping to visit but she didn't want to see him. It was obvious that he was suffering from mental issues. I tried to avoid anymore conversation with him. I did drop him off at his destination . It was also the last time I ever picked up somebody that was hitch hiking.
I do see a few people with their thumbs out. I feel bad for someone who doesn't have a couple of bucks for bus fair. But one bad experience has soured me . Instead of feeling positive about helping a fellow human being, to being scared of a stranger sitting 18 inches away.
I often hitched in the 70-80.
Sam C friend of Franny P Edgartown and West TisburyI often hitched in the 70-80. So many good stories. I was picked up by a Jeep with the front window down and an older women 50’s. I was in my early 30’s. 50’s seemed old. Not now! Nice memories and stories. John Belyshi use to hitch from Upisland to Vinehaven for soup and a sandwich. He said the Vineyard was the only place to quieted his thoughts. Now that time is gone like land line phones.
In August of 1972, right
Bob Magill Fort Collins, ColoradoIn August of 1972, right before I started college, I camped at Webbs campground and hitchhiked all over the island for two weeks. I got picked up by alot of fascinating folks and always felt safe. I Still remember that time vividly.
I was well into my thirties
Rational Person OAK BLUFFSI was well into my thirties when I moved here in the 1990's. I had spent most of my youth and college years hitchhiking all over New England and would often hitch here. Always carried a knife in my right side pocket, only had to threaten to use it once on route 89 near White River Junction , VT. Met many good people over the years and lament today's society which thinks it's dangerous. No cell phones back in the day. We just figured it out
My main mode of
Larry King DuxburyMy main mode of transportation during those early years living on the Vineyard, and my occasional trip off island, was my thumb. I once went on an adventure that took me to Boston, the New York State Thruway, Windsor Ontario, Detroit, Columbus and Oberlin and then back to the Vineyard over a two week period. Just me, my thumb, a little cash and a back pack. Now that was an adventure!
My husband and I picked a
Lulu West TisburyMy husband and I picked a hitchhiker up last week on the Edgartown/WT Rd. Spontaneous and a great thing to do for all involved. Forget Uber .. we should all hitchhike!
Vineyard Hitch-hiking
Robert Tobey Greenfield MAVineyard Hitch-hiking
50+ years ago, as I began my year-round time on the Vineyard (1971), I was also beginning my serious devotion to photography. Just 21, and proudly hippie, I was living a pretty giddy, catch-as-catch-can life, on the margins, and getting by on whatever I happened to have in my pocket. Owning an auto was comfortably beyond my reach, and so, to get around, I depended mostly upon the hitch-hiker’s magic thumb, and the kindness of passing strangers. Quickly I discovered two wonderful benefits to what many would have thought of as hardship, deprivation: Hitch-hiking was a kind of social lottery, because there was no telling who would pick you up, but those that did, by natural selection, were (mostly) inclined to be generous, good-hearted souls—so quite by chance, your social circle expanded in a nice way. The other great boon was, surprisingly, professional: As I walked toward wherever home was (and I think, because of the up and down, winter/summer economy of the Vineyard, I lived in perhaps 9 different spots in my first two years), I was helplessly (but happily) exposed to long lingering stretches of lovely landscape, that would have been blindly a blur had I been encased in a car—I found fine photographs right there by the side of the road! AND, after being picked up by some good soul, I was often dropped off in a surprising novel location, where there might also be found unique, unsuspected photographic treasures. All in all, it was a remarkable time, not just for me in terms of social relations (the next person you meet might change your life, or at least offer you a cheap place to stay), my understanding of photo dynamics (great photos are to be found in the most unintended places), but in the level of trust that existed then on the Vineyard. I do hope some of that homey, familial faith remains.
Robert Tobey
My brother and I spent our
Brian Cullinane Fairfax, CaMy brother and I spent our summers back in the 1970's painting houses on the Vineyard for Joe Grillo. Great memories!! The only way for us to get around was to hitchhike. I remember hitching to Chilmark from Menemsha one time when a iconic 1970's blue Jeep Cherokee (with the wood paneling) stopped to give me a ride. Turns out the driver was Carly Simon's Mom. She was charming and delightful! Another time James Taylor gave us a ride in tan colored International pick -up. Unfortunately, my sister Linda got to ride in the cab while my brother and I sat in the back... Haven't been back to the Island since then. Hopefully it hasn't turned into Falmouth.
As an adolescent in the early
Donald Miller West TisburyAs an adolescent in the early '60's I hitchhiked around the Vineyard during my family's annual Menemsha vacations. One ride I'll never forget was on North Road. A police officer stopped. My heart sank as all I knew from cops at that point was that they nabbed pot smokers (like me) and put them away for years. Instead, he opened the door and asked me where I was headed. I replied "to miniature golf" in VH where he gently dropped me off.
I tell the story often of
Nalda BostonI tell the story often of hitchhiking in the early 2000's from the VH Ferry to OB in the off-season. I'd run off the ferry and hurry to 5 corners and start my journey as cars left the ferry. As the first car passed me by I'd say to myself: "hey I'm a middle aged woman with a Vera Bradley overnight bag. If you don't pick me up, who would you pick up?" Pretty quickly I'd get a ride, almost always from an island year-round resident and always we had a tale to share. Twenty years hence, I pick up the all to rare hitchhiker in solidarity with all who helped me. A belated and heartfelt thanks to a true community.
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