I was hiking the Appalachian Trail from end to end. Two thousand miles from Georgia to Maine. Somewhere in North Carolina, I took a wrong turn on the trail. Lost and following the wrong trail along a river. So lost. It was getting dark. I had to set up my tent and wait for morning.

My feet were wet and blistered from crossing the river so many times. By the time I came to a road crossing, I was starving, beat down, despaired.

I stuck out my thumb. The first truck stopped. He picked me up and drove me to the store. For those even miles, I didn’t have to walk. Seven miles in his shiny red truck he’d just polished. Seven miles to a store where I could wash, bandage my feet and buy some food to eat. Then he drove me back to the trail and said “Have a good hike.”