Nov. 15, 2012 – Mt. Airy N.C. to Asheville, N.C.

Jim Tatman has seen off my trips for the past 12 years.

Most times, it’s from the Camp Temagami docks. Occasionally it’s from Boatline Bay. Once, it was from the train station in Sept-Iles, Que.

This morning, he left me with a backpack at a traffic light outside Dobson, N.C., likely with significantly less confidence than when he watches me depart by canoe.

It marked the opening phase of my plan to hitchhike across the southern United States. I had already spent 10 days in the country visiting some fine folks in Virginia and North Carolina, but now I was off on my own.

First destination: Asheville, N.C. – Highway 601 from Dobson to Mocksville, then I-40 all the way through.

Five rides and just over five hours later, I had completed the first leg of my journey.

I had my doubts while shivering on the 601 shoulder at 7 a.m. And when I bent down to unpack my bag and find my gloves after 20 minutes, I was nearly bowled over by a screeching car. My first ride!

Shirley was a Kentucky native who could only get me eight miles down the road to Yadkinville. But, cursing ‘unfriendly’ North Carolinans, she promised me people would be friendlier in those parts.

She dropped me just outside the city limits, which proved to be a major pain in the ass and a three-mile walk to the other side of town. But 30 minutes later, Joanna Diaz was squealing with delight that she could now cross ‘picking up a hitchhiker’ off her bucket list.

Once in Mocksville, I bid Joanna goodbye and posted up on the I-40 West on ramp. After 10 minutes, big, friendly Robert pulled up and waved me in. He was only heading down the road to Statesville, but assured me I’d find better luck there.

It was 15 miles of laughter. The big, friendly Georgia native and I exchanged numbers in Statesville, and he promised he’d be calling me soon to check up on my trip. I doubt I’ll find a friendlier guy.

He was wrong about Statesville though – I waited an hour in the cold until Daiva stopped and welcomed me in.

“I actually turned back to pick you up,” she said, promising to take me 30 miles to Hickory. “But I’m sick and puked all over myself this morning, I hope that’s OK.”

Fine with me.

We took a pit stop at the restaurant where she worked, and then she bought me  coffee at the nearby gas station. She dropped me off at the Hickory on-ramp, not before urging me to call her best friend Valerie once I reached Asheville.

Ten minutes later, I was riding shotgun with Michael, who was heading all the way to Asheville. The former Dead-head who’d been to about 100 shows (significantly more than Stuart’s 60) dropped me right in the city centre.

What a friendly state.