How Not to Hitchhike Across Ireland

An interesting lift from Cork to Dublin that took me 24 hours.

In 1989, I dropped out of Kansas University and was traveling in Europe. I was in Cork, Ireland but needed to get to Dublin.

I decided to try hitchhiking.

I made my way with my backpack to the outskirts of town. Looking at the map, I had two choices, a direct highway to Dublin or a highway that sometimes followed the coast.

I opted for the coastal highway thinking it would be more interesting. Dublin was about 250 km away.

I stuck my thumb up, sat on my backpack, and waited for a ride.

To my amazement, a box truck that I believe the Irish would call a small lorry stopped almost immediately.

I couldn’t believe my luck. I ran to the vehicle and opened the door to the truck.

The driver, probably a forty-year-old man, jumped suddenly and yelled.

I had scared the heck out of him.

I was an American and I wasn’t thinking about the difference in vehicle configuration. I had opened the driver’s side door assuming it was the passenger side.

“Can I help you?” he asked once the initial fright had worn off.

“I am trying to get to Dublin. Can I have a lift?” I asked.

I was careful to use the word lift. I had learned the night before in Cork at a bar that when you ask someone for a ride instead of a lift that you could be asking something sexual.

He hesitated. He looked me up and down and at my backpack.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“I am an American. I am from Kansas,” I answered.

“Okay,” he said hesitantly, “Get in.”

I went around to the other side of the truck and opened the passenger door. The seat was covered with paperwork.

He grabbed a stack and moved it aside, making just enough room for me to squeeze in. I put the backpack at my feet in front of me.

“I just have to finish up this invoice,” he said.

As he finished some paperwork, he explained that the reason he had pulled over to the side of the road was to fill out the invoice from his last stop. He didn’t usually pick up hitchhikers.

As a matter of fact, his boss would be very upset with him if he knew he had picked up a hitchhiker, he explained to me.

We drove a little way down the road. The road was narrow and windy. Being from America, I wasn’t used to driving on the left side of the road.

Apparently, neither was he. He weaved from one shoulder of the road to the other shoulder as he looked at me and talked.

“I am Seamus (pronounced Shay-mus),” he said taking his hand off the wheel to shake my hand.

“I am Curt. Nice to meet you.” I said shaking his hand and pulling back quickly. I hoped he would grab the wheel but instead, he shuffled some paperwork on the dashboard with his free hand.

I didn’t say much more and I gripped the door tightly as I looked around for a seatbelt. Apparently, the passenger side did not have one. I don’t think he transported too many passengers.

After about four kilometers, he pulled over to the side of the road.

“I have to drop these invoices off at the office. My boss can’t know I am giving you a lift. You will have to ride in the back.”

“Oh, okay,” I said reluctantly. I opened the door hopped out and then reached back into the cab of the truck for my bag. He lifted the back door of the truck up. It was packed with various boxes. Many looked like they contained eggs.

He pulled a wooden crate from somewhere and said, “You can sit here.”

I threw my backpack in and jumped up into the truck. He slid the door shut. I was glad there was some light that came in from an opaque skylight. I was also thankful the truck wasn’t refrigerated.

As we bumped along the road, I grabbed for anything that I could for stability. I was knocked off the crate several times.

He couldn’t have missed too many potholes. I was amazed that none of the eggs seem to break.

After a while, the truck stopped. Seamus turned off the engine and I heard him getting out and slamming his door shut.

He walked to the back of the truck but did not open the door.

“I am just going to go inside for a bit. I will be back soon,” he told me through the door.

I could hear him walking away. As I sat in silence, I wondered what I had gotten myself into.

I wasn’t sure where I was, so I decided to just go along with whatever happened. Seamus didn’t seem like a bad guy so I wasn’t really worried about anything bad happening.

I adjusted my wooden crate and stretched my legs out by propping them up on my backpack.

About twenty minutes later, I started to dose off when I heard the front door of the truck slamming shut. The vehicle started and I once again found myself bouncing around on a bumpy road.

This went on for another fifteen minutes when we finally came to a stop.

The truck was turned off and I heard the driver’s side door open and close and the sound of someone walking toward the back of the truck.

Suddenly, the door slid open and bright light filled the back of the truck.

Seamus stood there smiling.

“How was the ride?” he asked as he offered his hand and helped me crawl out of the truck.

“Bumpy,” I said as I climbed out of the truck.

I went to grab my backpack and he said, “Leave it. We have a delivery to make.”

I guess I was going to have to earn my ride. I looked around at my surroundings. We were in a dirt parking lot in front of what looked to be a small country store.

He pulled a couple of cases of eggs from the back of the truck and handed me a case.

We walked into the front door. A man stood behind a counter.

“Good morning, Seamus,” the friendly store clerk greeted us, “New help?”

“Ya, this is Curt. He is my cousin from America.”

“Aye, lad. Nice to meet you. Sorry, you have to be related to this daft old man,” the clerk joked.

“Nice to meet you,” I nodded and played along with Seamus’ game.

I followed Seamus into a back room and we put the cases on a shelf.

When we went back out front, Seamus participated in some small talk, and after about ten minutes, he finally said goodbye and we went back out to the truck.

I went to the passenger door and started opening the door.

“No. Not yet,” Seamus shook his head no.

Oh no, I thought, am I still riding in the back?

But instead, Seamus opened his door and threw his invoice book on the dash, and shut his door without getting in.

“We are going for a pint,” he said and started walking across the parking lot.

I looked up and noticed the pub across the street for the first time.

Sure, why not, I thought and followed him across the parking lot.

“Let’s have some fun. I am going to tell them you are my cousin from Kansas,” Seamus explained to me.

“Sounds good to me,” I said as I hurried to keep up.

We entered the pub and I was surprised to see at least a dozen people. It was still not even noon.

Seamus seemed to know everyone in the place and made his way to the bar introducing me as his American cousin to anyone we passed.

The barmaid had already started pouring his pint of Guinness.

“Hi Seamus,” she greeted him.

“Two, today,” Seamus said, “One for my American cousin.”

It takes a minute to pour a Guinness. I learned that in Cork. They poured it in three stages. They would fill half of it, let it settle, and then fill a quarter more. That would settle and then they would top it off with the last bit.

When the pints were ready, she slipped them over to Seamus and he handed me one. I did not see money exchange. He must have had a running tab.

“Welcome to Ireland,” he said holding up his pint. He took a big drink finishing a third of the beer in one gulp.

I held my glass up, took a sip, and then wiped the foam from my upper lip.

It went down surprisingly smooth considering I had drank quite a bit the night before in Cork and it was only eleven in the morning.

He asked a little about me and what I was doing in Ireland. We moved around the bar, and he introduced me repeatedly as his American cousin to the occupants.

I was maybe on my third sip when I looked up and he had already emptied his pint.

“Let’s go,” he said nodding at the pint, “We’ve got more deliveries.”

I went to set my pint on the bar with more than half of it full.

“Oh, do not waste that,” he said handing the pint back to me.

I took the glass back and downed the rest of the Guinness. This was going to be a long day.

When we got back to the truck, he let me ride up front this time. Every few kilometers, we would stop and make a delivery, find a nearby pub, drink one pint, and hit the road again. We never had more than one pint, but the stops started adding up.

His driving never really got worse, but I think that was because it was so bad to start with. As I drank more and more pints, I stopped worrying about what side of the road we were driving on.

There was not much traffic and he seemed adept at avoiding collisions when there was an oncoming car.

Around five in the evening, we came upon a small town and another small country store. Seamus announced that this was the last stop for the day.

We were in a town called Midleton. While he was inside the stop filling out paperwork, I walked back to the truck.

I had noticed an atlas on the dashboard and wanted to see where we were. I quickly found Midleton on the map. It was only about thirty kilometers east of Cork. We had been driving all day long and I still had well over two hundred kilometers to go to get to Dublin.

When Seamus came back to a truck, I asked him if there was a hostel in this town I could stay at.

“Nonsense,” he replied, “You are staying with me and my wife. We live here. I will trade routes with someone tomorrow and take you to Dublin.”

Even though I had not reached my goal that day, I did have an extremely enjoyable day. Seamus had refused to let me buy a single round. My head was buzzing with the many pints of Guinness

I nodded my head and simply said, “Thank you.”

Seamus took me home to meet his wife who fed us a huge home-cooked Irish meal. We then went out to a few more pubs. By then, I had to start refusing drinks. I simply could not hold anymore and could hardly see straight.

The next morning, he took me to the doorstep of the hostel I wanted to get to in Dublin. I was thankful we didn’t stop at any more pubs.

The day before had started out unknown and my random encounter with Seamus ended up being an amazing adventure with some very good people in some wonderful small Irish towns.

Although I never saw them again, I kept in contact with Seamus and his wife for years.

When traveling, it is important to keep your guard up and make good decisions. But, sometimes following your instinct and going with the flow can lead you down surprising paths that turn into grand experiences.

I will never forget my day bouncing around some windy, narrow Irish roads with Seamus and his truckload of eggs.

For another story about my time in Ireland: