I’ve done it a hundred times and it has never been anything but good. At worst I’ve had a hundred miles of uncomfortable silence. At best I’ve found friendship and even the occasion romance.

I had no reason to think this time would be any different. Standing on the entrance ramp along I-80, headed west to Salt Lake, I did my usual thing - hat off, head high, friendly smile, eye contact, thumb up. I always make sure my clothes look clean as a way of sending the message that I won’t smell up the car.

Today I stood there a good twenty minutes before a woman driving a late model Ford SUV pulled over. She barely smiled. She motioned to the back where there was room for my pack. I dropped it there and climbed in the front with her.

Initially it seemed like just another ride; a little quiet, a little tense, but not that unusual when a woman picks up young man like me. I leaned toward my window waiting for the tension to dissipate.

Instead, the ride went from tense to terrifying. Without a hint of warning the driver pulled hard to the right and down a narrow dirt road. A man stood just ahead waiting. She pulled over to him. He yanked the door open, grabbed me by the arm and threw me on the ground.

I felt a sharp blow to my head. When I woke up, I was here. A small wooden shed. One overhead light and a window covered in dark cloth. Unfinished floor boards. Unfinished walls. In the center of the room, me, hands tied behind the back of a chair. Ankles bound to the chair legs. A piece of duct tape over my mouth.

I don’t know where I am, how I got here, or what they want from me. But I’m not going to make it to Salt Lake tonight, or maybe ever.