Being a fiercely devout member of the 'Try Everything Once' School of Life (granted, our members don't last very long) I was ready to embrace the opportunity for hitchhiking when it came along. It came along in Lorne; a quiant little seaside town between Adelaide and Melbourne. Stuck for a way to get to Melbourne in time for Christmas, I left my travelling companions and their van, who were all keen to stay behind, and ventured out to Route 21 alone to continue east along the famed Great Ocean Road. I had gotten used to travelling by van for the previous few days and it felt strange to be just me and my backpack again, carrying a hand-made sign saying 'MELBOURNE' in big black letters. In reality it said 'MELBOUrne' (my over-compensating ballsiness meant I ran out of space on the page, which would have been less embarrassing had I a small child in tow to blame this on. I didn't.)

So there I was with my thumb out and best smile on, pitched up on the side of the road, watching driver after driver pass me by. Some waving apologetically, some laughing, others just getting on with their days, oblivious. It was actually quite fun. The surge of optimism with every approaching car, the unpredictability, catching their eye momentarily before watching them speed on past, wherever in the world they're off to. I understand why this is an addictive form of transportation. Throughout the entire process, from sticking your thumb out at the side of the road to stepping out of the car at your destination, you are accutely aware of what's happening around you; every sense heightened, a rush of nervous energy and excitement making you very aware that you are, in fact, alive.

But you might not be in a minute. So better keep your wits about you.

One solo traveller pulls over; a young guy in his thirties. I tell him with my nicest smile that I'm sorry but I can't get into a car with a man on his own. I thank him with a bewildering attempt at being both charming and apologetic. He smiles and carries on through. I haven't seen Wolf Creek but I ain't no fool and I ain't getting in no car. (Well, not his anyway.)

After half an hour of waiting I start considering 'the bus option' when a couple in their early twenties pull over and say (with the non-judgemental warmth you only receive from strangers when you're backpacking) they're going my way. They turn out to be a whole car load of bubbly fun; music blaring, shades on, windows down. They have that infectious lust for life and carefree nature that I can only vaguely recall from my Uni days (pre-cynicism, pre-tax, pre-LIFE). Reclining in the back seat of their beaten-up old car I'm offered a share of their fruit smoothie. I, in turn, reciprocate with half my chicken sandwich. Students through and through, they receive it with insane gratitude, as if I've offered them my extra kidney.

Quickly determining my new travel companions as Pretty Darn Nice People, I explain to them my true motivation for hitchhiking. Ever since I discovered that the lighthouse along this stretch of coastline was the very same lighthouse featured in the popular '80's kids TV show, Round the Twist, it became an absurd obsession of mine to get my picture taken there. Stubborn as I am and running out of time, this only meant one thing: hitching at the side of the road, risking kidnapping and (worst case scenario) death. A small price to pay for a chance to see where Round the Twist was filmed! Surely!

My companions proved to be as easygoing as I'd imagined and were more than happy to stop off en route for a sightseeing sojourn. I think they fancied playing 'tourist' in their own country for once and were curious to see what all the fuss was about. To be perfectly honest, when we got to the top of the hill there was very little 'fuss' to write home about. Or blog about. It was a fairly ordinary old lighthouse in a quiet state of retirement, the only evidence of its former glory days being a small laminated sign boasting old achievements in the window. Regardless, I followed up my original intent and my new friends and I posed for the much-talked-of picture, recording that chance encounter in digital form, as planned. Looking at it now it's not the lighthouse I notice at all. It's the three smiling people thrown together at its base.