I’m a 74 year old woman and I offer rides to strangers.
I started doing it way back in the 1970’s when my brother was hitchhiking 500 miles from the college he was attending to visit me on weekends. I felt like it was some kind of cosmic “hitchhiking insurance.” If I offered a ride to a stranger, someone just like me would do the same for my brother.
I’ve never stopped doing it. It’s simple. I’m in my car going somewhere and I see someone walking along who looks like they could use a ride — its 105 degrees outside, or they just missed their bus, or they’re fixing a flat tire on their bike — and I pull over and offer them one.
I’m careful about it. But I’m not afraid and, over the years I have never been frightened by anyone I’ve offered a ride to. I seriously doubt that someone walking down the street loaded down with groceries is on his way to a robbery or a shooting.
“Why do you do it?” I’ve been asked. “It’s a nice thing to do, yes. But why do you do it?”
I’ve thought about it.
Why do I do it.