ALONG THE ROAD.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVI, Issue 307, 28 December 1935, Page 1 (Supplement)

ALONG THE ROAD.

FUN OF MOTOR CAMPING.

PIVERSITY OF JJEMGHTS,

(By M.G.)

The philosopher still talks of the hor--ojs of mechanised travel. Let him talk. It only means that he cannot eve2 i afford the pleasure of being six instalments in arrears with the payments 0 n a 1923 two-cylinder roadster. I have 4jied the attractions of the good old ways of the good old days—tried and found them wanting. When I had to, T walked; turning up my nose in Chestertonian disdain at the vulgarians who swept hy in their care. Now Igo by jar—and see the country.

The poor pedestrian must plod sullenly Aver a Sahara of dusty roads before he reaches the next oasis. As he leaves a laven, gloomily he puts up his pack and puts down his ears—and trudges o ff over the gritty sun-baked pumice. By nightfall that pack of which he is so proud cuts into his blistered back, his beloved shorts chafe into raw flesh; his eyes are filled with the sharp-angled dust which hae showered over him all day. Of course ho smiles and says he likes itj and swears he would not change it for all your beastly cars . . . but give juni the chance k Let us leave him, for we know that railing against the fortunate is the only true pleasure of his misfortune.

Such a stoical smiler under selfimposed burdens was I myself once. Now I have learnt wisdom. Instead of having to chew solidly through the stodge of°Christmas pudding I know how to go straight for the threepences. It is not that I love the beauties of the countryside the less, but that I have found how to savour them in more concentrated form. Easily I flit from flower to flower, but selecting only those which aro 'the most desirable. Free to Choose. If a mountain-paradise 3s separated from the Eden of some secluded bay by 100 miles of weary plain, why then, I hreakfast at one place and arrive all serene at the next in time to prepare my lunch. And if, after a while, this place—as will haippen in human affairs — does not seem so good to me as at first it did, well, there is bound to be some better place within striking distance. But when I come on a place which charms me, there I stay so long as enchantment and holiday-time endure. It may be that I feel the lure of the gea; that I want to hear its sound lapping on the sand invitingly, and through the opening of the tiny tent that covers my car, see the dusky red of the pohutukawa, looking so very New Zealand; go very Christmas Annual. Such strong old veterans they are with their gnarled branches, and not far away the middlea<»ed manuka greying nicely about the temples. It may be that I crave the rill of a creek in a bush—to wake in the morning, early, and hear the first birdsong chorus —sweet shrilling above the squawk of the tui up to his tricks, with his squeaky wheelbarrow. And wherever I am there is the lovely holiday-remind-inw camp music of dew stretching the canvas, and the steady drip of the drops. AIT these; things I can have with my car.

On Being Sociable. If and when you go camping, for part of the trip you must enjoy solitude, in gpots of your own selection, but do, I beg of you, be sociable for a few day 6 More you return home. Go to a motor camp. Go, and like it. It's enormous fun, and to be a new arrival is part of • ' it. The new arrival in a motor camp . attracts as much attention as a travelling circus. Those bronze lizards basking in the sun blink open an eye; the batters stand up to their waists and stare; tent flaps open; the cooks stop stirring the stews; everyone stares. You select your site, drive in your pegs and lave a fire going in a jiffy. But you're not an old lodger until another car drives up and you yourself join in with the starers. Now there is an etiquette about this inotor camp life —not so much in the luge canvas cities near towns where everyone lives, in his own street and all 'the tradesmen call (would you believe it!)—but in the more remote places where there is a greater friendliness. For one thing you mind everybody's business and never worry about your own—it will, in turn, be taken care of by someone else. And it's communal . enough to make you consider a few days' plan. For instance, if you (being a fisherman) are having a nice boiled snapper with potatoes and onions steaming on the top, and a neighbouring housewife pops her nose into the billy ..and sniffs appreciatively (she- not being a fisherman and her supplies running low) you invite her in to have some. You had no idea, of course, that _ she would co-ee her multitude of little ravenous boys to share the fishes. But you are at least invited back to share the end of a hambone. Your main meal that night is the remains in your own biscuit tin, eaten silently with the lights out, so as not to tempt invasion a"gain!

Other People. And, too, the fun of seeing _ other people camping—enjoying the frill-less life and. being gloriously mannerless. You see those who throw up their hands at a snack off the kitchen table and Bquirm at jokes about peas rolling off knives, eating with astonishing dexterity while balancing on the running board. Beauties • who languish habitually in their baths fragrant with bath salts, seem content with a "lick and a promise" out of a tin dish. Epicures roll their eyeballs at the thought _of sardines out of a tin. People will enjoy anything in camp. They do not mind stale bread; nor do they mind if the hutter loses its spine and character. They snore happily on piled-high bracken covered with a sack, or on an Unrelenting stretcher. And they like it., To see them at it you would think that New Zealanders had more Romany in them than English, or Scots or Irish.

It is good, too, to notice how people express themselves in their camping. There are the comfortable campers who Mnq with them all modern conveniences (sometimes in a caravan er a trailer) — Wat hangers, if you please, 'and stoves, and butter coolers. Their cars are so Packed up that they can hardly squeeze themselves in. And they spend a great deal of their time in being busy and Slaking everything work. Their opposes are the ones in an open car with things tied everywhere with bits of wire, w ho live and sleep in a pair of shorts and who laughingly eat little else than dog biscuits and are on their way again the next day. Indeed, you haven't seen anything yet. you mail'steamer voyajrers,' you highwow hikers, vou boarding house misses, tf you haven't for once in a lifetime ■spent a few days in a motor camp.