In the spring of 1967, I took another road trip.This one didn’t involve one car, but many. My boyfriend at the time(who later married my roommate, but that’s another story!) and I decided to go from Cambridge to Montreal to visit the World’s Fair. Neither of us had a car, but that didn’t seem to matter. We decided we would hitchhike.
At this time, the fastest way to get to Montreal would have been on the New York Thruway for most of the way. However, New York State was vigorously enforcing anti-hitchhiking laws. That left us Vermont. We caught our first ride across Massachusetts to Route 7 in Vermont and were determined to hitch up it to Canada. We were beyond ignorant of what we were planning. In those years, drivers on Route 7 were 1. few and far between and 2. not ever going more than 5 or 10 miles. We spent a day hopping through Vermont in very short spurts.
My favorite ride came courtesy of a family who passed us by and then circled back around to let us in the car. My boyfriend had long scraggly hair and I had straight long hair. The family said,”We never met any real hippies before, so we were curious.” They drove us 10 miles before letting us out.
Our last hitch was with a man in a Cadillac who stopped for us near the Canadian border. He was wearing a crash helmet, which ought to have been a warning, but we needed a ride. He could take us to the outskirts of Montreal. He drove like a maniac, and of course got pulled over by the Canadian border patrol who thoroughly searched his car for contraband. Fortunately for us clueless students, we were all waved through. It turned out he was well known by the guards!
We had a wonderful time at the Fair, staying with relatives.
We took Greyhound home.