MOTORING IN THE MUD.

Auckland Star, Volume LVII, Issue 305, 24 December 1926, Page 13

MOTORING IN THE MUD.

ARCHBISHOP'S EXPERIENCE. DRAWBACKS OF OPTIMISM. The Archbishop of New Zealand made close acquaintance with much of the mud of the North on a recent trip to Kamo and Hikurangi. A description of the trip, published in the "Church Gazette," details some of the trials of the trip. Optimism has its drawbacks. On Friday the roads were not good, but dry; but the rain came in with the Archbishop's train. However, we hoped it might pass—hoped until tlje telephone exchanges were closed and we could make no other arrangements; and then it really started. Cheerfully we set off and covered the first six miles in good time, but there, except for patches, the metal ceased. Now chains made for the ordinary wheels do not fit easily over balloon tyres; but we fixed them and again we travelled gaily—not always quite an we steered, but roughly bo. Some inches of dust-made mud accounted for this. And even where it is merely a paddock, seamed with deep ruts and crossed by countless creeks, we safely negotiated the Great North Road. But at the county boundary which even the optiniist admitted to be pretty bad! Disowned by both councils and therefore neglected, it still was friendly to travellers. It received us with open arms and clung to us when the wheels Elipped off the only firm strip near. Finally the efforts of those who had rallied to our aid were rewarded. Damp, tired, hot, and muddy, we crawled out of the glue-pot, and took the long clay Mil over the gum field that avoided the main road where we knew it was impassable. But soon the overworked car refused to climb, and we found that the water in the radiator was boiling. When we sought to fill the radiator we had no tin. "And it's turned out a fine day to mock us!" was the only word of complaint. Then the much abused unclerical soft hat proved its worth. Not only did it carry the water, but it filtered it, but it left the vicar with only a tarnished halo for headgear. However, alarmed by the roar of the engine, a friend in need brought his Ford truck from the nearest village; and with the Archbishop in front and the others trying to hang on to the floor of the what time a fountain of mud darkened the sky above, we careered madly over hill and gully, on the track and _ off it, through swollen creeks, deep holes, and over boulders, in a vain effort to outspeed the clock. But we were expected. One who passed us long ago, on a horse, was our herald, and couriers came to meet us over the hill. Others had sought us down the line on a jigger, and after all we were scarcely two hours late. Our hostess had sent wild orders to hold back the dinner, and all the girls in spotless white were there to enhance our general disrepute. A hearty, but hurried lunch, and off in our chariot to where the car, cool, awaited us. And it palled quite beautifully for several miles, but what was this? It had never been a road, but now it was a river—some ten chains further we could see the track again. The guide post in the middle showed only 2ft. 6in., and the car showed like a hippopotamus. How deep the holes were we did not stay to learn, but somehow we pulled out on the further shore and the gum boots were emptied over the side as we speeded. As he said, only one sock got wet—the other was several miles back in the mud.

After that we scarcely noticed bumps or splashes, and at last we reached the metal where impatient people had come in their cars to seek us. There, like St. Paul, we thanked God and took courage, and, only an hour late this time, we entered a crowded church for another confirmation, while pools of water drained to the floor where the vicar stood.