Our New Zealand Hike – or How Sprite Saved My Life

On the day of our New Zealand hike we were late to meet our guide because Sprite volunteered to go back and retrieve the small folding chair I had left in our room.

The drill-sergeant-like woman who leaped out of the van reminded me of a Brunnhilde, so I called her “B”.

She took one look at me and said, “You’re three minutes late.  We have a five-mile hike.  It’s mostly uphill.”  I thought our travel agent had arranged a two-mile hike, already pushing my limit, but I wanted to demonstrate my vigor to Sprite.  And to myself.  Well, mostly to Sprite.

B pointed at the folding stool that dangled from my hand.  “You’re not going to carry that, are you?”  This was not a question.  Before I could mention my bad back she said, “It will break your stride.”

My stride.  Yes, I was really concerned about breaking my stride.

I knew I was in trouble when B jogged beside the car on our drive to the trailhead.  “To warm up,” she said.  Beads of sweat broke out on my forehead.

When we arrived I pointed to something that looked like ski poles in the back of the van. B regarded me disapprovingly. I imagined she was thinking, “Those are sissy sticks.”  What she actually said was, “It’s five miles, mostly uphill.  Carrying anything will slow us down.”  I thought that by her standards just carrying myself would slow us down.

Sprite instantly established a bond with B.  They were both sprinters on their high school track teams. I wanted to join in their camaraderie and feebly offered, “I was president of my high school chess club.” That didn’t have the desired impact, so I added, hopefully, “And captain of the debate team.”

B set a brisk pace.  Sprite walked behind me.  She knew that, if I walked in back, the two sprinters would finish our hike four miles ahead of me.

Not too long into our ordeal – I mean our stroll — Sprite said, “Alan, would you like some water?”

Good call, Sprite.  “Yes, I would.”

Sprite set up my stride-breaking stool.  I sat on it.  B jogged in place.

After we resumed our race, I mean our walk, Sprite asked how far we had gone.

“One mile,” B said.  “Uphill starts in two hundred meters.”

“Why don’t we turn around now?”  Sprite suggested. “I’m getting a little tired, and I’m looking forward to our boat ride.  What do you think, Alan?”  I thought that Sprite was not really tired.  She just wanted to keep her husband alive for more than two weeks of marriage.

“That would be perfect,” I said.  “Let’s turn back and go fishing.”  At that point I would have preferred dental surgery to running behind Brunnhilde for five miles, even supported by my sissy sticks.

When we reached our forty-two foot fishing boat, B did not take a rope in her teeth to pull us.  No, she switched from hike sprinter to fishing guide, and was quite pleasant and helpful.  I actually liked her.

That day I discovered I can hike two miles quickly.  I also completed my personal exercise pledge for the rest of the year.

I don’t know if Sprite was impressed.  But she saved my life, so I’m quite impressed with her.

Alan