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London to Edinburgh Hitchhike
“I could be the last person to see you
alive.” It’s a measure of how far hitch-
hiking’s reputation has sunk when this is
said as a goodbye. In fact, no-one was in
the least bit envious when told them I was
hitching from London to Edinburgh. ‘Brave’
was the kindest adjective I heard.
It wasn’t always this way. Back in the ’60s
my parents were hitching regularly; my
mum from college, my father from his
school. They weren’t hippies either; to
them, counter-culture meant exchanged
pleasantries at the butcher’s.
We should be in a hitching golden age:
there’s now over 32 million vehicles on our
roads (compared to under 10 million in
1960), train tickets are astronomical,
students are up to their beads in debt and
we are more environmentally aware than
ever before. But when was the last time
you saw a hitcher?
Before setting off to redress the balance, I
spoke to a professional hitcher for tips.
Steve Baverstock of Wembley-based ACE
vehicle deliveries has seven years and
thousands of rides worth of experience as a
trade plater: guys who deliver cars or vans,
then hitch back using the red and white
temporary number plate to let other
professional drivers know they’re not just
random nutters.
Steve first reassured me the roads aren’t
full of madmen preying on hitchers, saying
he’d only had one bad experience in
thousands. This was backed up by the
Association of Chief Police Officers, a
spokesman for whom said they would only
caution lone females setting out to hitch,
for obvious reasons.
According to Steve, there are two good
places to pick up rides heading north:
Staples Corner at the bottom of the M1
and, bizarrely, the Heathrow spur road onto
the M4, from where empty private cabs will
give free rides for the long journey back up
north.
10.55am, Friday 14 September, Staples
Corner: I’m standing on the roundabout,
nervously watching a trade-plater as his
prepares to hitch from the slip road. Just as
he finishes writing NORTH on the back of
his plate, a lorry stops and he’s gone. He’d
been there roughly two minutes.
11.03am: An unkempt man is attempting
to strike up a conversation. I point out that
he’s ruining my chances of getting a lift.
Just as he goes, a Fiat Punto pulls in and I
run over, only to find I wasn’t the reason it
stopped.
Embarrassed, I retreat and hold my ‘NORTH
please’ sign higher, all the while trying to
twist my face into the right ‘I’m no weirdo’
expression (the one you always fail to
achieve in the photo booth).
11.10am. The unbelievable has happened.
A car stopped, the driver announced he was
going to Glasgow, and I’m now relaxing in
the front of a brand new Citroen C5.
Steve is an electrician in his mid-20s
returning from a week in London. He’d
recently spent three months hitching in New
Zealand (all my rides had once hitched
themselves or knew hitchers) and had once
spent four hours waiting outside
Christchurch. He’d vowed never to drive
past a hitcher again.
It turns out getting the ride is the easy
part; the true test is conversation, the
reason drivers pick up hitchers. Now, I’m
fine on pub banter, but on long journeys I
usually prefer to stare blankly out of the
window.
Plater Steve’s advice is to get people to
talk about themselves (“everyone’s
favourite subject”), thus reducing your work.
I do this and get into Glasgow Steve’s
stories about travelling Down Under.
4.03pm. Charnock Richard services on the
M6 near Wigan. Steve may be going to
Glasgow but two rides don’t make a great
story, so I reluctantly say goodbye.
4.10pm. Café, staring at M6 traffic through
the grimy windows. It’s very strange being
in a service station with potentially no way
out; normally it’s bog, takeaway coffee,
back in the car. I feel exposed with my
backpack; who takes their belongings into
the services? Only hobos, surely. It’s a
measure of my current insecurity that I
want to inform everyone in the café that I’
ve got a proper job and a car.
4.20pm I head out again with my NORTH
sign, trying to look like a harmless
backpacker (I’d stuffed the pack with
unneeded clothes to bulk it out). Another
hitcher is there, standing so close to the
motorway entrance that I’ve no choice but
to pick off his potential rides. I wave and
he waves back.
4.27pm. A car stops, 10 seconds before
another picks up the first hitcher. I notice
he gets the better car. I don’t really care;
the feeling of relief when anyone stops is
overwhelming. I’m also thinking that I’ve
waited for rush-hour Circle Line trains for
longer.
Richard, a computer programmer visiting
family just south of Glasgow, admits he
doesn’t usually pick up hitchers, but says
the horror in New York has sparked a new
sense of brotherhood in him. The terrorist
attack happened just three days earlier,
and it’s a major topic of conversation on
the journey up. That was no surprise, but
the reasoned and informed views were. Ever
the condescending Londoner, I had been
half expecting bigoted rants.
5.20pm. M6, Junction 36. Richard drops me
off at the Windermere turn-off, and I write
‘W’MERE’ on my sign. Five minutes later
Cian from Dublin deciphers it and picks me
up. He’s taking the car to his wife who’s
studying at St Andrews, but they’re meeting
in the Lake District for “camping and
shagging”. In Windermere, I though I’d be
craving the solitude of a clean B&B
bedroom, but all I really wanted to do was
head down the pub and talk some more. I
did hit the pub, but because I wasn’t forced
into conversation as I was with my rides,
my British reserve came flooding back and
I just read the paper.
10.05am. Saturday. Junction 36 again.
After a night in The Haven B&B I’m back on
the M6, which I make in two rides (max
wait: five minutes). I’m just writing ‘E’BORO’
on my sign when Robert in a rented Skoda
stops on the way to his home on Arran. A
wealthy environmental consultant (he’s also
got a ranch in Arizona), Robert is disgusted
with all the single-occupant cars on the road
and thinks it’s terrible how hitching has
declined. Robert has lots of strong views on
the environment. I say ‘mmm’ a lot.
2.54pm. A71 junction with M74, just outside
Glasgow. Disaster. I’ve been standing on
the A71 to E’boro for an hour and a half.
Clouds are threatening rain for the first
time on my trip and no one’s stopping.
Feeling thoroughly pissed off (especially
after joker had slowed down and then sped
off when I started running over), I give in
and call for cab in nearby Larkhall.
I’m not far from the A8 (before it comes an
M and therefore illegal to hitch on) and so
tell the cabbie to take me there. The
dourest Scot in Scotland doesn’t say a word
and I revel in the silence. It costs me £12.
3.15pm A8 to Edinburgh. After the now
customary five minutes (I’m trying to forget
the A71), I’m sitting in a Citroen Saxo with
Jim, a security guard who’s telling me he
leads a double life in Morocco. I don’t
question him. One weirdo out of seven isn’t
bad.
4.05pm Waverly train station, Edinburgh. In
all I spent 13 hours on the road; way better
than Plater Steve’s 16-18 hour estimate
and not far short of a coach. I felt good.
When I found out I’d have to pay £81 for
the train, I considered hitching back.
There’s nothing brave about hitching. As all
my rides agreed on, the world hasn’t
produced more nutters since my parents
were hitching, we just hear more about
them.
Tips from a professional hitcher
1. On a motorway, work the service areas,
especially if you’re going to be out after
dark. Avoid the junctions
2. Always present yourself as clean and tidy
3. Talk about anything, literally anything.
Doesn’t matter what, just rack your brains
4. Always carry a mobile phone.
5. 99.9% people who pick you up are good
people, but be aware and alert.
6. Pick vehicles with no more than two
occupants. Judge the person
7. Use a sign. Always include the ‘please’.
8. Pick up rides going north from Staples
Corner or the Heathrow spur road to the M4
From Steve Baverstock, trade-plater with
ACE Vehicle Deliveries [actual quotes]
alive.” It’s a measure of how far hitch-
hiking’s reputation has sunk when this is
said as a goodbye. In fact, no-one was in
the least bit envious when told them I was
hitching from London to Edinburgh. ‘Brave’
was the kindest adjective I heard.
It wasn’t always this way. Back in the ’60s
my parents were hitching regularly; my
mum from college, my father from his
school. They weren’t hippies either; to
them, counter-culture meant exchanged
pleasantries at the butcher’s.
We should be in a hitching golden age:
there’s now over 32 million vehicles on our
roads (compared to under 10 million in
1960), train tickets are astronomical,
students are up to their beads in debt and
we are more environmentally aware than
ever before. But when was the last time
you saw a hitcher?
Before setting off to redress the balance, I
spoke to a professional hitcher for tips.
Steve Baverstock of Wembley-based ACE
vehicle deliveries has seven years and
thousands of rides worth of experience as a
trade plater: guys who deliver cars or vans,
then hitch back using the red and white
temporary number plate to let other
professional drivers know they’re not just
random nutters.
Steve first reassured me the roads aren’t
full of madmen preying on hitchers, saying
he’d only had one bad experience in
thousands. This was backed up by the
Association of Chief Police Officers, a
spokesman for whom said they would only
caution lone females setting out to hitch,
for obvious reasons.
According to Steve, there are two good
places to pick up rides heading north:
Staples Corner at the bottom of the M1
and, bizarrely, the Heathrow spur road onto
the M4, from where empty private cabs will
give free rides for the long journey back up
north.
10.55am, Friday 14 September, Staples
Corner: I’m standing on the roundabout,
nervously watching a trade-plater as his
prepares to hitch from the slip road. Just as
he finishes writing NORTH on the back of
his plate, a lorry stops and he’s gone. He’d
been there roughly two minutes.
11.03am: An unkempt man is attempting
to strike up a conversation. I point out that
he’s ruining my chances of getting a lift.
Just as he goes, a Fiat Punto pulls in and I
run over, only to find I wasn’t the reason it
stopped.
Embarrassed, I retreat and hold my ‘NORTH
please’ sign higher, all the while trying to
twist my face into the right ‘I’m no weirdo’
expression (the one you always fail to
achieve in the photo booth).
11.10am. The unbelievable has happened.
A car stopped, the driver announced he was
going to Glasgow, and I’m now relaxing in
the front of a brand new Citroen C5.
Steve is an electrician in his mid-20s
returning from a week in London. He’d
recently spent three months hitching in New
Zealand (all my rides had once hitched
themselves or knew hitchers) and had once
spent four hours waiting outside
Christchurch. He’d vowed never to drive
past a hitcher again.
It turns out getting the ride is the easy
part; the true test is conversation, the
reason drivers pick up hitchers. Now, I’m
fine on pub banter, but on long journeys I
usually prefer to stare blankly out of the
window.
Plater Steve’s advice is to get people to
talk about themselves (“everyone’s
favourite subject”), thus reducing your work.
I do this and get into Glasgow Steve’s
stories about travelling Down Under.
4.03pm. Charnock Richard services on the
M6 near Wigan. Steve may be going to
Glasgow but two rides don’t make a great
story, so I reluctantly say goodbye.
4.10pm. Café, staring at M6 traffic through
the grimy windows. It’s very strange being
in a service station with potentially no way
out; normally it’s bog, takeaway coffee,
back in the car. I feel exposed with my
backpack; who takes their belongings into
the services? Only hobos, surely. It’s a
measure of my current insecurity that I
want to inform everyone in the café that I’
ve got a proper job and a car.
4.20pm I head out again with my NORTH
sign, trying to look like a harmless
backpacker (I’d stuffed the pack with
unneeded clothes to bulk it out). Another
hitcher is there, standing so close to the
motorway entrance that I’ve no choice but
to pick off his potential rides. I wave and
he waves back.
4.27pm. A car stops, 10 seconds before
another picks up the first hitcher. I notice
he gets the better car. I don’t really care;
the feeling of relief when anyone stops is
overwhelming. I’m also thinking that I’ve
waited for rush-hour Circle Line trains for
longer.
Richard, a computer programmer visiting
family just south of Glasgow, admits he
doesn’t usually pick up hitchers, but says
the horror in New York has sparked a new
sense of brotherhood in him. The terrorist
attack happened just three days earlier,
and it’s a major topic of conversation on
the journey up. That was no surprise, but
the reasoned and informed views were. Ever
the condescending Londoner, I had been
half expecting bigoted rants.
5.20pm. M6, Junction 36. Richard drops me
off at the Windermere turn-off, and I write
‘W’MERE’ on my sign. Five minutes later
Cian from Dublin deciphers it and picks me
up. He’s taking the car to his wife who’s
studying at St Andrews, but they’re meeting
in the Lake District for “camping and
shagging”. In Windermere, I though I’d be
craving the solitude of a clean B&B
bedroom, but all I really wanted to do was
head down the pub and talk some more. I
did hit the pub, but because I wasn’t forced
into conversation as I was with my rides,
my British reserve came flooding back and
I just read the paper.
10.05am. Saturday. Junction 36 again.
After a night in The Haven B&B I’m back on
the M6, which I make in two rides (max
wait: five minutes). I’m just writing ‘E’BORO’
on my sign when Robert in a rented Skoda
stops on the way to his home on Arran. A
wealthy environmental consultant (he’s also
got a ranch in Arizona), Robert is disgusted
with all the single-occupant cars on the road
and thinks it’s terrible how hitching has
declined. Robert has lots of strong views on
the environment. I say ‘mmm’ a lot.
2.54pm. A71 junction with M74, just outside
Glasgow. Disaster. I’ve been standing on
the A71 to E’boro for an hour and a half.
Clouds are threatening rain for the first
time on my trip and no one’s stopping.
Feeling thoroughly pissed off (especially
after joker had slowed down and then sped
off when I started running over), I give in
and call for cab in nearby Larkhall.
I’m not far from the A8 (before it comes an
M and therefore illegal to hitch on) and so
tell the cabbie to take me there. The
dourest Scot in Scotland doesn’t say a word
and I revel in the silence. It costs me £12.
3.15pm A8 to Edinburgh. After the now
customary five minutes (I’m trying to forget
the A71), I’m sitting in a Citroen Saxo with
Jim, a security guard who’s telling me he
leads a double life in Morocco. I don’t
question him. One weirdo out of seven isn’t
bad.
4.05pm Waverly train station, Edinburgh. In
all I spent 13 hours on the road; way better
than Plater Steve’s 16-18 hour estimate
and not far short of a coach. I felt good.
When I found out I’d have to pay £81 for
the train, I considered hitching back.
There’s nothing brave about hitching. As all
my rides agreed on, the world hasn’t
produced more nutters since my parents
were hitching, we just hear more about
them.
Tips from a professional hitcher
1. On a motorway, work the service areas,
especially if you’re going to be out after
dark. Avoid the junctions
2. Always present yourself as clean and tidy
3. Talk about anything, literally anything.
Doesn’t matter what, just rack your brains
4. Always carry a mobile phone.
5. 99.9% people who pick you up are good
people, but be aware and alert.
6. Pick vehicles with no more than two
occupants. Judge the person
7. Use a sign. Always include the ‘please’.
8. Pick up rides going north from Staples
Corner or the Heathrow spur road to the M4
From Steve Baverstock, trade-plater with
ACE Vehicle Deliveries [actual quotes]