Hitch? Or not to hitch?

There were close to 1,000 runners at the start line, hundreds of volunteers and many on-lookers gathered in Cruz Bay for the start of the 8 Tuff Miles road race.

A helicopter flew overhead during the National Anthem, they had this guy yell into a microphone while people cheered, clapped and carried on. I was there to take pictures of all the commotion because that's what I get paid to do.

And then less than seven minutes later, I was sitting there absolutely alone and the scene was eerily quiet.

The runners had taken off into the hills and the fans left. The two people that promised me a ride to the finish line ditched me in confusion.

I didn't have many options left at that point. I had to get to the finish before the race winner so I could take his picture for the newspaper.

At first, I considered to just quit, walk into a nearby bar and start drinking but it was only 7:23 a.m. Only the wackos would be putting them back at this ridiculous hour.

I didn't quit. I took action.

I did the only thing I could do. I started to walk down the road and I hitched.

Thankfully, a lady I met earlier in the morning's commotion saw me and stopped to pick me up. She knew where I was headed.

Hitch hiking is actually very common on St. John, which is a good thing. All good people on that island. But around here, instead of throwing your thumb out, you just sort of point in the direction you're headed as motorists pass by.

I try to pick up hitch hikers on St. Thomas but it's hard.

Two years ago, a young law clerk who just moved to the island picked up two young drifters on St. Thomas and a few hours later, he was dead. Shot execution style and stuffed into the trunk of his own car.

Pretty gruesome, huh? You think I'm making it up?
The defendants are on trial right now.

It's crazy stuff. You know, hitch hiking and all that jazz. When I was hiking the Appalachian Trail, I relied on people picking me up when I got into town.

When I first moved here, I picked up a few guys walking toward Red Hook and became good friends with one of them, Bill Haynie, who is now a sea captain cruising around the Caribbean. I wonder what the hitch hiker equivalent is out on the water?

Profiling inevitably comes into play here. I hate to say it -- and we all do it -- but I always size up people hitch hiking:

1. Do they look dangerous?
2. Could I beat them in a foot race?
3. Ketchup or mustard on their hot dog? Or both?

I've given my girlfriend strict orders not to pick up hitch hikers unless they are female. I think she told me she had picked up a few of her students one time on the side of the road because if she had not, they would have been late for her class. And we can't have that. No sir.

But it's a tricky thing. I don't have an official stance on it.

On one hand, I don't want to die. On the other, I like to make friends.

Anyway, to finish my 8 Tuff Miles story: the lady who picked me up got me to Coral Bay just in time to take the winner's shot. It didn't run in the paper anyway so in retrospect, I should have gotten drunk.

What a great ending to an uneventful story.