“Hitchhiking - this is when you go out onto the track and freeze there,” my roommate said, and looked at me slyly. I made up my mind, and one day we rushed to Peter by hitchhiking. We left in the morning, reached the station and... spent the last money on electric train tickets. We visited the cultural capital, met friends, but we still had to move backward by hitchhiking. As ill luck would have it, the north wind blew in and, despite April, some kind of salty snowstorm began. At the same moment, we froze to the road and forgot that we needed to make a lot of effort to stop those who want to give us a ride. Earlier I used to think, that it's not so difficult for girls, that cuteness will provide at least comfort on the road, but because of the blizzard our faces were not visible, and there was little chance of acting on our appearance.
Fortune smiled at us thirty minutes later. All this time we screamed, trying to reach the icy hearts of motorists, and also jumped so they could see the frozen girls. At last, it happened. The compassionate trucker, looking with kind eyes, seated us next to him, gave us hot coffee, thanks to which we finally began to talk normally, and set the condition: we should tell stories all the way. Many truckers take “riders” so it is not boring to go. They like to chat themselves too.
After our dormitory tales about unhappy loves, our benefactor spoke about his childhood, youth and wife, then began to ask questions. We were so glad that we finally warmed ourselves up, and because of close prospects to be at home, in Moscow, with friends to whom we wanted so much to tell everything, that at first, we listened meekly and even gratefully, but after two hours our enthusiasm ran out, so I and a friend began again, embarrassed and confused, to “poison” the stories, just to silence him. We were afraid that he would force us to get out of the car for such a frank pretense.
The driver somehow understood our fears, promised not to drop us out of the car and fell silent himself. He wanted to listen to his favorite radio “Russian Chanson”. After that, we felt bad. “Lesopoval”, Lyubov Uspenskaya, Mikhail Krug - the songs of a certain genre rattled loudly, periodically interrupted by calls from outside. Someone ordered them a second time, sent greetings, once even our trucker received greetings, and he was glad of this unspeakably. For ten hours, these piercing sounds got us so much 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.
We already calmly thought about the blizzard and the cold, just not to hear Russian-Chanson works. Having reached the nearest traffic police post, we, having hardly moved our cramped legs, got out, getting goodbye a piece of good advice to ask to take us to the cars when the traffic police inspector stops them. Our driver was a reasonable and experienced person, but he did not warn that we might have competitors. Near the road next to the inspectors stood two guys in military uniform and were hitchhiking too. We went to chat but did not see much desire to communicate on their part.
It turned out, according to the law of the route, not over two people should catch transport; otherwise, drivers will not take hitchhikers in the car. Nobody wants to take a bunch of people into the car. My friend and I, accustomed to the increased attention of the guys, were offended, but still had to move away from the unfriendly colleagues. Our next driver was the owner of the car. Such people do not always see young people on the roads and are very surprised when they meet ones. We, in puffy jackets, in crumpled jeans and caps to the eyes looked like fifteen-year-old abandoned girls who unexpectedly were left without parents.
He hurriedly gave each of us a sandwich which was very helpful, because the hunger was becoming almost unbearable, and, worried, began to ask where and why we were going. When we said that we were returning to Moscow, he was surprised and gave a lecture on disobeying parents and that one should not stupidly seek adventures on his... head, as it could be fraught with danger. We were so tired that we did not take his words seriously, but took into account the dangers for the future. We drove with this talker for four hours; he exhausted us incredibly; it's just amazing how many words people can pour, and not smart ones.
When we were again dropped off in a small town near Moscow, we fell from fatigue and the desire to sleep. Swollen and lethargic from intermittent sleep, we crawled into the first eatery that came across. Having bought a pie and a cup of bad instant coffee in plastic cups, we sat down on spat benches and suddenly saw those same guys-hitchhikers who were so impolite with us at the traffic police post. We, proud and unapproachable, tried to pretend that we did not notice them, but they came to us and turned out to be so sociable that they made us forget about the unpleasant things. The four of us talked for a long time in the cafe until it began to close.
We went outside again, plunging headlong into the cold, and then (I’ve done it!) I proposed to arrange a competition on the highway and find out whose struggle for cars would be more fruitful. Our companions agreed. A crazy race has begun. There were only two hours left to go to Moscow, and during this time my friend and I changed seven cars, and our rivals got about ten. Often we caught another private car owner twenty meters apart. As a result, we, as girls whom drivers are still more willing to take, were luckier, and we got faster. Thus, hitchhiking is not at all scary and not so dangerous occupation. For curious students who do not have money for tickets even in common wagons, this is the best way to travel. You see a lot, talk a lot, have a lot of emotions - is that bad?