"Hitchhiking - this is when you go out on the track and froze there," my roommate said, and looked at me slyly. I made up my mind, and one day we rushed to Peter. We left in the morning, we reached the station and ... decided to spend the last money on the train. We visited the cultural capital, we saw our friends, but we still had to move backward with a stop. As luck would have it, the north wind blew in and, despite April, a salty snowstorm began. We immediately got to the road and forgot that we need to make a lot of efforts to stop those who want to give us a ride. I used to think that girls are not so difficult, that sympathy will provide at least comfort on the road, but because of the blizzard of our faces were not visible, and the chance to act on the exterior was small.
Luck smiled at us in thirty minutes. All this time we yelled, trying to reach the icy hearts of motorists, and also jumped so they could see the frozen girls. In the end, it happened. The compassionate trucker, looking with kind eyes, put us next to him, gave us hot coffee, thanks to which we all began to talk normally, and set the condition: we should tell stories all the way. Many truckers take "riders", so as not to be bored to go. They like to talk for themselves. After our tales about unhappy loves, our benefactor told us about his childhood, his youth and his wife, then began to ask questions. We were so pleased that we finally managed to get warm, and also the near-term prospect of being home in Moscow, with friends whom so wanted to tell everything that at first without a murmur and even thankfully listened, but after two hours our enthusiasm dried up, so I and the girlfriend again began to inconsistently "etch" the stories, just to make him shut up. At the same time, we were terribly afraid that he would drop us out for such a frank pretense.
The driver somehow understood our fears, promised not to land and fell silent himself. Moreover, he wanted to listen to his favorite radio "Russian chanson". Then it became bad for us. "Lesopoval", Lyubov Uspenskaya, Mikhail Krug - the songs of a certain genre rattled in all throat, periodically interrupted by calls from outside. Someone ordered them for the second time, passed greetings, once greetings were received even by our trucker, and he was glad of this endlessly. In ten hours we were so taken by these piercing sounds that we already wanted to get out to the open air, out of the stuffy interior where the thick smells of skin, sweat and sour milk were nesting. It was already calmly thinking about the blizzards and the cold, just not to hear the Russian-Chanson works. Having reached the nearest DPS, we, having hardly moved our cramped legs, got out, having received with good-bye a good advice to ask for cars when the road-worker stops them. Our driver was reasonable and, apparently, an experienced man, but he did not warn us that we might have competitors. By the road near the inspectors there were two guys in uniform and also hitchhiking. We came to chat, but they did not see any special desire to communicate with us.
It turned out, according to the law of the route, no more than two people should catch transport, otherwise they will not simply take it. Nobody wants to take a bunch of people into the car. I and a girlfriend, accustomed to the increased attention of the guys, were offended, but still had to move away from spiteful colleagues. Our next driver was a private driver. Such people do not always see young people on the roads and are very surprised when they meet ones. We, in blown jackets, in crumpled jeans and caps to the eyes, looked like fifteen-year-old abandoned girls, unexpectedly left without their parents. He hurriedly gave us a sandwich, which was very helpful, because the hunger became almost unbearable, and, worried, began to ask where and why we were going. When we said that we were returning to Moscow, he was terribly surprised and gave a lecture on disobeying parents and the fact that one should not go around looking for adventures on his ... head, as it could be fraught. We were so tired that we did not take his words seriously, but the presence of dangers took into account for the future. With this talker, we traveled for four hours, he exhausted us incredibly - it's just amazing how many words people can pour, and not quite clever.
When we were again landed in a small town near Moscow, we simply fell from our feet with fatigue and a desire to sleep. Puffy and sluggish with intermittent sleep, we literally crawled into the first snack bar. Having bought a pie and a cup of badly soluble coffee in plastic cups, we sat down on spilled benches and suddenly saw those same guys who were so rude to treating us at the DPS post. Of course, we, proud and unapproachable, tried to pretend that we did not notice them, but they approached us and turned out to be so sociable that they made us forget about the unpleasant experience in communication. The four of us talked for a long time in the cafe until it began to close. We went out into the street again, plunged headlong into the cold, and then (I managed to do it!) I proposed to arrange a competition on the road and find out whose struggle for the cars would be more fruitful. Our companions agreed. A crazy race began. It took only two hours to get to Moscow, and during this time I and my girlfriend changed seven cars, and our rivals - ten. Often we caught another driver twenty meters apart. In the end, we, as girls who are still more willing to take, were more lucky, and we got faster. Thus, hitchhiking is not at all a terrible and not such a dangerous occupation. For curious students who do not have money for tickets, even in common cars - this is the best way to travel. You see a lot, talk a lot, have a lot of emotions - is it bad?Yakhan Izyan