Impossible Questions

First, here’s a list of questions I don’t know the answer to: 

1. “What came first, the chicken or the egg?”
2. “Why doesn’t armpit hair get split ends?”
3. “If you bored a hole through the center of the earth and jumped through, would you be falling down or floating upwards?”
4. “What happens when an immovable object meets an unstoppable force?”

Or perhaps more pertinent for TA trekkers, “What do you hate more, the road or pasture walks?”

The stretch south of Auckland to the Hakarimata range alternates between mainly field and road walking, so I had a lot of time to ponder this question. I am still unsure. Roads are initially easy hiking. However, after a few hours, the hot tarmac takes a toll on the body and soul. Five types of roads make up the majority of asphalt trail: 

1. Gravel road: Usually pleasant treks through rolling farmland and forests, gravel roads are delightful. There are charming country cottages, lovely views, and if all the road walking was on gravel roads, it would not even be a debate to which I prefer. Easy grades and no obstacles means relaxed, faster hiking, and the traffic is minimal. 8/10
2. State Highway- I generally try to hitch these, since the roads are busy and cars and tractor trailers fly by at an alarming speed and leave you choking on exhaust fumes. Hitching is harder, and I’ve had to walk a few, but thankfully there are only a handful of sections where the trail follows the highway and kind souls have given me lifts for most of these. 3/10 (would be a lower score if I didn’t hitch)
3. Town Roads: sidewalks! Hell, yeah. Sidewalks and coffee shops and intriguing storefront windows and occasionally, cobblestone or brick or some other type of surface provide an interesting walkway. I mostly enjoy roads through town 5/10
4. Backcountry asphalt roads: Cars, not pedestrians, have the right of way in New Zealand. The backcountry roads have narrow, if any, shoulders, and are often curvy. Extremely curvy. Listening to podcasts or music through headphones is a bad idea, since I have to often scurry across the road to make sure I’m visible to the cars. Because the trail goes through some rural areas, the traffic does not always observe the posted speed limit. Crossing the road multiple times in a mile is a comical, and vaguely terrifying process of trying to strain my ears for unseen, oncoming cars, and quickly running pell mell to the other side, my backpack bouncing recklessly. 3/10
5. Residential & Misc.: These are typically a conglomerate of paved pedestrian pathways (please note the alliteration), bike greenways, and shortcuts such as stairs through a neighborhood. Although these are high impact surfaces to walk on and my preference is always dirt tracks, if I have to pavement these are not the worst. 5/10

Pasturelands are tricky to rate, because the terrain varies wildly.

Pros: The views are usually lovely, basically Scotland on steroids. There’s lush, windblown grass, a plethora of wildflowers dotting the hillsides, some stark rocks and boulders (“that’s a nice boulder”), views of the glittering sea or mountains in the distance, and picturesque paddocks of fluffy sheep grazing. Also, it’s a softer landing than tarmac/cement, so my joints don’t feel as pounded at the end of the day. So… 8/10?

The list of humbug cons is extensive: 

Cons: Cow and sheep dung, thick and deep mud, stiles, and uneven, trampled ground are just the beginning. Throw in tall grass, gorse and briar patches, mud, unmarked or poorly marked track, being in the sun for hours, a generous dose of PUDs (pointless ups and downs), mud, ornery bulls, electric fences, and did I mention the mud? And the road starts to sound downright pleasant. 2/10

However, the roads lose their allure when knees, ankles, feet, everything aches and doth protest. 

But lo! Behold! The road ends and a pastureland begins! What joy, what relief, I thank the trail gods.

But then… 

See my problem? 

Now, on to some memorable moments from this section of trail: 

Saga #1: On the Way to Farmer Maggot’s 

“Trail” is too generous a term for the section after Mercer. After a fitful night trying to fall asleep to the lullaby of heavy traffic and failing miserably, I set off along the mile-long trail through patchy woods beside the highway. I ducked into a cute cafe in Mercer before setting off into what I thought was going to be an “easy” day through some pastureland. If you’ve read the Fellowship of the Ring, you might remember when Frodo, Sam and Pippin decided to leave the Nazgul haunted road and cut a straight line to the ferry. They had not gone far before they were having to bushwack their way through briars and bogs. If you’re familiar with the scene, then you can picture my day, but minus the Black Riders. 

I spent the day plowing through knee high grass, trying to zigzag around gorse and briar and thistle patches, and navigating mud threatening to claim my shoes. There was one patch of particularly unruly tall grass growing in a small bog that soared above my head and I was slick with sweat by the time I shoved my way clear. Next came a bank so steep I had to use my hands to climb, followed by yet another gorse patch. I finally reached a fence line and some less challenging hiking. However, after half an hour of steady climbing, I realized I had not seen a trail marker in quite a bit of time. FarOut trail guide confirmed my suspicions. I had missed the stile to cross the fence, and I was off trail. I decided to continue to follow the fence, reasoning that it was relatively easier, and it should eventually lead me back to the trail. 

It did not. 

I used my GPS to help navigate and spent a miserable (and quite fun) couple hours scrambling up and down steep banks, squirming under and hopping over fences, and crossing a deep bog as my last obstacle before rejoining the trail. It eventually deposited me into a small paddock occupied by some curious cows and back onto the road for a short respite before entering another challenging swath of overgrown fields. 

Saga #2: Stranger Danger 

While I was scarfing down a late, large breakfast in a lovely cafe in Rangiriri, the people at the next table (an older guy and a college age girl I assumed was his granddaughter) started asking me questions about the trail, which I tried to politely answer around bites of food. I still don’t quite know it happened, but suddenly I realized I was nodding along to their plan of joining me for the rest of the day’s hike. A plan was formulated of dropping one car off at the carpark on Parker Rd, where I was planning on sleeping for the night, and one car by the bridge, not far from the cafe. I dumbly just kept nodding along, not quite sure if I wanted company, but not quite sure how to uninvite them. And would it be so bad to have company anyway? It would make the day’s hike of roads and pasture more interesting, right? And it’s not like I own the trail or have exclusive hiking rights. I told myself I was being ridiculous and stuffed down the vague feelings of annoyance and disquiet. They seemed perfectly nice. It would be enjoyable. Also, if they left cars at both ends I could leave the backpack. Excellent. 

While hiking with them, I discovered the girl was working on a farm and had only met the older guy the day before doing some trail volunteer work. She and her dog were lovely and unfortunately only had time to hike a few miles before turning back. Once she left, the feelings of disquiet returned. It’s not that the older guy said or did anything explicitly creepy, but my body was tense and I was guarded. At one point, he touched my upper thigh to ask what leggings I was wearing. I wish I could say that I told him: 

1. “Don’t ever touch someone without their permission” 
2. “I prefer to hike alone now”

But I did neither, and an old instinct to try to be polite/nice and keep men comfortable and from sensing my fear kicked in. I know, I know, and yes, I am working on changing that and becoming more assertive with clear boundaries. I also realized I was in a slight bind, since my backpack was in his car at the end of the hike and he also would have knowledge of where I was planning on camping. Again, our conversation was not creepy or weird, and I did not know if I was overreacting, but I couldn’t shake the feeling something was off. He seemed to want to walk uncomfortably close to me, so I kept shifting my position to create more personal space. When we finally reached the car park, the sun was beginning to drop low over the horizon. I determined once he left I would continue hiking into the night.  

“Okay, well, have a nice night, bye.” I pulled a book from my pack and settled down to read. 

He didn’t take the hint. 

“Oh, what are you reading?! I’ve recently been reading…” 

(Insert here to say there’s nothing quite like the deep irritation that arises when someone tries to continue a conversation while I’m attempting to read)

He pulled out some weed and started to roll a joint, and continued to monologue, occasionally throwing me questions that I answered with non-committal, short answers. The sun disappeared behind the mountains. I was beginning to panic, I would have to confront him and tell him to just fucking leave already. 

“It’s getting dark, you should probably set up your tent.”

“Yeah,” I replied, loudly yawning, “Okay, well. BYE.”

He came over and attempted to give me a hug. This finally snapped some backbone into me and I launched into an explicit, “You need to leave now,” just as he voiced he was tired and ready to go home. He invited me to come. I declined. As soon as his tail lights disappeared around the bend, I grabbed my backpack, wearily ready to set off again. Some comments on FarOut said the family living up the last driveway sometimes let hikers pitch a tent on their lawn, and I decided to try my luck. They were very kind and even invited me to join them for dinner and a movie. 

Saga #3: The Running of the Bulls

After a second cup of coffee with the delightful trail angel hosts in Ramarama, I set off for another stretch of road walks until the start of a pastureland hike leading up Mt. Williams. Since it had been awhile since I had been up any significant elevation I was quite excited. The trail angels had assured me the view was delightful and worth a lunch break. When I reached the start of the Mt. William’s track, I hopped the stile into the mud and immediately began climbing. A large herd of cows were in the first paddock and I spotted a couple bulls amongst them. I tucked anything that might flutter into my pack, kept to the edge of the pasture and hiked at a steady pace. Within a few minutes, one of the cows started ambling towards me, seemingly curious. Another joined, and then another, following my tracks up the field. They were staying a good distance back, matching my pace. 

“Aw, sorry, I don’t have any food,” I called apologetically and kept on. The bulls in the field made me nervous, but they seemed content to eye me slightly, but keep to themselves. The small number of cows following me increased, but they maintained their distance and I laughed at the idea of being the pied piper of cows. I skirted the food trough and continued to climb steadily. As I passed the trough, the cows behind me increased their speed and decreased the distance between us. One of the bulls joined their ranks. I hiked faster. They did too. The other bull also joined. 

“Okay, okay, hey, hey,” I called, and clapped my trekking poles together a few times. They stopped, and I breathed a little easier and continued hiking. They did too. One of the bulls snorted loudly and stamped his hoof. Shit. The other mooed loudly and perhaps a tad aggressively. Most of the herd was now following, the closest cow a few feet from me. I spied the next stile and sped up. 

“Hey, hey, back off!” I called again, but this time it had no effect. They continued to trot after me, the bulls snorting, stamping their hooves, and lowering their horned heads at me. Shit, shit, shift. They were almost within arms reach now. The stile was close enough and yelling, I burst into an awkward run. I flung myself over the fence line into the next paddock, heart racing. Thankfully, all the following paddocks contained sheep. 

Back to Impossible Questions:

Although the road walking was sometimes monotonous and painful, the cafes and coffee shops along the way (and sometimes a little out of the way), helped tremendously. I was fueled by a horrifying amount of sugar and caffeine pulsing through my veins. The Harry Potter audiobooks and a litany of podcasts (s/o to The Prancing Pony Podcast, Trail Runner Nation, and Oh No, Ross and Carrie to name a few favorites) helped paint the roadwalks with more vibrancy. There were also some sweet highlights such as the Auckland Botanical Gardens where I spent several happy hours wandering amongst the roses and plants. And although the fields were often challenging, the views were alluring and enveloped me with a deep sense of serenity. I was enthralled with the lambs frolicking on the hills and delighted with the wildflowers and trees blushing with Spring’s first bloom. 

So, which did I hate more, the roads or fields?

Still an impossible question, because I really didn’t hate either.

Breakdown of miles: 

(Long Bay Beach- Onehunga Bay Reserve, previously walked 29mi)

Day 23: Beachcroft Ave (Onehunga Bay Reserve)- Stealth spot: 16mi

Day 24: Stealth spot- Ramarama (trail angel): 18mi (hitched 4mi)

Day 25: Ramarama- stealth spot, Kellyville Rd: 17mi (hitched 3mi)

Day 26: Kellyville Rd- field by pumphouse: 13mi

Day 27: Field- Parker Rd: 18mi