Modern Living: Hitchhiking by Air

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After the posh jets, the piston-engined Cessna 310 feels like a Volkswagen, but we zoom gallantly up over the brown hills pockmarked with ravines and gullies and head for Las Vegas and a fuel stop. A huge passenger jet bounces us gently in its wake and I shudder. We gas up; off to the southwest we see storm clouds and lightning. Never mind: we're off again. For a moment, I think of those scary instructions picked up back in New York: if both pilots conk out aloft, set the radio dials at 121.5 and ask whoever answers how to land a plane. But then we are past the storm, and 80 minutes later the lights of Los Angeles twinkle into view. After nine days, $60, and only one would-be masher, I've made it.

Not a bad trip. But there are a few rules to follow, and here is a selection: 1) Forget deadlines; you'll never make them. 2) Girls will always get rides more easily than boys—but not in jeans; wear a skirt. 3) Never leave the operations area for a minute, because the moment you depart a ride always seems to turn up. I missed two flights that way, one direct to Los Angeles. 4) Make friends with everyone—the ground crewmen always know where a ride might be found. 5) Bring cotton or earplugs—my ears still ring from jet noises. 6) When asking for a ride, be direct but lighthearted, and don't push if the answer is negative. 7) Carry lots of books for long waits. 8) Avoid Cody, Wyo.