Mindful Reflections: Hitchhiking Lessons Part 4 – A Different View

September 21, 2026 | Brian Mitchell

At 5:00 AM, the motel alarm blared and I awoke with a start. I was tired and cloudy of mind, to say the least. Rest had been minimal for much of this trip, and four hours of sleep that night was no exception. But underneath the exhaustion, adrenaline was already pumping. I wanted to get the heck out of Clarksville before the gang of five returned – and preferably without another encounter with the police.

Hitchhiking was apparently illegal in those parts, or at least something local authorities frowned upon. I understood why. Not every long-haired kid standing beside a highway with his thumb out was simply a hard-working young man taking an adventure across this great, free country because he could. I knew who I was and why I was there. The police didn’t.

After a quick shower, I dressed, strapped that heavy pack onto my back and headed into the chilly September morning. I had about a mile to walk before reaching the highway. By the time I got there, I was wide awake and plenty warm.

Looking back now, however, I realize I was running from more than Clarksville.

Those five fellas had done nothing to harm me. Quite the opposite. They had welcomed me, included me and repeatedly offered to help me. Yet fear had convinced me that leaving before they returned was the safest thing to do.

I strapped that heavy pack on my back and headed out on the mile or so hike to the highway on that chilly September morning.  By the time I reached the highway ramp I was wide awake and plenty warm.  The only thing on my mind was getting out of there without further interference. A commercial laundry truck picked me up, and just in time. I came face to face from the opening of that door with a trooper. I looked him in the eye with an affirmative glance as we pulled down the ramp onto the highway. 

I had heard plenty of stories about Tennessee police before arriving there, many of them not particularly flattering. Yet within roughly eight hours, I had encountered law enforcement twice and was still freely on my way. Much of what I had heard simply hadn’t matched what I experienced.

Another lesson was taking shape: Be careful about forming conclusions about people you’ve never met based upon stories you’ve merely heard. Experience has a way of challenging assumptions.

As the nice young man drove up onto the highway, I thanked him. I felt grateful for the past 10 hours and yet also a bit guilty about my dishonesty with the gang of 5 whom I left behind.  They did nothing wrong to me.  It was my unwarranted fear that caused me to abandon them. I still doubt they had the intention to abandon me. Regardless, I prefer to give them the benefit of any doubt. 

Today, I would handle it differently. But today’s Brian has more than 50 additional years of experience than that young hitchhiker possessed. It isn’t fair to expect our younger selves to possess wisdom they haven’t yet had the opportunity to acquire.

That’s one of the gifts of growth. We don’t have to condemn who we once were. We can learn from who we once were. Growth is a process, and if we remain teachable, that process never has to end.

My new short-term goal was to reach Cape Cod, Massachusetts sometime in the next two days. My one and only laundry truck ride thus far was pleasant, and it took me well east to the northeast corner of Tennessee.  Years later my son Brad went to university in a town split between Virginia and Tennessee. The town was Bristol, which is more famous for its NASCAR track than the white line through town delineating the 2 state’s borders. 

Little did I know that I would return multiple times 25 years after hitchhiking through there on my way to New England. My appreciation for Bristol was much different when I returned to visit my son than when passing through at about his age under vastly different circumstances. I didn’t blink the first time through but soaked it all in when I went there to visit my offspring. It occurs to me how dramatic time and our frame of reference change our experiences.

Leadership growth works much the same way. We don’t necessarily see more because the world has changed. Sometimes we see more because we have.

My next ride in a car was my last for about a week. I was given a ride by a young man who had been visiting his sister in San Francisco all summer and was heading back home to New Jersey. He was about as broke as I was and in fact, according to him, had no cash left.  So, he bought gas with a credit card… a foreign concept to me at the time.  I bought the Big Macs to keep us fueled.

We drove all day and night until arriving in Newark at about 4 AM.  He suggested I buy a train ticket versus trying to hitchhike in the middle of Newark at that time of day. 

I had hitchhiked all the way from the Texas-New Mexico line. I hadn’t taken a bus or a train. Strangers, trucks, cars, vans and my own two feet had carried me across the country.  Somewhere along the way, doing it my way had become part of the accomplishment. Taking a train felt like cheating. 

Sometimes as leaders we find it difficult to change, because we are on a mission, as I was, to accomplish something unique, often without considering consequences or if there may be a better way.

At four o’clock that morning in Newark, New Jersey, conflict between logic, fear and pride absorbed me. I wasn’t certain what my next move would be. The question I wrestled with became “Was I committed to the destination—or merely committed to doing it my way?”

I was about to find out.