Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
don't always listen to what other people tell you. Rule number two: don't accept lifts from
racing car drivers. I was about to learn these rules all over again.
I had hitched a lift down to Whangarei easily enough and had even played tourist for a
while. It was quite a sizable town, with a large marina and travel lift in the boatyard but
not quite as impressive as Auckland's Marina and Yacht Club, which I'd spent a day at. I
made my way to the big supermarket and spent at least an hour or so going up and down the
aisles, filling my trolley with provisions. One thing was for sure, I was not going hungry on
my trip back to Hawaii. Now I had a logistical problem on my hands. I had a very sizable
collection of plastic bags filled with heavy groceries, canned and otherwise. I made two
large bunches of these for each hand and set off staggering down the road. Christ, they were
heavy. At the end of the first block, I had to stop as the bag handles were cutting into my
hands most painfully. It was a very heavy load to be carrying as well. I certainly missed
Gavin's help about now!
Cars whizzed by at an alarming rate but none slowed down, let alone stopped to offer me
a lift. I would have to get onto the main road leading back to Opua, making it obvious for
passing motorists that I was a poor wee botach, trocheling down the road to his wee boat
then.
In order to get out and onto this road, I had a long way to drag these confounded groceries.
I almost abandoned a few on the way. When I thought about how hard I'd had to work for
them, I put the thought right out of my mind. My arms and shoulders and back were on
fire. I just couldn't believe that all these motorists were roaring past me like I wasn't even
there. What selfish, inconsiderate bastards! I cursed the sailor who had given me this gem
of advice.
The afternoon wore on, and soon it would start getting dark. I was becoming rather
alarmed. I finally reached a point in the road where it was very obvious I was hiking back
to Opua, and I thankfully put down my little bundles from hell and nursed my bruised, red,
and broken hands. The cars continued to fly past, and now they were going too fast to care
about stopping. I would get even with that lout of a sailor if I ever made it back, I thought.
Wait a minute, what's this then? A zippy, little two seater had just pulled up, the passenger
door was thrown open, and a young male driver jumped out and opened the boot of the car.
“Let me guess, you are a sailor heading back to Opua?”
“You are absolutely right, and thank God for you too!” I smiled as I gratefully slid in the
little seat; oh, that felt good to sit down after a whole day on my poor footchies.
How was I to know he was a racing driver with a death wish? If I had known I would not
have got in the car, even in the exhausted state that I was in. Off we screeched, and I was
