From Andorra La Vella to Perpignan, France, after taking a taxi from Barcelona to Andorra (for a fare of $1.25 per person x 5 total strangers), and before catching a train back to my ship’s homeport near Nice, France, in 1965 - sorry, too bz to look up kilometrage.
First you join the Navy.
When my family came back from Sigonella, Alitalia was on strike. (That oughta narrow it down! 
) They put the eight of us and our folks on “available transportation”, in this case a cargo plane with some seats in it, to Naples, where we caught the train to Rome. It was a fun trip for all, except, I suspect, my parents.
Pretty close.
You put your name on a list ans sit in a terminal, waiting for an available seat that isn’t taken by someone flying on orders. I was on leave.
Getting to Philly wasn’t terribly hard - I got a seat on the regular Military Airlift Command run servicing the Diego Garcia-Bahrain-Sicily-Naples-Spain-Azores-Philly-Norfolk route. But getting back, I found that there were no available seats on the return run, with no clearances for days.
So I got a seat on a flight to Norfolk, figuring there would be more planes there, and paid $5 a day for a barracks room waiting for a flight. After two days, a seat opened up on a Air Force tanker flying to Rota, Spain, and I flew there.
The barracks rooms in Spain were $8. I spent one night there before a seat opened up on a C-5 going to Sigonella, Sicily.
All this to get home for my brother’s wedding. I burned three weeks leave doing this. The SOB got divorced a few years later. 
Summer of 1974 I picked up a hitcher in Atlanta and took him to Twin Falls Idaho, a distance of a little over 2000 miles.
I had been given a car to transport to Denver, and had to have it there in 10 days. The owner told me he didn’t care where I went with it in the meantime.
The hitcher was on his way to see Evel Knievel jump the Snake River Canyon. I thought that sounded pretty cool and decided to take him there.
Thought he was doing pretty good to have gotten a ride from Orlando to Atlanta, about 450 miles. Little did he know how good he was going to score on the second leg.
We had a fabulous trip!
Heh, not far, from Evanston Wyoming to Salt Lake City Utah.
Though the most magnificent hitchhiking story I ever heard was from a guy I met at Burning Man who made it from Guatemala to Block Rock City Nevade in two rides. Guatemala to Austin Texas, Austin to Black Rock City.
In the early '80,s Upstate NY to Toronto Ont. quite often.
Best ride was from N. Falls to Toronto for the CNE. Standing by the road with a big sign, a SUV pulled over with a family inside. Dad driving, Mom sitting shotgun. She asked if I had a map and I did. The Mom hopped out told the kids in the backseat to make room, as I climbed in I noticed the Dad was “packing heat” sholder holster under a vest. Thinking it would be rare to find a family of homacidel people I started small talk. Turned out Dad was a Bal’mer detective and Mom gave him a raze for not leaving the pistol at home. Fun ride.
The one and only time I hitchhiked was a round trip of about 40 miles each way. It was the summer of 1983, when I was 17. I was on a two-week Christian summer “camp” trip organized by the Young Life organization. The whole group of 30 or so kids plus a handful of adults boarded a converted school bus in Portland, Oregon, and spent a few days traveling through eastern Oregon and southern Idaho, and then into Wyoming where we visited Jackson Hole and Yellowstone (got to see Old Faithful!).
Our ultimate destination was a “dude ranch” of sorts located about 40 miles outside of Big Timber, Montana, where we would be staying for about a week. Well, about halfway through that week, most of us smokers ran out of cigarettes (yeah, those of us who smoked were allowed), and the nearest store was back in Big Timber.
So a few of us got a bright idea: we’d collect money from all of the smokers, find out what brands people smoked, and then go into town and resupply. Of course, none of the adult chaperones were going to drive us (our only vehicle was that big bus), and we really weren’t supposed to leave the ranch. So four or five of us, money in hand, sneaked out in the middle of the afternoon and started walking. I think we were young enough that we didn’t really realize how far we were trying to walk!
Well, we didn’t get more than a mile or two when we spotted a pickup truck approaching, going the same direction we were headed. On our way to the ranch we had seen nothing but trees, so we figured this guy’s destination had to be Big Timber. We stuck out our thumbs.
The old guy driving the truck pulled over and we told him we needed to get to Big Timber to buy cigarettes, and he told us to hop in the back. So we all piled into the bed of his truck, and he drove us all the way into town.
Now this is where we learned just how cool the people in Montana are. The man delivered us right to the local store, and we all hopped out. He told us he was going to be in town for a few hours, and couldn’t drive us back, but he pointed to another pickup that was parked in front of the store. “That guy will be heading back your direction, and he’ll give you a ride back.” We thanked the man, and he went on his way. We went in the store and made our purchases, emerging with a large grocery sack full of cigarettes (nobody asked for ID or questioned why we were buying so many different brands), then went outside and waited next to the second pickup.
Pretty soon the owner of the second truck came out of the store, and we introduced ourselves and said that the first guy told us that he could drive us back to the ranch. The guy grinned and indicated the bed of his truck. We jumped in and the guy drove us back. We got him to drop us off just before the ranch, so that we could sneak back in All in all, the round trip took less than two hours, and nobody missed us while we were gone. And it was a fun “adventure”
Back in the day I used to do a lot of hitchhiking. I was broke and had plenty of time, there were lots of places I wanted to go and I wasn’t on a tight schedule for getting to them. Plus I had that whole free-spirit, ramp-gypsy, Sal Paradise Junior thing going on, with the romance of the open road and the momentary camaraderie of the journey and all…what can I say? I was 22, 25, like that. Anyway, I went from the East Coast to the West or the other way around seven or eight times.
I guess the longest single hitchin’ trip I ever did my starting point was Bunghole Fuckwad Nowhere Middle Of West Virginia. I hitched 120 miles south on State Rte 20, to Princeton near the Virginia border, where I caught I77 to Wytheville, made it down to I40 and shot west all the way to where the Big 4-0 ends in Bunghole Fuckwad Nowhere West, which you may know as Needles, California. I then headed north to Spokane, Washington where i stopped and ate at missions for a few days before proceeding to somewhere deep in the woods to take hallucinogens, bang drums and scream all night with several thousand like-minded individuals – most of whom I had never seen before and would never meet again --for a couple of weeks.
After that, I think I might’ve gone to visit with some friends in Minneapolis, or the Cochise’s Stronghold region of Arizona. Or up around Port Angeles for the liberty-cap harvest.
I haven’t thumbed a ride in donkey’s ages. I’m 48, and a lot squirrelly-er than I used to be, and my bones are too creaky for sleeping under overpasses and shit. Besides, I ain’t seen a hitchhiker for years and years; it must’ve gotten a lot harder and sketchier out on the open road since I had my little low-budj Wanderjahr