Right…

Retreating off Grey’s & Torrey in a hailstorm, my friend Drew and I had to hike along a forest road for about a mile back to our campsite. Dozens of people were evacuating off the mountain and more than 20 cars passed us on our walk down the road. It was pelting hail, but nobody stopped to offer us a ride. We didn’t really need one, but in my opinion, if you see a fellow hiker walking along a road, you should ask if they need a ride, especially in wicked weather.

Last summer, rolling along the Alaskan Highway in British Columbia on a rainy day, I passed a soaked to the bone cyclist walking his bike on the shoulder of the road. I pulled over ahead of him and asked if he wanted a ride. He might have been the most dejected looking person I’ve ever seen, but after careful consideration, he declined saying he wanted to make it to Alaska on his own power and he wouldn’t feel right about being driven, even for a short distance. “But thank you for asking, that means a lot,” he said. I refilled his water bottle and wished him luck and left him, smiling just slightly now, to push his bike through the storm towards Alaska.

I wish hitchhiking – and picking up hitchhikers – wasn’t so taboo. I quite like giving fellow travelers a lift. Over my past seven years living on the road, I’ve picked up all manner of hitchhikers – men and women, young and old – and I’ve met a lot of great people and never once had a problem. When you do somebody a kindness by giving them a lift and a snack (one of my hitchhiker hostessing tips), I’ve found they’re kind, polite and grateful in return.

Creeping up Mount Evans in heavy fog.

Two days after a successful blue bird summit day on both Grey’s & Torrey, we drove up to the 14,265-foot summit of Mount Evans on one of the highest roads in the world. The weather was, once again, absolutely hellacious.

On the summit, we poked around the ruins of what was once the Crest House, a visitor center and gift shop built in 1941 and destroyed by a propane blast in 1979. The original building was designed to resemble a shooting star and the ruins, repurposed as a viewing platform, are kind of bizarre.

Crest House Viewing Platform

After several decades of alpine winters, all that’s left are the walls.

Stone was sourced on site, so the structure blends in with the summit.

After only a few minutes of wandering around the ruins, trying to picture how this place must have looked before the blast, the wind picked up and it started sleeting so we retreated to the car. We didn’t have anywhere to be so we hung out in the parking lot for awhile, enjoying the novelty of being warm and dry in a storm at 14,000 feet.

Then two hikers staggered down to the parking lot from the summit, fighting against the wind. They conferred over a map for a few minutes and began trudging across the pavement, towards the road off the mountain. “Let’s offer them a ride,” I said.

I’ve never met two more grateful hitchhikers. Tom and Lisa had just climbed 14 miles from Echo Lake up to the summit of Mount Evans on the class 2 Chicago Creek route. They had originally planned to return via the same route, but the storm was so sketchy, they decided they should take the road down and hope for a ride. The four of us traded storm stories and by the time we dropped them at their car at Echo Lake, we had all exchanged cards and info, scheming to meet up again on another mountain, another day.

One of these days, I’ll climb Evans on my own two feet, hopefully in better weather!

Read more of my adventures with hitchhikers in my previous posts Oh, Canada: The Lost Art of Hitchhiking and A Friend In Wounded Knee.