Our morning started out quite pleasantly; waking up on the freshly mowed lawn of a generous Maori couple who had offered to let us camp in their yard. Mary and I arise at six every morning, packing up our sleeping bags and tents swiftly as to get on the trail and make some kilometers. This morning our kind host brought us hot tea on the grass. We gratefully quaffed our drinks and hit the road. We began our day with a road walk, but as it was fairly early there was not much traffic. The biggest bummer about the paved road walks is that New Zealand roads have no shoulders. Like none. So we walk against traffic and scoot over as best we can when a car passes us. This morning was calm and quiet and we passed through pasture lands at a clip: by 9:15 we had already walked 10.5 kilometers. At this point we had been walking on a steep, windy section of road and when I spotted a wide pullout that turned out to be a small gravel quarry, I decided it would be a nice place for a break. Time to take a load off the hooves and eat a snack.
In the pullout there were about a dozen small piles of perfect pea gravel. As an Alaskan trail-builder and home owner, I appreciate really nice gravel. I plopped myself onto a soft pile and commented to Mary that it would be great to redo the trail leading to my cabin back home. We both dug into our bags for snacks and I pulled out a small jar of peanut butter and a spoon. Gee, what a beautiful, quiet morning it had been.
I stuck my spoon into the jar and retrieved a big scoop of the creamy goop. Then the world changed. An aged, burgandy Jaguar came roaring up the hill and passed us going fast. We watched it pass by and then, unexpectedly, screech to an almost immediate halt, skidding in the gravel half-on and half-off the road, the reverse lights came on while still in a forward motion and the car came roaring back toward us totally disregarding the vehicle approaching behind it. The Jag again came to an abrupt, skidding stop in reverse directly in front of us, sitting on our gravel piles, and a woman looking remarkably like a bedraggled Ellen Barkin was rolling down the passenger window to talk to us. We saw her lips moving but all we heard was Patti Smith with the volume set to 11. I paused with my spoon of peanut butter halfway to my mouth, curious. Curious, indeed.
The music snapped off and the woman shouted at us, "ExcusethemusicWhenyou'redrivingthesecountryroadsyoujusthavetorockouttoPattiSmith!Do yous girls need a ride?"
"No, we're OK! We're walking the Te Araroa, so we're fine...Thank you!"
She obviously had no clue what the TA is (I've found most Kiwis don't) but did not skip a beat when she asked us, "Are yous carrying weapons?" I don't really consider my little Leatherman blade that I use to pop blisters on my feet and slice cheese a weapon, so Mary and I looked at each other then back to her and said, "No."
*Unleash the Beast*
"Areyousfuckin'idiots?," we heard from the car as the motor snapped off and she hurled her door open and stomped around the front of her car to confront us. She was rail thin: no butt, no muscle tone in her tight, black spandex pants. She wore a shearling jacket that was buttoned incorrectly and sitting askew with a sheer black shirt tail hanging down to her knees. I can almost guarantee that the whole shirt was sheer and she was wearing a black bra underneath, but I can't prove that. She wore cheap, white flip flops and sported toenail polish the bubblegum, Barbie pink that a 15-year-old girl might choose. Her hair was half piled on top of her head in a bun and half everywhere else. She may have been in her late 50's, but it was very difficult to tell. She stood in front of us with her hands on her hips and began the rant. I lowered my peanut butter-covered spoon, mouth agape.
"WhatareyousdoingrunningaroundthiscountrywithoutweaponswheredoyouthinkyouarethereareMaorisalloverthiscountrywaitingforgirlslikeyoutowalkthroughthebush! Haven'tyouheardwhathappenedtoMeredithandherboyfrienduphereGOOGLEITgoaheadgoogleitYou'llhaveheardwhatIdidtenyearsagoGOOGLEITgoahead!" Mary, who was holding her iPod in her hand, began to explain that she didn't have cell service, "Acutally,---" The woman interupted and continued in one never-ending sentence, "Youscan'tbewalkingaroundthiscountrywithoutweapons! YoumustprotectyourselfI'vegotanarsenalinhereI'msittingonfourthouingoldI'mgoingtogiveyousomeweapons!" She continued talking, non-stop, as she went around the back of the car to find us some weapons from her traveling arsenal. Mary and I looked at each other with huge, saucer-sized eyes. Neither one of us feels the need to carry a weapon, but we were way too curious to stop her. Plus, we couldn't get a word in edgewise. She was still talking.
I honestly had no idea if she was going to pop the trunk of the ancient Jaguar, black smoke pouring from its undercarriage, to reveal an array of firearms in a gun rack, a box full of knifes and blades, or a suitcase with a golden light pouring out of it a la Pulp Fiction. Honestly, anything seemed possible at this moment. She came back around to our side of the car where we sat stupidly on our gravel piles, frozen. Spoon of peanut butter untouched.
Marching around the truck of the car she stopped in front of me. I didn't even have the wits about me to stand up, I just sat there as she talked at me. She held up a nail file. "This! Holditlikethis [plastic handle in her palm, thumb on the base of the QVC file] Youwannajabituplikethis [vigorously and repeatedly jabbing in an underhand motion, stopping just inches away from my torso] foralivershotGottagoforthelivershotifsomeoneevenwalkstowardyouGoforthelivershotthenkickhimintheballs [aggressively demonstrates a knee to the groin, twice] Don'tevenlookbackjustwalkawayandgetoutofthereGoforthelivershot!" She handed me the nail file.
She turned to Mary and pulled out a pair of scissors about 4 inches long. "Whatyoudowiththeseisholdthemlikethis [index and middle fingers in the holes of the handle, also underhanded and making a fist] andjabjabjab [demonstrates fiercely] withalivershotHe'llnotrecoverfromalivershotandkneehimintheballsandrunawayDon'tlookback!"
The "conversation" (we had yet to get a word in) from here became quite rambling and convoluted and generally all over the board. "MynieceHeathersaiditwassweetthatIwastakingGrampaGram'spassporttotheairportandwhatdoyouknowI'vebroughtthewrongfuckingpicturetotheairportExcusemeIcusslikeasailor."
"No probl--" "...IfellandbumpedmyheadatthemarketandmysistermadegointothedoctorbecausemaybeIhadananuerysmandtheytookmylicenseawaysothecopsareafterme [looking over her shoulder] Fuckingcopsdon'ttrustthemeitherthey'refuckingcorruptuphere....."
She spoke so fast that when she introduced herself to us I don't even remember registering her name I was so flummoxed by her presence. She asked my name as she shook my hand. "WeeBee," I stammered, eyes glazed, nail file in my right hand, a spoon of peanut butter in my left. "Ohthat'sacutenameWhereareyoufromImean,theStates,butwhere?" Stunned that she paused to listen I said, "Alask--" "OhI'vealwayswantedtovisityourcountry!"
She asked her name and shook her hand and where was she from? Mary started, "Georgi--" "OhI'vealwayswantedtovisityourcountry!" As she shook our hands she pointed out some small words on her left ring finger fingernail, on top of the French manicure. It said Pure Fiji. "That'smycompanyHydrogenatedoilsandfatsthat'swhat'scausingalzheimer'sandI'vestudiedthisforsixyearswithMensaYouknowMensa?Istudiedphysicsmetaphysicsforsixyears....[looks over shoulder, presumably for cops]"
She began to walk around to the driver's side of the aged Jag as if to leave. I flimsily held the nail file between my thumb and forefinger, lightly waving it, and saying, "Thanks for the weapon! Hopefully---" "NOTLIKETHATYOUDON'THOLDITLIKETHATYOU'LLFUCKINGSLICEYOURHANDOPEN!" At this point we each got a full refresher course on how to hold our respective weapons without slicing our palms open while vigorously administering a clean liver shot.
She again went around the front of her car, this time getting in. Mary came out of her stupor when she realized this woman had a cigarette in her hand and asked, "Do you mind if I bum a cigarette off of you?"
"HonesttoGodthisismylastfuckingone [again getting out of the car and coming all the way around the front] buthereyouhaveitIhatethesefuckingthingsanyway." She handed Mary a pack of menthol Pall Malls with one cigarette in it. Also another empty pack which she mysteriously wanted back when given afterthought. I sat dumbly on my gravel hill, spoon of peanut butter in my clenched fist, resting on my knee. She again walked back to the driver's side and opened the door. "DoyougirlssmokedopeDoyouordon'tyouDon'ttakeallday!" Mary and I silently looked at each other and shrugged an unspoken "Why not?" Mary said, "Uh...yeah?" But she was already coming back around the car and shoving a small ziplock bag from Bank of New Zealand into my hand with a small amount of weed in it, rambling on and on about I'm not sure what. "That'sallI'vegotbutyoumightaswelltakeit...." I quickly tucked it into the pocket on the front of my backpack without looking at it.
"Cheersgirlsbesafe....." She literally kept talking, mouth moving a mile a minute, as Patti Smith came blaring back on, she started the Jag, sending billows of black smoke onto us, and peeled out, spraying us with gravel and dust. The already speeding car made its way back onto the paved road with a swerve, a honk, and a manicured hand waving a menthol Pall Mall goodbye out of the sky light.
Seconds later the birds started chirping again and it was as calm and still as it had been approximately 10 minutes before the Jag entered our world. We stared at each other with huge doe eyes. We looked at the weapons in our hands, unbelieving. I stuck my spoonful of peanut butter into my mouth.
And that, my friends is how I acquired weapons, drugs, and a lesson on how to shiv a man, on the Te Araroa trail. Some things you just can't make up.
"Great" trail magic, or "greatest" trail magic? ~ iPod
ReplyDeleteWee Bee, you seemed so innocent at the wedding...
ReplyDeleteNeal