While I was living in France, I became friends with an American girl called Cathy. She agreed to hitchhike with me to Lyons where I would busk to earn us our keep.
A lorry driver picked us up in Poitiers, saying he was going south east. Eagerly jumping up into the cab, I snuggled into the middle, with Cathy by the door. By this time, my French was very good so I chatted away happily with the driver. He asked me to sing, so I gave him renditions of English and French songs as we made the nearly 500 kilometer journey which would take almost six hours.
In my usual way, I was completely oblivious to everything but the sunshine and this new busking adventure. Cathy, however, was more realistic. When she saw that we were heading northeast towards Bourges rather than south east towards Lyons, she realised we were heading in the wrong direction.
And that was not all. It became obvious from the state of his crotch, that the driver had other things on his mind.
We were in danger.
How on earth were we going to escape?
Image by StockSnap – Pixabay
