Time was, you could crisscross America with nothing but a rucksack and a thumb. You still can, if you know how.

Deborah Davis/Stone

ANOTHER CAR BLOWS by. I drop my arm and fold in my thumb. The driver didn't even look at me. He was staring down the road as though he saw something so interesting out there he couldn't take his eyes off it. It's a common response: I'll act like I don't see him so maybe he won't see me so I won't have to think about him standing there in the cold while I fly right past. The emperor's new clothes in reverse. I understand. Nobody likes to feel guilty.

Or maybe he doesn't feel guilty at all. Maybe he thinks I'm getting what I deserve, for what kind of an American doesn't have a car? What in the world did I do to lose this great country's God-given right to automobile ownership? I must have done something. Decent Americans, even decent poor Americans, own a car and drive it everywhere. A man afoot is a loser. A man afoot in America is no man at all.

I wait. A freezing prairie wind is rattling the reflector poles. It's trying to snow again. Flakes cartwheel across the highway like tiny tumbleweeds.

A pickup truck comes around the curve. The driver is wearing a cowboy hat. I put out my thumb and look him in the eyes. He looks right back into mine. People believe if they look into your eyes they can discern the truth—for instance, whether I'm an ordinary guy down on my luck or a serial murderer. It's nonsense, but if you want a ride you play along. The cowboy stabs sideways with his finger, indicating he's turning off just up the road. I wave and he casually salutes as he passes.

The snow is coming now, brilliant white confetti tumbling all around. I should put on my sunglasses but don't. Sunglasses make you look like you're trying to hide something. Your thoughts, your secrets, your identity.

A long, low-slung sedan shoots past. But then, in the corner of my eye, I catch the red glow of brake lights behind me. I spin on my heels, run down the road, swing open the car door, and get in.

Away we go.