Part One: One Eyed Jack

Hitching just isn’t as popular anymore.

At least it feels that way as I stand on the side of the road out of Greymouth; thumb out, grin manic and eyes ever-so-pleading as cars continue to roar by.

And the Hitcher’s Doubt sinks it’s claws in.

If you’ve hitchhiked before, you’ll know exactly what I’m referencing here. You sling your pack on at break of day, excited to pay your way not in dollars, but with a shared yarn and kai. Personally, I opt for dark chocolate: the international language of love.

Inevitably though, the romance of adventure can dim; your outstretched thumb curling downward like a man in prayer.

“Why on earth would anyone ever do this?”

“Do I think I’m better than them?”

“Vehicle insurance and mechanic visits don’t grow on trees, mate”

“Did I just see Hillary Barry drive past?”

I’m about to walk back to town to write a sign when a tinted-out Holden Commodore skids to a halt on the gravel shoulder. The dust brings tears to my eyes but it could just as easily have been from joy.

I’m…I’m…I’m…I’m STAYIN’ ALIVE

Or so I thought at the time. As I was about to find out, this eccentric couple were about as close to Hilary Barry as a bottle of Jack is to a Vodka Cruiser.

I heave my pack onto my shoulders and jog over as a woman busies herself in the boot, making space for my stuff among the boxes of Coke and gummy lollies. A supermarket trip into town has borne much fruit for my rescuers.

“We’re not going to Nelson mate but we’ll get you on your way there!”

Sheryl shoots me a toothy grin as she slams the boot; a cacophony of west coast cheer and nicotine.

“Say, you don’t wanna buy a tinny do you?”

“Oh I’m okay, thank you though!” I stutter my grateful apology and she brushes it away quicker than a can of booze out the window. She indicates the driver as I clamber into the back seat.

“This is Jack. Full disclosure: he’s legally blind”

Beaming, Jack leans back from the steering wheel, lowering his sunnies just enough to reveal one empty eye socket, his left.

“Just the one eye, ya see”

Nice of him to confirm, I thought, grinning back

“Do you just memorize the whole trip then, Jack?” I inquire, and he cracks up.

“Something like that, cuz!”

We hit the road and the intensity of our conversation builds faster than Jack overtakes two-trailer trucks on corners. In minutes, we have covered family members in prison (I concede Sheryl has more than me), the local drug enforcement policy (“The cops have an understanding with us”) and deeply personal stories from their upbringings.

I realize that I haven’t got my seat belt on so I wrestle with that for a moment, glancing up as Sheryl confesses

“Yeah, we were gonna stitch you up and tell you some really crazy stories about us, but we chickened out!” she titters wildly.

I smile back and the seat belt clicks into place.

“Imagine that!”

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