Can you share a story of someone who had a lucky experience while hitchhiking?
10.06.2025 07:56
When travelling by yourself, using your best material in conversation is okay, so I went through my usual routine.
“Sure thing! Thanks.”
It helps, as in life, to have limited anticipation, considerable patience, and boundless enthusiasm—also, the ability to cope with rejection.
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I took the $48 bus.
3. Wangapeka Track. Just a few days ago, I had my most recent hitching experience. I’d walked the five-day, very well-manicured Heaphy Track, it’s basically a 78 km long mountain bike track, and decided to hike back home. I chose a convoluted route through some remote and lightly tracked terrain that took 10 days.
Was my luck finally going to run out?
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Plod on.
1. Skippers. Skippers is one of New Zealand’s most famous roads. It was built in the 1880s for gold miners and is essentially unchanged and still gravel. It’s 98% one-way, with numerous blind corners and no safety rails. It’s a long way down.
Yes, you need to be lucky.
And fewer drivers stop. I have a large hiking pack and hiking pole, and it’s obvious I’ve been hiking, but even single occupants of four-wheel-drive vehicles, despite having a kayak on the roof or mountain bike on a rack, generally drive on by.
20 minutes after getting there, I heard a boat, and four people cruised in for a look, somewhat surprised to see a random weather-beaten dude standing outside.
Most people these days wouldn’t like the uncertainty.
I drove down in my two-wheel drive car and, within just 150 m, realised it was a poor idea. But you cannot turn for 6 km once you’ve started.
^ You can get sick of this easy walking, even if the weather has improved considerably. | March 2025
^ Ready to hitchhike out of Skippers Canyon. January 2025
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After an hour, I had just rung that friend when a brand-new four-wheel drive stopped and took me right to my front door.
Here are three of my lucky recent experiences.
^ Hitching on a boat??!!. Why not! | February 2025
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Then, right at 6 pm, relatively late in the day, a car stopped and took me to the highway. Still 50 km to home, but a guy swigging a beer stopped within five minutes. He was only going to Wakefield, less than half the distance I needed.
Due to heavy rain, I hadn’t made it to the hut closest to the road and had to hike 2.5 hours to that hut, then another 3.5 hours to the road. That meant it was 1:30 pm by the time I made it.
^ There’s 6 km of super narrow road. January 2025
“If you are lost, I can’t help you.” “Is this the way to Milford Sound?” Hint: it’s nowhere near. Etc.
2. Mavora Lakes. I’d walked up one side of the north lake, about 12 km long, to visit a hut off the main trail. On the way back, I thought I’d do a side trip to visit another hut, West Bay Hut, usually accessed by boat, but on the other side of the lake from the main track. It would be an 8 km deviation, and I hoped I could walk around the lake’s edge. I could.
Lucky! For sure. It was the only boat I saw on the lake that day.
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Now, all I needed was to go and retrieve my car from the mechanic who had repaired it when I had driven us over to near the start of the Heaphy Track, and where the accelerator cable in the car had disconnected.
It’s a tricky spot to catch a ride.
Man, it was quiet.
I did manage to return, only meeting one four-wheel drive on a blind corner, but at least I had right of way.
A week later, I walked out from a hut, 53 river crossings involved with no bridges, and reached the road around lunchtime.
You could say that any time you get a lift these days is lucky. Fewer people are obliging, and I seldom see people standing by the side of the road with their thumbs out.
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Of course, a better idea would be to hitchhike.
Yay! Lucky! Mid-week, there are only about ten vehicles a day on that road.
I’ve had a few hitchhiking experiences recently, as I spent three months hiking in the New Zealand mountains as part of my final rehab/test for a torn Achilles tendon this summer.
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It’s a hard gig.
No, another vehicle approached, going the right way this time, but it turned out to be a flat deck truck with two beekeepers occupying the only seats.
A few days later, I parked my car at the top of the pass and by the time I’d put my pack by the side of the road and gone back to lock the vehicle, a four-wheel-drive stopped and asked if I wanted a ride to exactly where I wanted to go, which was about 20 km.
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Lucky? Obviously.
Four hours later, the first car went past, the wrong way. It was now getting close to 6 pm, and I’m still on a dirt road.
No cell phone reception as I was still in the mountains, so I couldn’t phone a friend. Better start walking.
No cars, as it is remote and not many vehicles go in. I started walking. And walking. After 3 km, I spotted a van parked by the side of the road, and as I approached to around 100 m away, the solo driver got back in and drove away. (Yes, he saw me.) Not lucky.
I’d been walking for two hours. But I could see a four-wheel drive coming up the hill behind me. The weed sprayer had finished for the day. So that was my first available car, and I was picked up. It wasn’t long before he dropped me at my very dusty car.
^ Road chiseled out in 1886. Visibility is limited. January 2025
But I realised I’d probably used up my luck in the hitchhiking department.
I still had another 30 km to go. It was Friday evening, and there was no shortage of cars. Too many. Half were driven by women, who seldom pick up strangers, and it was almost suburban traffic where they were often turning off.
I asked them for a ride to the other side of the lake, and suddenly, I was hitching on a boat and saving myself at least two hours retracing my steps.
Twice, I’d been thinking I was in trouble and would end up in my damp tent for another night. I’d hiked 35 km with my pack for the day, but I was home to my dry bed, some fresh food, and a hot shower, not necessarily in that order. The sun was still shining.
Then I met a four-wheel-drive going the wrong way, weed spraying, so moving at a glacial pace. I walked on, up the hill, for another 3 km.
One problem is that you exit the track onto a dead-end gravel road that is 38 km from any road with traffic on it.