Best Hitch Yet

The trailhead for the Copland Track is right off SH6, 24km South of the nearest town of Fox Glacier. I come off the track soaked through with sweat at 1:30, and already I am concerned I won't land a hitch to Wanaka - some 4 hours South. The sand flies are overwhelming at the trailhead, and I'm forced to pace in a small circle at the side of the road to keep the buggers from eating me alive. The occasional car zooms by at 100km/hr, but no one is taking a second look at me with my thumb out. I'm not an attractive hitch to say the least. I must look crazy... walking in circles, swatting at flies, and itching nervously at my exposed wrists and knees.

2:30 comes and goes, and I drop my pack on the ground. I hate taking off my pack when trying to hitch... it's stupid, really, but to me it's like resigning to the fact that I'm going to be there for a while... it's superstitious B.S., but whatever.

3:00 is nearing and I feel like I am going crazy. It's like the sand flies have conspired with the South bound drivers to test my will and mental resolve.

And then, just like that, I'm saved. Bill and Diana, an Australian couple in their 60's, take pity on this crazy kid on the side of the highway. We barely exchange names before Bill realizes the sand fly ordeal I was involved in. "Get in! Get in!" He says as he shoves my pack in the back seat. "Come on lad! Let's get outta here!"

They take me all the way to Wanaka.

Bill is thin, spectacled, kind of goofy looking, but his eyes suggest a great deal of wisdom and wit. Diana is small and slight, with short reddish hair, and eyes just as brilliant as her husband's. The three of us spend the next 2 minutes silently squashing the dozens of sand flies that followed us into the small Toyota.

The two of them have very peculiar Aussie accents... more polished and almost British. This makes some sense when I learn that Bill works for the Australian foreign service, and has been posted in DC, Canada, Israel, Morocco, the UK, and Ghana during his 30 years of service. They raised 3 sons overseas... the eldest is acting in London, the middle-one (26... same as me) is attending grad school in Tennessee at Vanderbilt, and the youngest teaches back in Australia.

4 hours of conversation is effortless, and the topics swing from global politics, to Antarctica, to the uncertainties their sons feel in what they're doing, to the same uncertainties I feel. Perhaps it's that they feel they're getting an insider's perspective on their sons' generation, or maybe they are fondly recalling their own years of youthful discovery... whatever the case, the caring and interest they share makes me feel like I'm riding in the back seat of my own parents' car.

They share a bag of apples (I eat three) and we exchange tramping stories. Even in their 60's they are out on the trails. They convince me I need to do the Queen Charlotte Track when I return to NZ, and I sell them on a visit to Arthur's Pass.

At one point I say, "Diana... I think it's great that you're the one driving."

"Pardon?" she replies.

"I was just having a conversation with a friend the other day about how it's always the guy driving. Even if it's the lady's car, it's always the man driving. I love that you're the one at the wheel."

Diana smiles at me in the rearview and says, "You're right Tim. The blokes always do seem to be driving, don't they? I never really thought about it."

"Well, I think it's great," I say and smile back.

"Honestly, Bill gets a bit sleepy when he drives, so we take turns. Also, he can read while riding in the car and I get car sick when I read..."

"Me too!" I chime in.

"...and I quite enjoy driving. Also, Bill drives a bit slow in my opinion." With that Diana smiles and shoots Bill a sideways glance to see if he's even listening.

Bill lifts his eyes from the map he's intent on, smiles at Diana, then pats her on the thigh and says, "shift dear, shift."

"Oh, but I like that gear," she says as she shifts from 3rd to 4th.