In my twenties, I used to hitch all over the place, all over town, at least, and on a few cold mornings when my car wouldn't cooperate, I would hitchhike to work. I used to see a lot of hitchhikers, and would usually pick them up unless something about their looks said otherwise.

More recently, I can only recall two hitchers in the past fifteen years or so. One was in Mitchell, SD; I carried him to just outside Sioux Falls. At first glance, he looked kind of wild and wooly, in a cowboy hat and a duster, but something about him said sad sack. He turned out to be a drifter, and not a very well-traveled one at that, confining himself pretty much to the state of South Dakota. He said he usually traveled on his bicycle, but it was broken.

The other was a clean-cut guy I picked up in Fargo; he was headed to Bismarck for a truck-driving job. The guy turned out to be a pretty interesting conversationalist and an ex-con. The easternmost 300 miles of North Dakota can be pretty grim, so a little diversion was welcome.

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Not in jail.