tramping new zealand

A day of rest yesterday, which meant eating, washing body and clothes, and catching up with friends on the Internet.

No rest today, but I planned to initially see if I could get the local mechanic to address my low-hanging exhaust. It was now hitting on the odd bump on the highway, and I had a vision of it getting another whack and landing on the road.

That could be quite awkward.

The cheery mechanic responded well to my idea of some Number 8 wire to get me home, and he said it would be a 10-minute job.

Okay. He would do it immediately.

He drove it around the back of his garage and straight onto the four-post hoist. It went up, and I could see the issues.

It had a big, coin-sized hole from dragging on the road at various times, but the main problem was that the muffler was hanging down. He went to get some super robust cable ties, and I could see there was a bracket that it could all hang off.

Great.

I suggested he install the second one. I wasn’t sure how a cable tie would perform on a hot exhaust pipe, but at least I could see that I could supplement them with wire should it be required. The hardest part has been gaining access under the car, but the hoist solved that issue.

I went round to pay the receptionist and asked how much?

$27.60, she replied.

What? That’s outrageous!

I gave her $30 in cash and requested that she not give me change. Cheapest peace of mind I’ve ever encountered.

Then I tootled around to a car park I had previously encountered while walking Te Araroa. The route had changed in the 10 years since I had been there, and now goes via a different hut. Turnbull‘s Hut.

I spent the day wandering up the hill and thinking back to that 84-day experience with its increasingly divergent route up to the other end of the South Island.

Turnbull‘s Hut was in the middle of a bog, and the floor had mushrooms growing on it. I stood outside for a while, taking some photos for my website, while a Te Araroa Sobo came past at pace. He cast one glance at the exterior and was gone with only a grunt of acknowledgement.

Despite not having a pack, I had no chance of catching up to him. He was clearly destination-oriented with his mind about 90 km away at Sterling Point, where TA finally ends in Bluff.

I was thinking how lucky I was to have walked Te Araroa before people started ripping through it, just to impress someone with their accomplishment, rather than experiencing chance encounters with strangers, which were my main memories.