When I was about fifteen, I ran away from an extremely dysfunctional home. I planned to visit a girl I had met at Girl Scout camp when we were both eleven years old; we had kept in touch by letter. I lived in NJ and she was near the NY state border. I took a Greyhound bus, but got off too soon, so I started hiking along the highway. After awhile my feet were getting blisters, and I decided to hitchhike. A guy in his late thirties to forties pulled over, and with much apprehension, I got in. After the usual questions about why was I hitchhiking, he placed one hand on my leg. Terrified, I slid over towards the passenger door, and started silently praying.
The guys removed his hand, and told me that he had a daughter my age, and scolded me for hitchhiking. Whew! He dropped me off at my destination with no further trouble. I never did hitch another ride, after that.