Date: Friday, December 12, 2012

Date: Friday, December 12, 2012
Time: About noon
Wait: About five minutes
Hitch: Woman, late thirties
Profession: unclear
Vehicle: Older Suburban Sedan

Christina picks me up after only five minutes of waiting. Record time. At first I don’t notice her up ahead because my back is turned facing oncoming traffic off Uintah. I ignore the annoying “no foot-traffic” sign that clings to the road like an infected lump of concrete. The shoulder is wide enough to be plenty safe, and claims it the “best place to hitchhike out of Colorado Springs.”
Christina is blond a very fit figure. Something tells me she might be older than she looks; she takes care of herself. She tells me with some dashing humor that many people refer to her as a milf.
Our conversations are filled with occasional bursts of laughter and her spirits are very high. I find it very pleasant to ride with her. She is a bubble of good energy.
“I used to hitch a lot with one of my boyfriends in the seventies”, she tells me.
She tells me I should try coming to her church some time, called Mile High Church.
“We’re very open minded”, she says. “It looks like a spaceship on the outside. People say it looks different on the outside because it’s very different on the inside.”
Occassionally she’ll say something funny and rub my leg. I’m not exactly sure what this gesture means.
She tells me how the BMW dealership off Colorado Blvd. used to be a place where well known celebrities hung out fifteen years ago.
“There are lots of beautiful women at our church”, she says, giving me an obvious wink. She suggests that I go on the bachelor.
I laugh it off, but I can tell her glance at me shows that there is some genuine seriousness in the joke. I don’t have the heart to tell her that I think it is a horrible TV show.
I can tell that Christina has a huge heart. Maybe this is a prerequisite for offering rides to hitchhikers.
She drops me off at Colorado Blvd. Holiday traffic makes it thick as syrup with car congestion.
I grab my belongings, and the last thing I get is my hitchhiking sign.
“You don’t need this anymore, do you?”, she says.
Earlier in the ride she had encouraged me not to hitchhike again as it is “too dangerous.”
I smile at her. She knows that I’ll be doing this again.
We embrace a hug, and she drives off.


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