“The Happy Hiker: a summer of thumbing it in Door county” from the December 6, 1979 Door County Advocate
By HAROLD M. GRUTZMACHER
The Happy Hiker: a summer of thumbing it in Door county
By HAROLD M. GRUTZMACHER
Unless you drive an automobile in Door county you are simply immobilized. Even when the bus line determines that it is all right for its vehicles to operate the service is limited and not much use to a person who must meet a schedule. For anything over a few miles the bicycle is impractical and the motor scooter only slightly more desirable.
Ephraim is a pleasant place to live but Sturgeon Bay is where I work. During my non-driving summer I could get to Sturgeon Bay four mornings a week. My wife was attending UWGB and her morning schedule coincided with mine. But she came back through Sturgeon Bay in the early afternoon. There was no point in her waiting three or four hours for me; she had work to do at home. There remained the time-honored if not quite honorable use of the thumb and foot, “Hitching a ride” as the song goes.
There were some factors in my favor: there was no specific time that I had to arrive at Ephraim; supper could wait; leaving Sturgeon Bay at 5 p.m. meant that I’d have a sizeable number of cars going north; and it was summer — weather would not be a problem except for afternoon thundershowers. So at 5:05 p.m. on a Monday afternoon in early June I stood near the Piggy Wiggly on Jefferson Street and tried my luck. Three rides and 45 minutes later I was home, surprised and proud.
The first question, of the many I was asked; was “How far do you walk?” The answer was obvious, at least to me. I didn’t walk at all. There wasn’t any way I could walk from Sturgeon Bay to Ephraim, certainly not in a reasonable time. So there wasn’t much point in shuffling along for a mile or two, or a block or two, for that matter. I stood in one place and waited, with a hopeful smile and a slight nervousness that I never overcame. The rides materialized and another question was answered. Almost invariably I was asked how I felt about hitchhiking. Near the end of the trip I felt very good indeed. I had triumphed. I was home. I had made it.
During the rest of the summer that feeling occurred every evening. The trip took longer than an hour only twice, and both times rain caused the delay. Once I was caught out in the open but the maple trees at the Old School Winery gave some protection. The other time a friendly awning in Egg Harbor saved me from getting wet at all. The record trip was 30 minutes door to door. A driver’s dental appointment was the reason for haste. I held on tight, closed my eyes only twice in the light traffic, and walked a bit unsteadily into the house with a real sense of being glad to be alive and in good health.
Most of my hosts were local drivers. People from Milwaukee and Chicago are not inclined to pick up riders, even clean-cut, smiling, middle-aged ones. A treasured bit of conversation with a young Chicago van driver went something like this: Hiker: “Thanks a lot. I don’t get many rides from Illinois drivers.”: Driver: “Anytime. They probably get suspicious since you’re pretty old for hitchhiking.” I don’t remember my response, if there was one; it probably was about the weather.
Age came up quite often in the traveling conversations. A young person on the road can be assumed not to own an automobile or to be on a walking tour. But everyone else drives, at least everyone who is no longer young. Drivers were understandably curious, and almost all of them found a way to ask. I developed a standard reply about my wife’s schedule not gibing with mine.
A few chauvinists sniffed at this but most were satisfied with my few short sentences and we got on to other subjects, if the driver was inclined to talk — and most were.
I heard how difficult it was to be a bookkeeper for a small business, what the evening was going to be like for a man who did not get along with his wife, a variety of speculations about the cherry and apple crops, and many interesting, if unpublishable, . judgments on a large number of Sturgeon Bay foremen, managers, and business owners.
Many of my rides were interesting but some of the best were with the sheriff of Door County. Riding with Baldy was not really hitchhiking; the trips were pre-arranged. My wife did not have classes on Friday and morning traffic from Ephraim to Sturgeon Bay ranged from light to nonexistent.
Since Baldy lives two blocks from me it was logical to ask him if he would mind my company. So each Friday at 6:45 a.m. we got in the car at the Village Green in Ephraim and departed for Sturgeon Bay, after Baldy radioed “100 in the car.”
One morning we had hardly settled down before Baldy pulled to a sharp stop at the water’s edge north of Peninsula Park. “Take a look and see what that is,” he said gruffly, pointing to a large object in the water. When Baldy speaks, people listen; I’m no exception.
I got out, clambered as skillfully as possible down the embankment, and determined that a log covered with seaweed was caught in the shallows. I negotiated the climb back to the car and reported in. Baldy pulled on to the highway with “Oh, thought it might be a body. You never know.” I later found out that a boater was missing but I never found out why he sent me to investigate.
The best incident occurred on a clear August morning. We were south of Egg Harbor on 42, cruising along at just over 55. We were discussing Gibraltar’s chances in the upcoming football season when Baldy said “Here comes one.” He was looking in the rear view mirror.
I turned around and saw a car coming up fast behind us. Baldy was smiling broadly. He held his unmarked car at 55 and we waited. As the car came up and pulled along side us, Baldy placed his red flasher on the dash board and looked at the other driver. I don’t think the poor man even saw the red light. He did see, and recognize, Baldy. Oh, to have had a camera to capture that instant, that look of utter despair. Everything else was anticlimax.
The summer drew to a close and so did my dependence upon other people for transportation. It was pleasant, once again, to be certain of arrival time and to be sure that rain wasn’t going to fall on my unprotected head. But the hitchhiking summer was a safe adventure for a middle-aged man and I put my thumb down with a little misgiving. I made some new acquaintances, found out a good deal more about Door county and its inhabitants, and always got home for supper.
Courtesy of the Door County Library Newspaper Archive
Articles about hitchhiking:
https://doorcounty.substack.com/t/hitchhiking