by Dianne Sharma-Winter

Created on: February 20, 2010

The first time I ever did it was when I was an impossible fourteen years old, and the last time I did it, I was in my late forties.

As I got out of my daughters car by the roadside and prepared myself to flag down a car with nothing more than a winning smile and a thumb outstretched, my daughter complained.

“For God’s sakes mum! You are getting too old for this!”

She may have been right, when you are young and fresh with sunshine on your hair and the wind against your back hitch hiking is a delicious adventure on the joys of The Road.But as you age you are supposed to become more sensible, I thought as I waved goodbye to my grand daughters.

“Text me the registration number of the car you get into!” yells my daughter as she drives off.

In any case that day, I was picked up by the mother of a friend who had previously picked me up on this same and we had known each other for years. It’s something that happens when you live in a tiny island nation and can count as many as three hundred relations as your own. I have met cousins of cousins and friends of friends and made new friends and connections in the history of my hitch hiking New Zealand.

I have had debates on politics, the meaning of the Universe, and heard about life from the point of view of a priest, a gang member, tourists and salesmen. I have shared meals with truckies and women on the run from violent husbands, been picked up by a truckie wearing women’s clothes and the odd famous jail breaker besides.

People stop in New Zealand for two reasons.

One is that we they are a kind hearted people who will usually always help a stranger. The other reason is that they have a story to tell.

Once a man collected me from the road outside of Gisborne, one of my favourite hitch hiking destinations from the Bay of Plenty. On the journey he began to tell me the story of his life. He was the type of guy it seemed who could slip on a banana peel and end up in traction for a year, weird accidents littered his life path from an early age. It had become part of his repertoire of stories about who he was.

As I got down from the car and as I was thanking him for the ride, I said to him. “Did you ever notice that every time you have an emotional crisis in your life, you also have a weird accident?” His jaw dropped. “You are right!” he said. “Well, you are right because you told that to me anyway but have a good day now!” 

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