Wellington to Cape Reinga in 68 days

The complete diary

Thanks to Mark and Jan Habgood , Claire Fouhy and Kate Hannigan  and everybody at Central Station, and Martin Hubbard and Susie and everybody at Fletcher Interiors who had modified my wheelbarrow extensively (not forgetting Brooke Lodge at Danzas, who freighted my wheelbarrow free from Auckland to Wellington), I was able to set off in style and I had a great send-off from the Malaghan Institute on Tuesday morning, all the staff (about forty of them!) turned out in white coats including Professor Le Gros: they are delighted that I am donating all the money raised in New Zealand to fund research within New Zealand, and I am very happy to be able to help them. They produced two sheets of sponsors before I even started as an added bonus!

Mark had managed to secure massive sponsorship from RD1, and Bob Hall at Fletcher had also promised great financial support: good news all round before I had even started.

Good interview from the Dominion Post, with their photographer escorting me to the road in the driving rain to take action photographs: in fact, the send off lasted until midday and I was 'launched' in a downpour that produced 40mm of rain in 40 minutes: the culmination of the worst downpour for a hundred years!

The lunchtime crowds in Wellington were too concerned with shelter to sponsor me: but my heart leapt when one gentleman dropped a coin into my box, signed his name, and told me that he had read about me! A chap outside the Beehive (Parliament building) told me that he was one of the survivors, but donated generously: then it was off up the roads beside the motorway. The rain had eased: Martin and his boss caught me up to follow my progress, to find me making use of a pile of old sleepers beside the railway line.

The first climb of the walk was up the gorge towards Johnsonville, a pretty fearsome climb: then over the hill and down towards the landfill site and the Fletcher headquarters.

Poor old wheelbarrow was squeaking so that everybody at Flecther could hear me far up the hill: and the first day ended at 17.10, five hours walking and about 18 kms.

Back home with Martin, home from home: Susie didn't even seem too disappointed to see me, even though it was four days in succession!

Next morning, an early start: Martin begins at 0730, and after we'd swept round the offices to mop up all potential sponsors I was away by 0830! Through Tawa, where a chap made a donation: he was the owner of the Hellifire Cafe in Whitby, and half an hour later his wife appeared with a further donation and sandwiches and a couple of pies! Then into Porirua (which I'd hoped to reach the previous evening!) followed by the long drag up to Pukeroa Bay. I'd always thought that bays were at the bottom of hills: this one broke the rule! Then down to the sea front to be collected by Tim and Sally Roach and taken off to Whitby.

More tomorrow

Harry

Day 3 February 18th Pukeroa Bay to Waikanae

Tim and Sally Roach, of the New Life Church, who had accomodated me last night are from East Grinstead: friends in the town might remember them living in Sandy Lane and then in Overton Shaw.

Anyway, Tim dropped me in the car park by the seafront at Pukeroa Bay: it was a lovely day to stroll along the promenade with my wheelbarrow, 6 km along a flat well surfaced pavement with the only person I met being a fellow Englishman with a wind ravaged nose, who had also completed the Pilgrim Trail a year before me.

Our chat was interrupted by an interview with Beach FM, live via my cell phone. My friend dropped in a couple of dollars and left.

Through Paekakariki, which looked very desolate: the house beside the petrol station had been destroyed by a mud slide the previous year and the hillside looked very precarious as stories filtered in of the worst storm to hit New Zealand for a hundred years, with much of the Manawatu completely submerged and thousands driven from their homes which had been completely destroyed.

I went into the shopping centre at Paraparaumu and straight into the BNZ with my wheelbarrow: unloaded it in the immaculately carpeted foyer, tipped it on it's side and flipped the combinaton lock. Coins and notes cascaded gratifyingly out of the collecting box.

The manager bustled over.

'Can I help you, sir?'

'It's alright, I'm one of your customers'

'Yes, we've heard about you', and he shrank back into his office.

His secretary came out and donated a suprlus dollar or two.

I banked $426.10 and set out for Waikanae: 7kms of increasingly hard driving rain. It had been a hard 27 kms walk.

Pru (from Lingfield, East Grinstead) and John Bailey met me with their car and trailer to take me to Otaki for the night. Pru had heard of me from a newspaper article sent from the East Grinstead Courier, and had insisted to Otaki Rotary Club that they should host me.

How glad I was! Sheer luxury, and a dog (Susan) that thought I was the best thing since sliced bread.

But...I wish that I'd followed John's advice to put my bag in the boot along with the other blacksack covered packages!

It slid down the trailer floor and knocked open the tailgate and fell amongst the heavy traffic.

One ran over a bit of it: someone picked it up and put it on the hard shoulder: and by the time we got back, it had gone.

I put out an emergency plea to Beach FM, who ran regular bulletins about the plight of Harry the Wheelbarrow Man: more out of desperation than hope, we rang the police, wo told us that an orange bag containing assorted men's clothes had been handed n at Levin Police Staton, 20 kms up the road.

My wet clothes were dried hurriedly: the local outfitter, a Rotarian, donated underwear and socks, and twenty minutes later we were at the fundraising Wheelbarrow Barbecue (inside the local hall, as it was not just wet, but with thunder and lightning) organised by Otaki Rotary Club through Derek Johnston.

It was a great night: wonderful comradeship, a fantastic barbecue, an exchange of Rotary pennants, and $426.00 raised for the Walk.

What's more, the shop didn't want the socks and underwear back!

Day 4 February 19th Waikanae to Otaki

President Dean, who lived at Levin but worked in Otaki, brought my battered bag over at 09.30. One side seam was split: films (thankfully unexposed) crushed, most of my sunglasses (but not the best pair) and my back-up reading glasses were crushed, whilst a big tube of super perfumed washing gel had split amongst the bottom layer of clothes.

Pru threw them into the washing machine: she didn't need soap powder, the bubbles overwhelmed the machine on their own.

My cell phone had also packed up: so it was back to Paaraparaumu to shop for all sorts of crushed items, bag to sew up, cell phone to buy: it was 14.30 before I set off from Waikanae, to Otaki, where Pru and John again collected me. Weather was improving: just high winds now, against which I had to battle for 16 kms to get back to where I'd started that morning.

We'd forgotten to collect the bag: as the saddler didn't open until 10.00, it looked like another midday start.

Day 5 February 20th Otaki to Levin

Pru took me to visit the beautiful Maori Church, recently completely authentically rebuilt with immaculate traditional workmanship after fire: John collected the bag early, and after buying assorted replacement bungies (the others had fallen off the trailer with the bag!) I was away by 11.00. 

I was booked to meet District Governor Allan Birrell about 4 kms out of Levin: a live boadcast on Radio Levin had held me up for a few minutes, and I was busy trying to follow Neville's directions (even though it was all on Higway 1). They met me with a drink (orange!), presented me with pennant from District, and I was soon on my way.

Halfway to Levin, two cyclists caught me up: Pru's neighbours,Tom and Janet Bottin. Janet is a top selling children's author as Janet Redhead. They walked with me for many kilometres: the time passsed very quickly and we stopped for coffee and a pie at a wonderful cafe in a converted church where they all donated enthusiastically to Myfanwy's Charity.

Tom saw me over the dangerous bridges, waving down speeding cars from the other side: when they went back to Otaki, the wind began to rise..and rise..and rise. By the time I reached sanctuary at Neville and Helen Currie's, members of Levn Rotary Club, it was all that I could do to put one foot in front of the other. Janet and Tom, on the other hand, were back in Otaki before they could say 'Wow!'

Day 6 February 21st Levin to Foxton

It had proved impossible to follow the planned route to Palmerston North and Feilding: the devastation caused by the floods was immense, and although there were no deaths, tens of thousands of people whose homes, farms and herds had been swept away overnight, with memories of a lifetime now just memories, were in need of all the support that could be given in these areas around the Manawatu and tryng to come to terms with the greatest natural disaster that had hit the area in living memory.

I set off for Feilding on a bright sunny day, two days ahead of the date planned. Rest days are all very well, but in the cold light of day it's difficult to say to somebody 'Do you mind if I stay another day, so that I can have a bit of a rest?'

No, you've just got to press ahead.

A lady mowing her lawn stopped to inspect me as I passed and read the slogan on my wheelbarrow.

'How long have you been walkig?' she asked.

'Five days' I repled proudly.

'Hmm, you haven't come very far, then, have you?'

Stan and Alison Cull met me on the south side of the narrow, mile long Foxton Bridge.

The cycle track beneath the bridge was submerged: the police wouldn't let me push my wheelbarrow over the single lane each way road bridge.

So Stan loaded my wheelbarrow onto his trailer, and we drove across in style: it wasn't cheating, he said, because with holes drilled into the bottom of the wheelbarrow I couldn't even have rowed it across.

I didn't need much persuading.

Stan had been a deer farmer: now he was a very busy retired deer farmer.

The massive blisters beneath the pads of both feet had magically burst along the way to Foxton: and it was only just over half way through the ten days of bedding in!

I was still hobbling a bit, though: 'Do you always walk like that?' enquired Alison?

Day 7 February 22nd Foxton to Haematangi

Another great day: Stan had arranged with Charlie Pederson, National Vice President of the Federated Famers of New Zealand, that I would telephone him after I'd got through Haematangi, and I felt so good, swinging along with my rapidly rejuvenating feet, that it was a further 6 kms before he caught me up with his trailer.

I'd lingered in one of the few leisure laybys, in which the toilets (looking like Dr Who's Telephone Box) were sponsored individually. Here, it was sponsored by a hotel that advertised 'the best bastard beers for miles around'.

I took the obligatory photograph, Japanese tourist style: I was still regretting the fact that I hadn't taken a similar photograph of such a building just outside Wellington, sponsored by McDonalds.

It must be the smallest 'drive through McDonalds' in the business.

Perhaps one day I'll go back: but, maybe not....

It might be seen as obsessive.

I was wondering how we were going to heave my wheelbarrow over the back of Charlie's trailer past the various farm implements.

He swept it up effortlessly and dropped it neatly into the only space.

I'd only have got in the way if I'd tried to help.

He farmed 1,200 head of cattle on his 2,000 acres: round me, a herd of 30 was pretty impressive.

I was installed in the guest cottage: his wife Chris served up a mountainous meal that defeated me, even though I tried valiantly.

I hope that they awarded points for trying.

Day 8 Haematangi to Bulls

Early start from Haematangi: Charlie Pederson dropped me along the road and it was a long stroll through Sanson to Bulls, with the wind increasing. When I turned the right angle corner up hill towards Bulls, it was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other.

Now, there was a slight accomodation problem ahead.

The Inpijns from Feilding, which was about 30 kms distant, had offered to provide a bed for the night but couldn't get my wheelbarrow into the car.

Janet had telephoned her friends at Bulls to see if they could shelter the wheelbarrow overnight: and Colleen and Keith, at 169 Bridge Street, offered to do this. That was great. All sorted.

I was strolling over the bridge into Bulls, braving the gale and holding on to the rail to take the inevitable forgettable photographs without dropping my camera into the massively swollen river, when a lady met me at the end of the bridge and said 'You're staying with us tonight',

'No, I'm not' I replied: 'I'm staying in Feilding, but leaving my wheelbarrow with you at 169 Bridge Street'.

'161, actually' she said: 'and I insist!

Well, that sounded good to me: and it would save the Inpijns four trips of 30 kms so I made my apologies and thanks to them, which I am really grateful they took very well.

The lady then had to rush off to feed some policemen who were guarding flood supplies: and with the information that she would leave the door open and the telephone on the table, rushed off at high speed after telling me that her road was left at the main cross roads.

I checked by asking someone which was Bridge Street.

'You're in it!'

Oh well, perhaps she meant the house was on the left: funny, though, that it was 161 when Janet had told me 169.

A young lady answered the door at 161.

'I'm staying with you tonight' I said brightly: 'and where shall I put my wheelbarrow?'

The news seemed to come as a shock to both her and the baby in her arms.But we soon found out that Colleen really did live at 169;

'She's very nice' she said.

Up the drive of 169 I marched: Keith was on the door step.

'I believe I'm staying with you tonight'

The news also appeared to come as something of a shock.

When Colleen arrived, she also seemed surprised but said, sure, they could probably help me out. No, she hadn't met me at the bridge.

Anyway, I described the lady, mentioned the street directions, and number 161: turned out to be Judith and Brice Tambling at 161 High Street, and she already had the meal cooking and the bed ready.

Simple mistake, really: and the Kiwi accent fooled me!

Brice was a rotarian, and it had all been arranged once more by my Rotary colleagues whilst I was on the road!

He arrived with station wagon and grandchildren: it was easier to walk there, flanked by two bare footed children eager to show me the way.
Judith and Brice were wonderful company, and the bed and food was marvellous: Colleen and Keith seemed somewhat relieved that a stranger wouldn't occupy their spare room: the young lady at 161 was saved from a surreal experience: and I apologised to the Inpijns. Oh yes, and Raelene Franks telephoned from Feildng, she'd read about me in the Manawatu Standard beneath a large picture of me and my trusty wheelbarrow, bending into the gale, and a story that began 'Good cause, wrong time' that had been taken outside the Motel sitters mobile home in Foxton

Day 9 Bulls to Marton

It was midday before I left Judith and Brice's house: I sorted out the money with the help of three year old Hanna.

It was a nice even stroll towards Marton, although I was worried that it was 8 kms off Highway 1.Wally and Marie Elgar, and Margaret Smith, met me 5 kms from town with sandwiches and tea, and let me sit in the front seat of the car to eat.

Wally was a melanoma survivor of 34 years ago on a big scale, and understood why I was doing what I was.

Marie and Margaret were going to come back to meet me at Crofton to walk through the town: I guess that I must have walked quicker than expected, because after a quick visit to the Supermarket to compete with the Marton Junior Rugby raffle for funds (we all subscribed to each other; but I haven't been notified of any prize yet), they caught up with me at the Bank of New Zealand where I was causing a disturbance trying to get my wheelbarrow throough the door.

Marie and Margret came in with me: the cashier emptied his pockets into my whweeelbarrow, and I slid the board across the counter for him to sign.

Then we all strolled through the streets, collecting support along the way, to their beautiful house in the winner of the Best Street in Marton 1997.

Rotarians again: and Wally was soon on the telephone organising more support along the way. The house was full of Rotarians that night, dropping by for a chat: and the club is taking a collection for Myfanwy's Charity on the coming Friday night, everybody again has been so generous.

Wally and myself fell asleep watching the Super 12s towards midnight: glad to have been spared the sight of the Blues losing.

Day 10 Marton to Hunterville

Marie and her friends Margaret Smith and Sandra set off with me and my wheelbarrow to stroll towards Highway1. Marie and Margaret had called in with me at the offices of the Marton District Monitor to see if Harry the Wheelbarrow Man might have front page news potential: the editor was a bit busy, putting the next edition to bed (as we say in the newspaper trade) but she passed the newspaper's digital camera out through the window for Margaret to take a picture. Marie was going to call in later with background information.

Sandra had a daughter who had spent a 'gap year' at Ardingly College, only about seven miles from my home in East Grinstead: now she was returning with a husband!

Margaret and Sandra walked with me as far as Blue Gum Corner, where the Marton Road joined Highway 1. It had been marked by a huge Blue Gum until vandals pruned it low down (just above ground level, actually) with a chain saw: but the name remained.

A few kilometres along the road I reached Something Special, a great little cafe: they hadn't got a Mrs Mac's pie, but they had something equally good (possibly even better!) of their own, and entertained me to a cup of tea.

It was one of those beautiful New Zealand summer days of which you dream: sunlight filtered through the clouds, a light breeze at my back, and 28 kms passed very quickly.

Wally was going to bring me back to Marton for a second night: only trouble was, there was no room for my wheelbarrow in his car.

I walked down the main street: a young lady was just closing the Fisher and Playkel shop in the man street, and offered to store my wheelbarrow overnight in the shop where it soon became the focal point of the overnight display.

I sat on the pavement and waited for Wally.

Day 11 Hunterville to Mangaweka

Wally drove me back to Hunterville, with another pack of Marie's succulent sandwiches, in time for the shop to open and for me to take away their central display. Opposite the filling station, a lady told me about the Welsh boy who had spent the past six weeks shearing at their farm: it was just up on the hillside on the left, she said, Tal y Bryn, you can't miss it. I kept looking: turned out to be about 10 kms.

A cyclist, on the way from Auckland to Wellington, stopped to discuss the Desert Road and the road beside Lake Taupo onwards. It was a gentle slope from the south, and a steeper descent to the north, he said: it was the sort of information that I liked to hear.

We agreed to meet at the end of the Round the Bays in Auckland on March 14th.

Roadworks soon appeared: the Higgins road crew generously emptied their pockets and escorted me through the cones behind the road roller.

The road to Feilding to the east was still closed.

A young lady rushed out from her house as I approached Mangaweka and said that the family would love me to stay overnight: it was typical of the kindness that I'd received all along the way, and the third offer like this in these first few days.

But I had to turn it down: Colin Baird was going to meet me and take me back to Taihape.

Mangaweka I had visited before: a beautiful little town, dominated by the DC3 cafe (yes, a real DC3, and a winner for children's parties with an authentic cockpit to visit once they'd climbed the steps from the filling station): and there is also a beautiful little wooden whitewashed Church, sparkling beside the intersection in the town.

I pressed on up the hill, waiting for Colin to catch me up: 29 kms had gone, and I'd hoped to reach the top of the hill and start on the flat.

No such luck: the hill out of Mangaweka is a steady 5 kms grind, and I only managed to do the first 0.5 kms, in steady rain, before Colin arrived from the family farm outside Mangaweka to take me home to Taihape where he and Margaret now live..

He and Margaret proved to be superb hosts: and I soon settled in to my own self contained granny flat followed by a great meal and a helping of Super 12s.

Day 12 Mangaweka to Taihape

Colin took me back to Mangaweka, to the exact spot on the hill where I'd eagerly clambered aboard yesterday.

It rained steadily through the equally steady 5 kms climb to the summit of the hill: I pulled in to the rest area at the top and was instantly invited into their caravan by a couple from Tokora on their way home from holiday.

Would I like a cup of tea, they wondered? Would I! You bet: and biscuits as well!

They were members of Tokoroa Lions, as was Margaret Scarlet who had already offered her support. I gave them information about Myfanwy's Charity to deliver to Margaret personally!

A steep 2.5 kms descent followed: I had to hang on to the wheelbarrow handles to stop it running away, and rain began to fall again.

I called in to the Wool Shop, barely 10 kms from Taihape: Gordon invited me in to the back room for tea and toast, signed the board and made a donation, and gave me a present of a pair of merino and possum socks. He grew paeonies, which he sold mail order incredibly cheaply: we discussed various plants that we had known and grown, and an hour passed very quickly before I tore myself away to continue walking.

A couple of ladies and a child ran out from a cafe in Taihape with sandwiches and cream cake to speed me on my way: incredibly kind, once again.

Colin and Margaret had visitors coming next day: but they had arranged with Bill and Jan Byford in their amazing four level house to host me for three days from Sunday night.

Margaret Conway telephoned from Turangi to say that she had arranged hosting and transport support there: so another few days had fallen into place. Rotary support is just fantastic!

Day 13 Rest day at last in Taihape!

I went to St David's Presbyterian Church with Colin and Margaret Baird for morning service: Colin is Session Clerk there. Then back home to meet his family at lunch. I learnt from his son about the increasing incidence of cancer in the eyes and on the faces of white faced cows and many pigs: seems the UV rays are causing problems there also.

Colin and Margaret are expecting visitors, an old College friend and his wife from Auckland, but a fellow Rotarian Bill Byford and wife Jan took over as my hosts.

It would be hard to equal the hospitality that I received from the Bairds: but Bill and Jan managed it! What fantastic support I'm receiving!

Bill's son plays for Rosslyn Park 1st XV in England: I asked him to ask him to remember me to Andy Ripley over there at the club.

I left my wheelbarrow at the Bairds to pick it up next morning: I'd walked it there two days ago, after all, and so I could start my walk over the Desert Road from there next morning.

Day 14 Taihape to (almost) Waiouru

Bill's an early riser: 05.00, but he broke off from work to take me over to the Bairds at 0800! I was just about to leave when Simon from Classic Hits at Taupo telephoned, to set up further cover as I neared Taupo: Bill and Colin escaped whilst I was being interviewed on the cell phone and I set off on a bright sunny morning (shades of Laurie Lee!) towards Waiouru, the Army Museum, and the start of the Desert Road which had been a spectre hanging over me since Wellington with the feared Three Sisters the high (or low, depending which way you look at it!) point.

I passed Taihape Golf Club: my English friends would be interested that Green Fees were $NZ 15.00! Especially as it has 'the finest 12th hole in New Zealand'.

Half way up a 3 km hill I was passed by a lady runner who gasped 'Can't stop' as she plodded on. She obviously thought that I looked the sort of chap eager for a chat: and she was right, the hill was rather demanding.

Near the top, she passed me on the way back: she didn't stop for a chat there, either.

A Treescape gang were repairing storm damage: again, they all emptied their pockets and the Foreman remarked 'I suppose that we're more at risk than most people': burnt dark brown, almost black, by the sun.

Coach tour buses passed, drivers waving: passengers stared blankly through the windows.

A large pull-in was full up with cars and trailers loaded up with stock cars: they all emptied their pockets and I got about thirty sponsors and as they sped off, a couple in a campervan invited me in for tea and cake.

They were in their 70s (he was 79 next week), both with happy first marriages of more than 50 years: now they were off on their honeymoon, four months married, and looked radiant.

Mount Ruapehu appeared in the distance, snow covered above the mist: 4 kms from Waiouru, with the Army Museum heavily advertised.

I'd covered about 25 kms: Bill came along with his 4WD and we went home for tea to his and Jan's wonderful purpose built four level house.

Day 15 The Desert Road

Bill dropped me off 3.5 kms south of Waiouru: I was happy with a half laden wheelbarrow, having left tent and sleeping bag behind at their house!

Soon, having passed the grim looking Army Museum which looked like a maximum security prison, I was sitting in a caravan in a layby outside the massed array of cafes and bars, including the splendidly named Oasis Hotel, beside Highway 1, once more drinking tea and munching biscuits before continuing my gentle stroll towards the Desert Road. Sunny day, no breeze: nothing to it, was there?

I passed Waiouru Golf Course, 'the highest eighteen hole golf course in New Zealand': you'd have thought, with a recommendation like that, that green fees would have been higher than $NZ 10.00 !

A head wind began to rise inexorably: the landscape began to change as scrub and shrubs took over. No more gentle faced cows and sheep grazing amiably beside the road!

Dust clouds were blowing over from Ruapehu: the road ahead resembled a dust bowl.

As I got through the road works, the corpulent 'flag man' told me that he'd been blown over twice: he'd seen me coming in the distance and had radioed back to ask who the guy was walking down the middle of the road pushing a lawnmower.

Wind rose to gale force as I laboured through 3 kms of rough gravel on roads yet to be sealed: then the road went up....and up.... and up, for more than 10 kms, with the wind rising all the time.

Ruapehu was now shrouded in cloud: clouds gathered all around and began to spit rain.

I passed the highest point on the Desert Road aafter about 25 kms, 1074 metres, about 3,500 ft: higher than most British mountains and people here were driving over it!

Rain top on: Bill picked me up at 5pm, and I was amazed that I'd covered 30.5 kms and was now only 37 kms from Turangi.

It had been the hardest day's walk to date.

Day 16 Desert Road through Three Sisters to Turangi

I was sorry to leav Bill and Jan, another three great days hospitality.

Bill took my photograph beside the highest point on the Desert Road, then took me on to where he had collected me yesterday.

I stood shivering in shorts: squally rain and a biting gusty wind at my back beneath a black, black sky soon made me put on my thick waterproofs and hide my freezing hands in the sleeves. My breath was white, the temperature barely above freezing.

It rained for the next 8 kms: soon the rain at my back and the sun in front produced the most wonderful vivid rainbows. The southerly wind was still biting cold.

As Bill had predicted, the first of the notorious Three Sisters was not too bad: a short, quick down and up.

But the second was worse than anything I had imagined.

2 kms of steep winding road, often 45 degree bends, to the valley bottom: 2 km equally winding up. This was a sister with the potential to make some man very unhappy for a very long time: I was just glad that I hadn't met her mother!

The third Sister was a few kms further: then it was down a steep open road from the summit.

I met a German cyclist toiling uphill very slowly.

He told me one more hill, then it was all downhill to Turangi.

I wished that I could have been equally reassuring in my turn.

Over the hill I trudged: then down, through the gates which closed off the road in the event of really bad weather (they'd been closed last week, for instance) and the notices warning of frost and ice over the next 50 kms (the 50 kms behind me- oh, well, never mind).

Then through dense conifer forest, inexorably down hill: and sorry, German cyclist, if I had ever doubted your words, you had been right.

David Higham met me 11 kms from Turangi and took me home.

He and Margaret have a wonderful home with a fantastic view overlooking Lake Taupo, where they had been developing a vineyard, the first in the area and he reckoned that they had found out all the problems associated with growing vines in the area to pave the way for other growers who were now following.

As I say, not only did he grow the grapes, he bottled the wine and served up a lovely red for dinner next evening.

Quick change, and off to Turangi Rotary Club.

As I stumbled into my clean but crumpled trousers and Harry The Wheelarrow Man sweatshirt, David was already revving up the 4WD, wheelbarrow on trailer, for a quick dash to the hotel and a gathering of Rotary and Lions and their wives.

I was at the top table, next to David, with Cheryl from the Taupo Times at my elbow and the local radio reporter, who was to interview me next day, opposite.

I was the Guest Speaker, and was very generously received.

Everybody was really generous and supportive, with Turangi Rotary Club donating $200: altogether, Myfanwy's Charity received $334!

Day 17 Turangi towards Taupo

I was interviewed by various radio stations at breakfast; I didn't start until 10.00 and I faced an 11 kms mainly downhill gallop into Turangi.

I had a pie and a pot of tea in the Turangi Shopping Arcade (still couldn't find a Mrs Mac's pie, I'm getting denial symptoms) and enticed a few more signatures.

It was a glorious warm day, blue sky, bright sun: I slapped on a second dose of sun cream before I set off and looked at my watch in horror. 2 pm!

I strode out to complete 15 kms in the next three hours: two competitors in the weekend's Taupo Ironman stopped to contribute, commenting 'I suppose we're more at risk than most'.

I reached Tauranga-Taupo where David picked me up at the garage: and what do you think they sold there? Why, Mrs Mac's pies, of course, and I could do nothing about it, especially as Margaret and David had arranged a dinner party in my honour!

After a civilised game of Petanque (boules) on the recently laid court? piste? pitch?, cut into the lawn beside the rose beds with this wonderful view high above Lake Taupo, we had a great dinner party helped by a bottle of the Higham's Pukawa wine.

Bob and Heather had me captivated by stories of their treks to Macchu Picchu and beyond, and of the Annapurna Circuit from Pokhara: something else to add to my list.

Day 18   Tauranga-Taupo to Waitetanui

'You'll really enjoy today', people had been saying: 'Bit of a hill then a long stroll beside the lake to Taupo. Best day of the walk, I reckon'.

Well, the view from a car is rather different from that behind the handles of a wheelbarrow: and one of the most challenging sections was something that most drivers couldn't even remember!

After a gravelly 2 kms, ready to be sealed next week, I was greeted by a reporter and photographer from the Taupo Weekender.

Just as he held his camera poised, two things happened: a lady jumped from her car and came running over with a donation, and the chap driving the white line marking machine leapt from his cab and emptied his pockets of change.

34 wheelers had to swerve over to the wrong side of the road to get past: I heard the photographer, eyes gleaming, saying 'What's your name? How old are you?'

The white line marker also supported a Ugandan child with a $40 per month donation.

'It's the least I can do, I reckon' he said.

I don't know about that: it's far more than most people do.

The interview got strangely out of control, and I look forward to reading what I said next week, by which time I could be in Rotorua.

Some very difficult short sharp climbs and 35 degree bends, which meant switching from side to side to take the open corners, followed for 2 or 3 kms: then more gravelly pre-sealed road before the 3 kms Hatepe Hill.

This was hard, with the sun in my face and sweat streaming into my eyes: the wheelbarrow stopped three times on the upper slopes, and I waited with it until it had gathered enough strength to continue.

David and Josie Maling met me after I'd descended from Hatepe and begun that promised lakeside stroll.

David walked with me to Waitetanui bridge: then we all went home, wheelbarrow strapped into the trailer. They'd been farmers in Hawkes Bay: now both were heavily involved in Taupo Hospice, with David as President, and at the same time they were building their dream home overlooking Lake Taupo.

My room in their present home, just down the hill, had a similar dream view: at night, I could see the lights of Taupo glistening over the water, and way before daybreak I could hear the rhythmic slap of trainer clad feet as runners and walkers pounded their way along the path beyond my window.

Taupo, I decided, must be the 'exercise capital' of New Zealand, with every week seeing some challenging run, walk, swim or cycle event in and around the town.

Day 19 Waitetanui to Taupo

Today was to combine all of these disciplines: it was the day of the Taupo Ironman!  A 2.3km swim in the lake, 180 kms cycle ride, then a 42.2 kms run (a marathon): all within the 17 hour time limit.

David, Josie and myself were at a prime vantage point beside the harbour ready for the 0700 start: almost 1,400 potential Ironmen (and Women) plunging into the lake as one, with an army of kayakers watching over them. There was an early heart attack: he was rescued and resuscitated early. The odd case of hypothermia was resolved.

Into the transition and onto their bicycles: 80 extra strippers this year, I was told (no, not that sort, to strip off the wetsuits): cyclists were wobbling all over the road as they clipped shoes to pedals at speed.

We all went home for breakfast.

Then David took me and my wheelbarrow out to Waitetanui Bridge, with a half load on board.

The hard shoulder was coned off after 5 kms as I reached the Ironman course; a big drinks point was manned by Taupo Moana Rotary Club.

Many of them signed my board and donated: I thanked the President, they were the only Rotary Club who had coned off the road to help me.

'There's always a first time' he boomed.

A further 2 kms and I turned into Rainbow Drive, where everybody was sitting beside the road for a picnic lunch as was part of the Ironman course.

The first few runners passed: local man and three times winner Cameron Brown was second, more than 16 minutes behind the leader.

My wheelbarrow and I were soon strolling the last 5 kms into town, where early Ironmen were pounding the pavement between thousands of spectators (it was still an open walkway) and others were pounding the roads in an incredibly complex system of loops.

Understandably, I aroused little interest: although three of the runners actually recognised me!

I strolled up the road to the finish at the Domain: Cameron Brown was by now loping down the final stages, having made up the deficit and more, on the way to a fourth victory and high fiving spectators as he ran.

I decided to go round the back for a nourishing quarter pounder combo at an almost deserted Macdonalds: (no Mrs Macs to be seen anywhere). The double sets of swing doors were a bit difficult for my wheelbarrow to negotiate: passing customers were mobilised to help.

Otherwise, it might have been a rather dull afternoon, tradewise.

As I came out, a gentleman said 'It's the Ironman on today, you know'.

Really?

I strolled home through the thinning and increasingly well lubricated crowd, all urging on the tailenders and in quite a benevolent frame of mind.

It ended up a good day, really: about 120 signatures and $366, and a lovely meal to welcome me home to Rainbow Drive

Day 20 Rest Day in Taupo

David and Josie went to their grandson's third birthday party in Rotorua, and I was in sole charge of the computer!

Time to catch up on my diary: a telephone call mid-morning was very welcome, as I was getting restless. David Foss, a friend of Andrew and Sue Bass from East Grinstead, and wife Sandra were coming to collect me and take me to a family lunch nearby.

Like most of Taupo, they also had been on Ironman Duty yesterday: in the medical tent in the Domain, until 0130, and also like most of Taupo, they'd slept late.

It was a great lunch party: made even better by a plate of chocolate fudge cookies!

Then David and Sandra took me on the Taupo Grand Tour: the Huka Falls (the most visited tourist venue in New Zealand, possibly because (as David pointed out) it was free, and the Craters of the Moon with it's very mobile paths.

The souvenir shop at Huka Falls was closing, and I wanted some postcards.

'Are you closed?' I asked

'Yes...wait, it's the Wheelbarrow Man' he shouted to his colleague.

They ushered me inside, shutters clanging behind: they even showed me how to take the stamps off the showcard and stick them on.

What can I say? Nothing.

Home two minutes before David and Josie: and them thinking that I'd been alone all day, e-mailing in an empty house, apart from a stroll to the pub for lunch

Day 21    Taupo to Reporoa

I had a quick tour of David and Josie's new house before my sponsorship launch at RD 1.

Simon Bailey rushed in with the beefburgers for the breakfast barbecue. Sandra was there to see me off.

Josie, bless her, had contacted her friends Selwyn and Helen Boorman, just over the border of Reporoa about 21 kms from Taupo: to my everlasting gratitude, they provided a welcome, a meal and a selfcontained guest block!

As Selwyn commented, 'Happiness should be shared': and, like all the other families with whom I had stayed, they radiated happiness and contentment.

Last week they had welcomed two members of the visiting Ugandan choir: this week, me.

They had moved up from Wellington five years ago to an empty section, built the garage and lived there whilst they built the guest block, then added the house with it's panoramic view over the Waikato River and began to grow paeonies as cut flowers.

There was an ostrich farm at the back.

'One egg or two, sir? How long would you like them: scrambled, or boiled? How many minutes?''

It had been a very hot day on the road: mainly flat, latterly between Pinus radiata forests.

I'd eaten both the packed lunches, from Josie and Sandra, but hadn't drunk enough, and it took me all evening to rehydrate.

There were few cars on the road from Taupo to Reporoa, but one that stopped belonged to my old South Downs Way 80 miler friend, Dave Gower-Rudman. We made a date for coffee next Monday at City Focus in Rotorua.

Day 22 Reporoa to Golden Springs

1000 again! It was cloudy and overcast, so I didn't feel quite so guilty, but Helen told me it would burn off by midday and become a scorcher, and she was right. Selwyn had already gone to work by 0600.

I had a nice stroll along Broadlands Road: at the 25 kms from Taupo mark (still another 15 kms to the 'roundabout' in Reporoa where the Ironmen cyclists turned before coming back to repeat it for a second time), two guys from a local factory stopped and emptied their pockets, $20. Really kind of them.

I went down a side road to Ohaaki and passed the local thermal power station: over the river, then a long haul uphill to Highway 5 with the weather getting steadily hotter and more humid.

I had only about 6 kms to go to Golden Springs Motel and Holiday Park.

I'd telephoned the previous night to book a space, announcing myself as usual as Harry the Wheelbarrow Man.

'Got a sleeping bag?'

'Yes'

'I'll shout you a cabin' said Dave: really nice of him.

I had a little selfcontained cabin, which at a pinch could sleep three people who were very close friends.

Golden Springs had everything: even a fern glade with two natural thermal pools, into which I sank gratefully. Things were wriggling about in the water: I raised my hand sharply, and a little fish flipped into the water.

Guppies, Diane told me.

I used the laundry and gave a new meaning to money laundering. There was $50 in my pocket: fortunately, New Zealand notes are plastic and I soon had the cleanest money in the business.

They come up lovely with a few suds and a cool spin: they almost glowed in the dark, and the chap in the dairy was most impressed (at least, that's what he implied).

So was I: he sold Mrs Mac's Minced Beef Pies, succulent and steaming hot, with the gravy dripping down your chin when you bite.  Sadly, they turned out to be manufactured in Western Australia: I could imagine container ships full of these juicy morsels crossing the Tasman daily.  It had been almost a year since I'd first met Mrs Mac's juicy morsels: I'd been sheltering from the rain beneath the overhanging roof of the Papua New Guinea High Commission in Wellington, and had seen them advertised in a distant corner shop and taken one back surreptitiously to my lonely hotel room for closer acquaintanceship.

Now, at last, we were re-acquainted.

I sat and wrote a few postcards.

A lady rang my cell phone and asked if she had the right number.

'Only if you want to talk to ME', I replied.

Turned out she wanted a lady called Tiny Johnson.

Hope she wasn't in a telephone box and using her last ten cents.

Day 23 Golden Springs towards Rotorua

Margriet Theron from Rotorua Rotary Club arrived whilst I was still finishing my unhealthy junk food breakfast, with a car load of Rotary walkers: Past-President Tony and Marlene Baker and District Governor Elect Bruce Scott, all training hard for the Rotorua Marathon on May 1^st raising sponsorship for Post Polio Syndrome.

It was very misty: Dianne, whose husband had very kindly shouted me the accommodation, agreed that when it burnt off it would be a scorcher.

Even an 8.30 start now seemed late!

Tony was a mechanic: he understood things, like one of my wheelbarrow tyres being soft.

He topped them up at a nearby garage: and all of a sudden, I wasn't drifting downhill into the ditch.

5 kms from Golden Springs, we all trooped into the Reporoa RD 1 shop, my much appreciated sponsors.

Leeanne offered us breakfast: pity I hadn't known a couple of hours ago!

11.00 and my team were picked up by another Rotarian, Ian Smith, who whisked them away back to Rotorua: he very kindly left me an almost full pack of biscuits and a drink.

I was sorry to see them all go.

Then, at midday, a wonderful thing happened.  Three minibuses and a car pulled up alongside me and people poured out and surrounded me.  They were a group from Tongariro High School in Turangi, on their way to a Workshop in Rotorua. They all signed my board, wore the ribbon badges and took the cards, and made donations: then they sang to me, a wonderful Maori song, which I wished I could have with me to play over and over again. I was too overcome to take it all in.

Two o'clock and I'd reached a filling station and café. Time for a cup of tea and my sandwiches.

People came over and donated: the ladies in the cafe ran out and offered their tin of 'tips- for good causes' and it was so incredibly kind of them.

I had to get a gallop on now to cover a reasonable distance for the day and get within striking distance of Rotorua tomorrow. The next 12 km slog included a long 5 km drag up a steady if not spectacular hill; at the bottom I stopped for my last sandwich and a bottle of water.

I suddenly became aware of a shadow behind me: a gentleman in a Police tabard.

He'd come over from an unmarked white van across the road.

'Just trying to read what it says on your wheelbarrow' he said.

'I'm raising money for melanoma research within New Zealand', I told him.

'I'm raising money for the Government' he replied: 'I'll tell my mates to watch out for you and keep an eye on you', which was kind of him.

Would he like to sign my board, I wondered.

No, he didn't think he'd better.

Just down the road, Louw van Wyk and Margriet Theron met me and took me back home: home, where a year ago they had also made me very welcome.

Margriet, with Gillian Caunter, had put together a fantastic programme for my days in Rotorua.

We went home for tea.

The same room as last time: another selfcontained suite! Magic!

Day 24 Outside Rotorua to Rotorua

Mike Baird from the local Radio station rang me for a chat live on air.

I told him I'd be walking down Fenton Street between 3.30 and 4.30 that afternoon.

I telephoned one of the Rotorua newspapers.

'What's your first name, Harry?' asked the lady on the switchboard.

Margriet took me back to my start point, 18 kms from the lake side, by 0930.  I walked up the first hill: passing lanes ahead always fill me with a sense of foreboding, but this one was quite short and not too sharp.  Then, it was all downhill! Yes: I mean....all....down....hill.

At the back of my mind, I had seemed to remember signs saying 12 kms to Rotorua: 10 kms to Rotorua: and when these didn't appear, I began to panic. I trundled down hill faster and faster.

Suddenly I reached the sign saying 'Rotorua 5 kms': and it was barely 12.30!

I called in at the Maori Arts and Crafts Centre.

'I suppose wheelbarrows can park free!' I said jovially.

'Ah, I don't know about that: I'll have to ask' replied the car park attendant, brow furrowing: 'Better leave your gear behind Security'.

'Doesn't matter' I said, passing up the chance to see the World's Biggest Geyser, and trundling off down Fenton Street through Motel Land.

I was sitting on a bollard eating the remains of Ian Smith's biscuits when the three green minibuses from Tongariro High School roared past with waves and shouts.

I walked on ever so slowly, ignoring the homespun attractions of both Burger King and MacDonalds and stopping only to top up my tyre, but I was still at the lake side by 1.30 in the afternoon.

I wandered along in the sun, getting a few sponsors: a young man stopped me and told me that his father had died of melanoma in February, and it brought me back to earth. This was another reason why I was doing what I was.

I reached the cafe at the far end of the promenade: I bought a pot of tea and surreptitiously ate a packet of biscuits with my back turned to the counter. My wheelbarrow sat by my side. Nobody seemed to mind. It was a normal day in Rotorua.

Back up Fenton Street I rushed: I was almost too late to meet Bruce Scott again and start walking down from MacDonalds by 4pm.

A member of the Council stopped and signed my board.

So did a young lady who told me that she was a trainee journalist. It was her first week, and she was busy writing stories. She showed me her half filled notebook. Could she interview me, she asked.

Yes, ring me tonight: but sadly, she never did.

An old lady, with skin like a crocodile skin handbag, stopped and asked me what I was collecting for, and donated a dollar.

'They say I've got haemophilia' she remarked: 'What the bloody hell's haemophilia?

'You can't stop bleeding' I told her.

'What?'

'Oh, never mind'.

Bruce walked back with me to the lakeside: Margriet picked me up and whisked me back home for a quick change, via a garage to check the tyre.

'Loose valve' was the verdict.

Then back to a meeting of Rotorua West Rotary Club, where Gillian and Norman Caunter were also guests.

Margriet and Gillian between them have organised a fantastic programme for me in Rotorua it was great to sit down and speak with them both.  It was the rotary meeting to discuss the final points of the enormous (1,500 people) International Walk around Rotorua this weekend, organised by the Rotary Club: but they still found time for me to talk for five minutes about what I was doing, and why, as Harry the Wheelbarrow Man.

They very kindly donated the Sunshine Fund (fines), $70 that night, and also passed round my board and raised a further $79, for Myfanwy's Charity.

Day 25 Rest Day in Rotorua

It was great to wake and know that my wheelbarrow could have a day of rest.

I went down town without my wheelbarrow, and dropped in at McLeod's Bookshop, a goldmine for bookaholics, where they are really supportive.  They are selling the sweet peas, and getting sponsorship: and I had a cup of tea and a cake in the back room, to celebrate Gillian's birthday.

I checked out City Focus, right in the centre of town, for Monday: then off to the Convention Centre for the launch of the Two Day International Walk, 1,500 walkers from 26 countries, and welcome from the mayor for the delegates: and me and my wheelbarrow, which Margriet had brought down in the back of the car, were there as well, at a Mayor's Reception!

Unfortunately, the tyre was soft again: the valve theory didn't hold water (or, in this case, air).

But first, I'd been interviewed by the Daily Post: then their photographer had worked on me for half an hour, in a variety of imaginative poses on the raised edge of the bowling green in Government Gardens. Can't wait to buy a dozen copies tomorrow!

Half a dozen walkers clustered round my wheelbarrow and pledged their support to walk with me through Papatoetoe as I approached Auckland.

Then I had a Chinese meal with Margriet and Louw, after which I was introduced to that most New Zealand of delicacies, Hokey Pokey ice cream.

Day 26 Rest Day Travel to Auckland

I realised last night that my wheelbarrow was not well: Louw checked out the deflating wheel and found a hole.  Fortunately, he has a couple of wheels spare in case of emergency!

Mark Habgood came all the way down from Auckland to take me and the wheelbarrow back for the Round the Bays next day: I felt very guilty about the 250 kms each way trip as we climbed aboard at the Polynesian Pools in Rotorua at 0930.

First, though, Louw had taken me to the tyre depot: they diagnosed the need for an inner tube, which not only did they fit free, but also donated an extra tube in case the other wheel followed suit, really kind of them.

Mark drove the route that I will take next week, over the hills: a few kms level, settle back and relax, then- passing lanes 2 kms ahead!  That means very steep: and from there, through Tirau (which I understand used to be called Oxford) and half

way to Cambridge, it was relentlessly up hill.  I sat silently thoughtful.

Jan Habgood has her team selected to accompany me on the Round the Bays, with their bright yellow T shirts:

these have a cartoon of an old bloke pushing a wheelbarrow on the back, surely it's not meant to look like ME? Somebody said it was a good likeness: I had a sideways look at myself in the mirror. I'm not convinced.

Great roast dinner followed by apple pie and cream: then I was able to catch up wth my e-mails and got fantastic news, the Lions Club of Tokoroa, Margaret Scarlett told me, had agreed to donate $1,000 to Myfanwy's Charity.  This puts the total raised so far well over $4,200!

Then we drove down to the apartment beside the harbour, where the Boat Show was in full swing, to be on the spot (100 metres away) for the start tomorrow.

Day 27 Round the Bays

Great day for the Round the Bays: I'm becoming a regular, second year in succession. Jan and the girls arrived early, just after 8: then we strolled down to the start. Helen Clarke, the Prime Minister, was the Starter once again: last year they'd all gone off too early due to a chance remark from the Organiser at her side, but there was no such error this time!  It would have done justice to the Olympics, with the crowd countdown followed by an enormous cannon which rocked the harbour and probably deafened half the front row and the Cabinet.

A few people generously donated: but not surprisingly, most had come out without their money unaware that they were about to be confronted by Wheelbarrow Man.  It was just an enjoyable walk, with the Wheelbarrow beating me over the line by a wheel (two wheels, to be pedantic aand precise) in a few minutes under 2 hours for the 10 kms.  A man at the finish asked me for what I was collecting.  Melanoma research, I informed him.  Nothing wrong with that, he said.  I was glad to have his implied blessing.

Down to Madills Farm, solid with hospitality tents: a lady labelled SECURITY told me that I had to have a licence to collect money.

I told her that I was just handing out leaflets, and if anyone wanted to slip the odd few cents into my wheelbarrow as a result of what they read, then I would certainly not have solicited these although I might not positively resist.

She told me that I had to have a licence to give out leaflets, as well, and pointed out the large muscular gentleman in the distance who was in charge of issuing licences.

He didn't look like the sort of chap to do this sort of thing freely on the spur of the moment, so we had some chips and came home.

Day 28  Back to Rotorua!

0640 start from Auckland with Mark, facing the constant stream of traffc heading into the city.  Mark commented that even going south, there was more traffic than usual, but to me, weaned on English traffic, it looked like a pleasnt Sunday afternoon drive (except that it was dark, of course!)

It took only two and a quarter hours to reach Rotorua: I had a careful look at the road from Tirau along the way.  Mark strolled into the same Backpackers Internet Cafe in which he had breakfasted two days earlier on Saturday.  'Same again, please'.  Either the lady behnd the counter had a wonderful memory, or she didn't do too much business, because bacon eggs and toast duly appeared.  She gave us a little talk whilst we ate, about how the cures for most diseases had already been discovered, but had been supressed by 'big business' to make money.  How they could make money by not telling anybody about it, I didn't like to ask.

I took my board round McLeods Booksellers, who are supporting us wonderfully thanks in large part to Gillian Caunter, and Bill Davis Sports, to get the first signatures of the day. I hadn't liked to interrupt the lady in the cafe to ask her to add her name.  Bill, a former All Black, donated the shirt and socks that I required to give me a change of clothing, so that I didn't have to 'wash'n wear': a great gesture.

Off to City Focus, right in the centre of the city, where Denis Olliver already had my table set out.  A chill wind was blowing: few people seemed inclined to donate.  '1 in 25 New Zealanders will suffer from melanoma' I sternly informed one matronly lady (journalist-speak for 'well presented and packaged obese') 'Yes, I know!' she smiled brightly as she swayed past. A weather beaten pensioner informed me that he came from the sun centre of New Zeaand, Central Otago.  His doctor had told him, some years before, 'Son, your skins been tanned like leather by the sun for years.  There's no way that anything can get you now!'  He didn't appear to want to help those less fortunate than himself.  I told another lady that we were funding research into melanoma to try to find a cure. 'Jolly good if you could' she said: 'but I've got a plane to catch.'

Gillian arrived to take me and George the Wheelbarrow off for an audience with the Mayor at City Hall.  It was a bit dfficult to get George in and out of the lift, but we managed it and strolled along a gleaming corridor to meet the Mayor, Graham Hall,  now nearing the close of his twelfth and final year in office.  He was kindness personified, really interested in what we were doing, and gave me a generous personal donation.  Then off we galloped back to City Focus: Dave Gower-Rudman, my former running friend from the SDW80, was spoiling for a coffee, but Magriet also appeared to whisk me and George off to Rotary.  Did I need to take George, I wondered.  'You are nothing without your wheelbarrow', Magriet informed me sternly.

Dave had two sponsor sheets full that he had taken round the hospital.  I was to talk to Rotary about the Walk, and felt a bit reticent about attending in shorts and T shirt with a wheelbarrow for company.  Tony, Marlene and Bruce, who had walked with me from Golden Springs, were there in what I took either to be fancy dress, or an attempt to make me feel at ease.  Turned out they'd won the prize at the Rotary District meeting for best representation of 'Town and Country': and there's me thinking that all Rotarians in Rotorua could dress casually for meetings!

City Focus that afternoon was much better, even though it was Monday: the wind had dropped, the sun shone, and people were suddenly smiley!  I gave serious consideration to body language.  If you stand in front of the table, or have arms folded across the chest or hands on hips, it's too aggressive: it frightens people away.  Hands behind back, nice smile, rising inflection in the sentence, and people rushed (well, that's perhaps too strong a word, more like 'sidled' actually) over to sign the board and donate.  But 4,15 pm, sun went down, wind rose, and Rotorua ground to a halt.  I collected my new glasses from the optician, and went home for tea.

Day 29   Rotorua to Highland Hills

Margriet and Lou both had 0730 meetings: Piet took me to  RD1, via the Dinosaur Park (only to cruise past in the car, don't worry!) to RD1 for an 0830 start.  Mike Baird from Classic Hits was there, whipping the crowd (Marlene, Tony, Margriet and several ladies who had come along to buy sweet peas) into a fairly low-key frenzy.  So was Marise Hurley and the cameraman from TV1, who took great care to get the 'crowd' in as background without their being aware as Marise conducted the interview.

Marise, let me tell you, knocks her namesake Elizabeth into a cocked hat: Hugh Grant will never know what he missed!  All he got was Four weddings and a Funeral.  RD1 began to feed the bystanders with nourishing sausages and burgers, splattered with ketchup.  Mike did a couple of interviews for Classic Hits.  'Heard you on the rival channel yesterday', he said:  "Oh. I didn't know, thought it was you'. I said.  'It was a woman doing the interviewing' he replied sternly.  Ah, yes. good point: why can I never turn down the chance of an interview? After all, we need the publicity.

TV camers followed and occasionally preceded me through the streets of Rotorua.  Mike drove behind as protection.  I was miked up for sound to pick up cars hooting.  It was very impressive.

A gentleman leaned over his fence and donated $100: it brought me back to reality as he commented 'I've been touched by melanoma'.  Everybody poured out from Gold's Gym to cheer me on in what I took to be a spontaneous gesture, until I spotted the cameraman and Marise ushering out the latecomers.  9 kms until the major road island and the long drag up the Mamakus: and all my media support suddenly disappeared! I was alone again!

I sat beside the road, balanced on George, and pondered on the fickleness of 'fame' (no, it's alright, I'm not being serious: just hoping thet the Charity would get TV exposure as a result tonight).  I soon passed the Agrodome, labelled 'The Unique New Zealand Experience': something to do with sheep.  Twenty years ago, with Felbridge, we'd been there:  I've even got a photograph at home of Myfanwy sitting on the podium there with her arms round a couple of sheep.

It was a long 10 kms drag up Pukarena Hill: Margriet commented that she will always think of Harry whenever she drives up this.  I reached the inevitable roadworks: a lady holding the Stop/Go sign made a donation and told me that her name was Brenda Lee.  I told her I'd got some of her records.  'Is she a singer?' enquired Brenda Mark Two.  Sort of.

I had lunch in a misused bus shelter on top of the hills: the smell soon drove me out.  Margriet collected me from Highlsnd Hills at 6 pm, high up on top of the Mamakus. 31 kms walked for the day: pretty satisfying.  We rushed back to see the TV1 News, and Harry the Wheelbarrow Man.  Would you believe it, they'd discovered a new planet.

You'd thnk that they could have discovered it on Monday, wouldn't you, or waited until Wednesday: but no, Tuesday was the day and one of the 'stories' had to go.  'Guess it had better be Harry the Wheelbarrow Man': but they did give us 15 seconds. If you'd blinked, or dropped your newspaper and bent to pick it up, you'd have missed it.

Marise didn't even bother to send me a video of the broadcast to show people at home!  But people still saw it: for days, cars would stop and drivers would say 'Saw you on TV', and donate.  It shows the power of TV.

Day 30   Highland Hills to Puturaru

Piet Otto took me back to Highland Hills, via a sightseeing trip past the trout farm. Did I want to see the hatcheries? No. not really got time.  He told me about the pointed volcanic hills,a feature of the area: and that all rural post boxes had to be at the same height so that the postman could put in the mail without leaving the van. Great idea: I'd never thought about it before, but it al made sense.  It rained steadily for the first 8kms: I pondered on the second most favourite New Zealand sport (after supporting the All Blacks, that is) of Possum Squashing. All along the road were flat furry pancakes: occasionally you came across spiky ex-hedgehogs.

It was only 9.5 kms to Fitzgerald Glades, and a cafe where Felbridge  had  descended to eat about twenty years before, so Mark told me.

I was going to tell the lady behind the counter that it hadn't changed a bit, and how nice it was to find something still the same after all these year.  But I hadn't the heart. It's no longer just a shack in the woods: it's a gleamaing modern restaurant.  Once again, the ownser kindly shouted me tea and a pie (home made, she informed me, better than the Mrs Mac's after which I'd enquired).

How far was it to Puturaru, I asked? About fourteen minutes, she told me: that's in the car.  'How fast do you drive?' I asked.

'It all depends'.

A signpost soon told me 10 kms to Puturaru, 9 kms to Tirau.

'Call in and visit the antique shops if yu get the chance' a gentleman had told me at Fitzgerald Glades.  I promised that I'd do my best: privately, I didn't hold out much hope.

Tony and Marlene, on their was back from Auckland, screeched to a halt with presents of chocolate and energy bars, snd bananas. It was really appreciated.  Tony encouraged me, 'One little hill, then it's mostly flat to Puturaru'.

Well, Tony, it might seem like that on your motorbikes: but with a wheelbarrow  it's almost one continuous hill with a final vicious 1 km climb into the lovely little town, with a lovely water park in the centre and super mosaics outside almost every shop advertising their wares, and a 'children's wall' made up of bricks made and decorated by the school children, together with a wonderful vibrant 'mural' all along the side wall of Woolworth's.  I could be happy in Puturaru, I reckoned.  It was St Patrick's Day: and the ladies from the Tokoroa Lions (including the lady who'd served me a cup of tea from their campervan near Taihape days before!) met me and walked the last 4 kms into town, waving green balloons.

We strolled into the large RD1 in the centre of towm, soaked to the skin after a day of on/off rasintops, and disrupted the entire store very quickly. I'd been worried all day about not getting there before 5 pm: and there we were, at 4.15, ready for the presentation of cheques outside!

It was fantastic: the Puturaru Camellia Town Lions donated $100.00, the Lions Club of Tokoroa District donated $200.00, and the Lions Club of Tokoroa Host a massive and wonderful $1,000.00!

George stayed at RD1 overnight: I went back to Margaret and Murray Scarlett's farm: fantastic view for miles around, a beautiful garden, a terrific meal including an enormous steak followed by Christmas pudding. Two of the Lions walkers, and a husband, also came round. It was a very friendly evening, and so much appreciated.

Then I had my first encounter with a water bed!  I hadn't realised before the athleticism involved in climbing in and out: but once I'd climbed over the rim, I had a great night's sleep and didn't feel seasick once!

Day 31   Puturaru to (half way to) Cambridge

After my adventure with the waterbed, Margaret took me back to Puturaru ready for my 0900 launch from RD1 and re-uniting with George the Wheelbarrow.

Peter Fisher, from tonight's host Rotary Club in Cambridge, met me and relieved me of lots of baggage to ighten my load.

I spent a couple of hours wandering round the town, slowly descending the hill towards Tirau.  Steve Stanmore, from Linfox in Pukekohe, met me half way. He and his wife Debbie have done an enormous amount of work, raising money, getting sponsors, keeping the local newspaper the Franklin County Times informed and aware: it was great to meet him at last.  All along the road to Tirau, I became increasingy aware of the power of TV: cars stoppping for drivers to donate, all as the result of 15 seconds on TV1.  Tirau must be the souvenir, kitsch and antique centre of New Zealand: but it kept it's worst for first, Pamela's Castle on the hill outside the town looking like one of my hated Gaudi buldings in Spain, and which houses a toy museum.

It looked so awful that I immortalised it on film!  The information office in Tirau is contaned within an enormous white corrugated iron dog, some thirty feet high, with a big red tongue curling down above the door. Next to it is a similarly corrugated iron sheep, housing shops: whilst on the north side of the Information Office is a thirty foot high corrugated iron statue of Jesus beside the Co-operative Church.  I must admit, though, that I liked the statue enormously.

A young maori lady with a baby in a pram rushed down from their farm to give me some peaches: another young lady, on her way to work and who'd seen me on the Desert Road, stoped her car and rushed over to sign my board and donate.

Just before Peter picked me up, because I had to get to Rotary for early evening, a huge white stretch limo with the obligatory darkened windows, stopped by my side.

A Scotsman got out: they were on their way to Auckland, to fly to Fiji to get married, and it was the only taxi they could find.

The six of them inside plus the driver (I couldn't verify the accuracy of this, could have been dozens for all I could see through the windows) had emptied their pockets of loose change, and he poured $48.10 into my hands. Then he and his bride to be had their photograph taken with me and George, before me and George (well, George actually, I sat in the car) got into Peter's trailer and off to Cambridge. 

I stayed with Murray and Jessie Thompson that night: Murray is President of Cambridge Rotary Club, and I spoke at the Rotary Club that night. They very generously donated $250.00 from their Sunshine Fund to Myfanwy's Charity.

Murray and Jessie had owned a Guest House for a number of years after he left the education service and before moving back to Cambridge; next morning he served me up a 'silver service' breakfast to match anything that I might have received at the Ritz! I even had a separate knife for marmalade and butter, and a special spoon to stir my tea.

George had stayed in Murray's garage overnight, strapped to Peter's trailer: it must have been quite uncomfortable for him. Murray and Jessie were away that next night, and so I was to stay with Tom and Sue Pickering, beside whom I'd sat at the Rotary dinner: but that's a story that must wait until tomorrow!

Day 32 Cambridge

Tom and Sue Pickering are farmers, with a lovely two storey farmhouse. It had originally been single storey, but they built a second storey on a framework above the ground floor to avoid crushing the original house dating back for well over a hundred years, with gardens containing many wonderful trees including a giant redwood well over a hundred foot high.  They'd both been Hobbits in Lord of the Rings after rigorous auditions, one of which meant not exceeding a minimum height: and they had many stories to tell of their days in Hobbiton, (or nearby Hobbitsville).  It would have cost me $50 to visit now: but they had NO photographs, because being found with a camera on set meant instant dismissal!

Sue is recognisable, apparently, because she is the old lady in the final scene appearing from behind a bush holding a small child by the hand (that's what I've heard, because not only have I never seen Lord of the Rings, I haven't been to the cinema AT ALL for thirty three years, when usherettes showed you to your seat with torches, brought round ice creams at the inerval, and there were double seats round the outside of each row and throughout the back row. I believe it's all changed now.

I strolled up to RD1 to leave George overnight.  Anyway, we chatted until late: and next morning Peter picked me up, with George still snugly ensconced in the back of his trailer, and took me back to my start point.

He took me past the 30 acre conservation area, fenced off by David Wallace to exclude even mice: and he showed me the Maungatatauri Ecological trust area.  The walk back to Cambridge was pleasant and uneventful, although I shocked one chap who asked me how far I was walking.

'How far? Shivers!' he said.

Nearby Tirau, apparently, had originally been named 'Oxford'.

Matamata, even more nearby, apparently has the highest sun factor in new Zealand: and there's two facts that I never knew before!

Cambridge is a beautiful town, full of buildings dating from the early part of the last century: and I went into RD1, so that George could be left there overnight.

I was not only interviewed in depth by Michelle McPherson, from the Cambridge Editor, but also photographed by a couple on holiday from Yorkshire staying with their daughter nearby. Michelle reciprocated with HER camers, and all three of us will probably be in next week's paper.

Day 33 Cambridge to Hamilton

Tom and myself were at RD1, ready to collect George the Wheelbarrow: they were already firing up the barby and unwrapping the sausages and burgers.

Five Rotarians soon arrived: so did the couple from Yorkshire, and after a nourishing sausage and ketchup, we borrowed buckets from RD1 and set off round the town, bunched around myself and George, and escorted by the local traffic policeman (also a Rotarian) with lights flashing until he was suddenly called away on a job.

We targetted cafes in particular, where half the town were settling down to their Saturday morning cuppa.

Louise, baby Jack, and Ross Macklow (son of an old rugby friend Jock from Palmerston North), and with whom I was staying in Hamilton, arrived to swell the number of collectors.

One cafe in particular was so welcoming: if I can find their name, I'll mention it next time. It was cups of tea, coffee or chocolate on the house: and for an hour we wandered round Cambridge.

You need a 'team' to raise money: one man and a wheelbarrow isn't enough, and the Rotary club provided a great team that cajoled money from passers-by as well!

Back at RD1, Tom agreed to bank the takings, some $300: and the rest of us set off to walk to the beautiful white wooden church on the corner of State Highway 1, and where the Rotarian who masterminded the fines (the Sergeant) was vicar.

He'd been a fine stand-up the previous night, as well: remind me to tell you the story of the nun and the taxidriver next time we meet.

Louise was going to walk with me to Hamilton: we set off at 10.40 along a road suddenly bereft of artics!

We stopped off at the Essenza Cafe after 3 kms: last pit stop before Hamilton!

Two ladies followed George and ourselves into the cafe: and as soon as we'd all got organised, set off with the board round the packed cafe. We even got one young lady from Alaska!

One gentleman offered to donate $5 but as he only had a $20 note, tried to change it at the counter. Surprisingly, they refused: he departed, and the two ladies made their opinions clearly known. Pity, really.

It was looking increasingly like rain, and we were just striding out for a dilapidated veggy shop on the horizon where (so Louise informed me) Ross had done an unfortunate deal with a load of broccoli, when a car stopped across the road and a heavily tattooed, muscular, Harley Davidson T-shirt clad, face stud wearing gentleman crossed over to meet us.

'Hi, you used to coach me at Crawley' he began 'I'm Carl!'

Of course! It was really nice to meet him again, we had a long chat, and yes, he's still playing rugby and looks in top shape as well.

We arranged for him to walk with me through Huntly: and as the rain began to fall, we set off for the veggy shop, closed and with a verandah roof leaking like a sieve.

There we waited for an hour: by the time we set off, it would have been too late to reach the centre of Hamilton in time for Ross to pick us up and get to the Super 12 match between the Chiefs and the Crusaders, and so we settled for being picked up at the skate board park 5km out.

The match didn't exactly go to plan.

We saw the numbers on the backs of the Chiefs throughout the first half as they dominated play yet were still down on points, and in the second half, with the Crusaders cunningly changing their game plan, we now saw the numbers on the backs of the Crusaders in the distance as they won 36-15.

It was a somewhat gloomy crowd that set off home: we stopped off to sample live music in a pub in the centre of town.

If musical ability was measured in decibels. Beethoven would have been way down the list: whereas these guys would have been way out on top!

We got a taxi home.

Day 34 Hamilton

Lamorna Cooper, who'd read about the Walk when she'd been staying with her cousin in East Grinstead round the corner from me, arrived to sweep me off for coffee: and as soon as I got back, one of my oldest ( and I'm not just talking about age, although I guess that also has a certain relevance) friends Chris Gill arrived to take me home for lunch with himself and Raye.

Chris had lodged with myself, Myfanwy and Mark when we were both working at Ingwersen's Alpine Nursery: then he'd come home to Hamilton, where he'd become something rather important at Hamilton Botanic Gardens where I've since spent many happy hours.

Louise, Ross and Jack arrived after lunch with George the Wheelbarrow in the back of the trailer so that Louise and myself (with Jack in the pushchair) could continue the unfinished business of walking the remaining 4.5 kms to RD which the Chiefs and the Crusaders had brought to an early conclusion the previous day.

Louise managed to find a few hills on the walk round the lake to stop everything getting too boring: but we still got to RD1 in just over the hour.

Day 35 Haimilton to Ngarawahia

Ross, Louise, Jack and myself, with George in the trailer, arrived at RD1 for the launch by 8.30: and who should be waiting for us but an old rugby friend from England, Clive Coulson, with former Pulborough star Campbell Tafft who's settled in Hamilton.

Clive is now farming at Raglan (about 45 minutes drive from both Hamilton and Ngarawahia), after selling West Chiltington Golf Club: and he wanted to collect me that evening and take me back to overnight at the farm.

But that evening there was to be a rehearsal for the re-launch of the Rock group to which he'd belonged many years ago, with a photoshoot planned for early next morning: and there didn't seem much chance for a long session of reminiscences.

I reckoned that I'd overstretched myself with plans to reach Ohinewai next day: and Clive agreed to come to the rescue if this proved to be the case.

An eager photographer from the local newspaper appeared, eager to film me in provocative poses that might interest her readers: she finally settled for something more mundane against a backdrop of lorries at speed.

Steve at RD1 had the barby warmed up and in full scale producion of sausages and burgers, with his customers donating good money: he had a collecting box and a poster of myself and George on the corner, and offered to take some packets of sweet pea to sell in store.

It was such a good send-off that I had difficulty in tearing myself away to be sent off, if you know what I mean.

As I strolled down the road, Lynette hopped out of her car and invited me to lunch at Roadfreight (yes, I was THAT late!)

'It's the last road on the right': only problem, how do I find out which is THE LAST?

She solved it for me: she was waiting on the corner.

Alan, the manager, took the board round the entire Depot, gave me a very gemerous donation from Roadfreight, then took me down to the canteen (is it still called 'canteen'? I mean staff dining room. really) for a spag.bol. and a pack of fruit and cake to ward off afternoon starvation.

I wandered into Ngarawahia, ready to meet Ross Parsons from the North Waikato News for an in-depth interview. The owner of the Madison Cafe, who'd been reading my T shirt from a distance, rushed over with a cup of tea and a filled roll.

Then I strolled off down River Road to Julie Ann and Simon King's house, with her four children and mother in law..

Julie Anne is one of the most bubbly, bright and chatty people that I had ever met: and she made me so welcome. I even got the computer room in which to sleep: but I didn't actually like to spend the night writing my diary, and settled for going to sleep instead.

Ngarawahia, for those interested in amassing relatively useless information, is apparently where they used to have canoe races over hurdles (although it could be invaluable for the $1,000,000 question in Who Wants to be a Millionaire: you know, where did they hold canoe races over hurdles: was it a) London b) New York c) Paris d) Ngarawahia. I'm told that you can still see the 'hurdles' from the bridge, with the crews shifting their weight to the back as they heaved their canoes up and over.

Good thing Ripley never heard this story, or it would have been in his Believe It Or Not series (ad this is strictly for older readers with very long memories).

Day 37 Huntly to Meremere

I strolled through Ohinewai and into Rangatiri, which didn't seem too welcoming to wheelbarrow pushers: the hotel demanded 'a reasonable standard of dress', which appeared to rule me out, whilst the cafe gleamed with silver cutlery and pristine napkins and looked like Murray Thompson's breakfast table at Cambridge. There didn't seem to be anybody in charge there that I could find, so I couldn't ask them for a cup of tea and sense their reaction.

I sneaked in and used their toilet and left.

I was interested that Rangatiri was the future site of the National Wetlands Interpretation Centre: should ensure good use of the cafe and hotel, anyway.

Hope it doesn't push up the prices.

A Linfox lorry screeched to a halt, and out got Steve Stanmore from Pukekohe.  What Steve and his wife are doing to help us raise funds and awareness is fantastic!  He's taken out a licence to collect outside Pack 'n Save, and sent sponsor forms round many of the Linfox depots, and he's raised radio and press contacts locally so that the way has been paved for major fund raising for Harry the Wheelbarrow Man when I arrive.  We had a chat and then I pressed on past the Te Kauwhata turn as far as Meremere.

I got a few kilometres of Expressway on the way there: I love it, two lanes and a wide shoulder, just made for wheelbarrow walkers!

Originally, I'd planned a short day to be in place to meet the children from Waerenga School next morning at Laverne's Orchards in Te Kauwhata and walk with them: but the Headmaster of Te Kauwhata Primary School, Dick Hawke, had also heard about my visit through one of his teachers, who lives opposite Judith Foy (more about her later, it's all getting pretty complex!) and wanted me to speak to his school also.

But- I needed to be in Pukekohe next day, and so I had to 'poach' a few miles, get them in the bag in advance so to speak: and there's me thinking that all I had to do was walk!

So I walked to Meremere, 12 kms down the road, to 'bank' the distance, and telephoned Dick Hawke: he arrived with a trailer which had been donated by the local hire centre, loaded up George, and drove me back to Judith Foy's.

Still with me?

Right.

As I was waiting for him to arrive, Joyce and Rhianwen Horne stopped by on their way home: I mumbled my apologies about yesterday night.

A small boy on a trail bike, a pupil at Dick's school, arrived to see if I wanted a bed for the night: his father arrived in his minibus shortly afterwards.

'I'm Matthew'. he said.

'Hi Matthew'.

'My wife died from melanoma six weeks ago'.

Dick told me that she was only thirty eight, and had left seven children aged from about two to about twelve.

It put everything that I was doing into perspective.

Dick delivered me to Judith's house in Aparangi Street.

Her husband Bruce, a local headmaster, had died from melanoma in 1978.

She popped my clothes into the washer, and I spruced myself up, because it was the night of the monthly Aparangi Street party. I even had a shave.

Enter Michael Kemp, Secretary of Te Kauwhata Lions, a historic military vehicles enthusiast with a vast collection in his barn, and a long time advocate of organic farming which was at last, he said, being taken seriously.

He and his wife Christine are heavily involved in Victim Support.

He loaded up George and my bags, and my wet (but clean) washing, because Judith didn't have a drier: meanwhile Judith and myself went off to the local hall for a very nice dinner with the rest of Aparangi Street.

They collected and donated $65.00: Michael added a $100.00 donation from the Lions, before whisking me off to spend the night with himself and Christine.

It had, I reflected, been a complex day: Dick had collected me, Judith had washed my clothes, Michael had dried them and taken me home, and next day I was to talk to TWO Primary Schools in equally complex circumstances!

Day 38 Meremere to Pokeno

Michael, Secretary of the Lions (remember, Family first, Business second, Lions third) delivered me safely to Laverne's Orchards: shortly afterwards Dick Hawke (Headmaster of Te Kauwhata Primary School) delivered George the Wheelbarrow, and disappeared.

The children from Waerenga School soon appeared, delivered by parents and accompanied by Gina Rosendaal who had organised this wonderful visit.

Laverne's Orcharfds managed to resist all the excitement and remained obstinately shut.

Harry the Wheelbarrow Man was the subject of their project for the term, and it was great to meet them all. The local policeman also arrived with his squad car with lights flashing, and accompanied our little 'crocodile', the children two by two and flanked by parents, as we slowly walked a couple of kilometres to the grassy picnic area where we could sit and talk. Julie was appointed official photographer.

The reporter and photographer from the Franklin County News only added to the excitement, and the youngest and oldest pupils from the school presented me with a wonderful $164.50 that they'd all collected, as well as a long roll (to Harry) signed with the names of every one of the seventy pupils and which I will treasure always. The children sat and asked their questions, tried out the wheelbarrow and signed the board: and it was a really memorable day that meant a great deal to me.

One little girl told me 'When you reach Mercer, go into MacDonalds and KFC: they've got lots of money, and they'll give you some'.

Well, sadly, it's not quite like that.

Many of the girls and boys had decorated their widebrimmed green hats beautifully: how about a competition (and prize!) for the best decorated hat, Gina?

Finally, we said our goodbyes and I vanished round the corner to Highway 1: the children climbed back into parent's cars and went back to Waerenga.

I telephoned Dick, who appeared with the trailer and whisked me off to Te Kauwhata School.

I had a cup of tea in the staff room and was made really welcome.

It's a Sunsmart School, and the 250 students assembled under a huge canopy in the school yard as I told them what I was doing, and why, and answered their questions for more than half an hour.

Then they all tried out George in turn, whizzing him round the yard.

I had a meat pie for lunch: but I could tell at first bite that it wasn't one of Mrs Mac's.

Dick took me and George back to Meremere: the 5 kms walk to the service station at Mercer (Cilla's suggestion), through the roadworks, was distinctly hairy! No, they didn't rush out with armfuls of money from Macdonalds or KFC: but to be fair, I didn't like to take them on single handed. As I was debating the issue, a tourist bus was loading up outside and all the passengers signed and donated.

I settled for this, and walked on: I'd officially got half way up the island now (there's supposed to be a sign at Mercer to this effect, but I couldn't find it).

I walked happily up the Express Way to the POkeno turn: there was a solid traffic jam all the way in the opposite direction.

I was eager to visit the Pokeno Pie Shop (top prize winner throughout New Zealand for the past eight years, I was told): but disaster, I'll never know if they are better than Mrs Mac's, because they've moved to Natea (I know you probably don't spell it like that, but it doesn't really matter because I doubt if I'll go there any way, it was just a lovely dream after all).

I'll have to settle for a Pokeno Ice Cream: more about that tomorrow.

Cilla and John met me and took me on a tour round Bombay and Pokeno. They used to travel round New Zealand selling clothing: and what they don't know about the higways and byways of New Zealand isn't worth knowing.

Cilla, like Steve Stanmore, had been saturating Pukukohe and district with information about Harry the Wheelbarrow Man and his mate George: and she'd already raised (and donated) $50.00.

They  couldn't get George into the back of their 4WD, so Cilla went off for the trailer to nearby Tuakau where they lived with her mother Sandy (and her friend Brenda was there, on holiday from Kaiwaka (and more about that later, as well!)

The editor of the local newspaper arrived with her husband and two children, and did a quick photoshoot and interview: then it was back to Sandy, Cilla and John's place (not forgetting Brenda) for a great meal and an evening putting new transparencies on my Sign Please! boards ready for Pukukohe School tomorrow.

Day 39    Pokeno to Pukekohe

Sandy, Cilla and Brenda took me and George, the Wheelbarrow, to Pukekohe Intermediate School. John, unfortunately, couldn't be with us: he was on a retraining course after breaking his back.

Heather greeted me: I was to speak to five groups of students, aged 13 and 14, for forty five minutes each, with up to sixty in each group. Whilst I was digesting this information, she whisked me into the first classroom, with Cilla, Sandy and Brenda, and I was OFF!

Twenty minutes talk, then questions, then sign the board.

Lots of questions, such as 'What are you going to do with George when you finish?'

Well, in case YOU want to know as well, I'd like to find him a place in a garden for retired wheelbarrows where he could potter round all day picking up a few weeds: but you know how plans can change..

I didn't even have time for lunch: Cilla, Sandy and Brenda had vanished to do Other Things after the first class, and George was loaded into the back of a teacher's car and with me and the reporter from the Franklin County Times was driven back to Pokeno to walk back to Pukekohe. Baffled? You ain't seen nothing yet!

The reporter paid me my first interview fee of the Walk: he bought both me and the teacher a medium sized Pokeno ice cream.

All I can say is, thank goodness it wasn't a large one!

Even the medium ice cream was large enough to satisfy a normal family for an entire  weekend: and it dribbled down my arm and formed Hokey Pokey flavoured drips on my shorts and T shirt.

But the bad news, as I think I told you yesterday, was that the famed Pokeno Pie Shop, famous as the top NZ pie throughout living memory (well, for at least eight years: and about how many other places have I heard similar claims made?), had GONE- moved to Ngatea.

Now I'll never know: was it really better than Mrs Mac's succulent juicy morcels?

It was rather like hearing of the death of an elderly and distant relative, who you wished you'd got to know when you had the chance.

I had a long 20 kms walk ahead when I left at 2.30pm, after having met several donors inside and outside the café.

Cilla and John caught up with me after 800 metres, gave me a lovely Paua shell decorated notebook as a present with their good wishes (and those of Sandy and Brenda) inside, and wished me Good Walking.

I'd really enjoyed my stay with them: but it wasn't really goodbye, because there they were 4 kms down the road, outside their house, waving me on once again.

It was a long grind up massive hills: turn right at Tuakau after 10kms, then another 10kms up equally massive hills to Puikekohe ahead.

A lady pulled up alongside me in the gathering dark.

'Í want to talk to you'. she said: and she told me of her son who had died recently from melanoma aged only 31 and left a widow and a young son.

I walked the final 4 kms to Pukekohe in the dark: as I walked across the forecourt of the garage with George, a young girl leant out of a car window and shouted excitedly Ít's the Wheelbarrow Man!'

I waved.

I wandered through the shopping centre, now looking excitingly provocative in the dark with the air permeated with the alluring smells of cheap burgers and chips: I was reminded of Noel Cowards words, 'Strange how persuasive cheap music can be'.

Two young girls, who had looked vastly different in school uniform a few hours earlier, greeted me with 'Hi Harry!'and their escorts dropped a few cents into the collecting box but rejected the chance of immortality (of a sort) by signing their names.

I went to telephone Flemming.

He took ten minutes to arrive: in that time, outside the garage, I must have received half a dozen donations and signatures.

Flemming took me home over the route I was to follow next day to Papakura, explaining it with extreme patience.

As I'm easily confused finding my way anywhere, even going home from Sainsbury's in East Grinstead, and it was extremely dark, the chances of any of it sinking in were at best very small: but I nodded enthusiastically.

Then it was home to his fantastic dream house to meet Tina and his two boys, a great meal, and luxury accommodation.

Day 40    Pukekohe to Papakura

Mark Habgood and Steve (Takapuna Steve) arrived for breakfast at 0700: Flemming took me over the route once again, to impress it on me in case the subtle nuances of it had escaped me the previous night, on the way to RD1. Jeff (the Manager) had already got one of his staff stoking up the barbecue.

Sandy and Brenda arrived, decked out for the funeral latter that morning: Steve Stanmore, who had done so much to publicise what we were doing for melanoma research, was already there.

He'd received a huge parcel yesterday from the Linfox depot in Palmerston North: when he opened it, it contained one Mrs Mac's meat pie for me! Mark took it back home for me, to be preserved for my after-walk meal.

Once the town had warmed up, we were OFF, trooping through streets, clustered around George armed with our RD1 buckets, boards and pens.

Mark disrupted an entire hairdressing salon single handed, ladies with split ends (a technical term, don't worry) rushing round looking for their handbags.

It was an amazing success: and in a matter of minutes we had ploughed a fund raising furrow through every café and hairdressing salon in the area, where the clientele were literally 'sitting targets'.

The Saturday market and the enormous car park outside the Warehouse proved very unproductive: after all, people were there to save money, not spend it. But lots of people on the main drag contributed, and children from the school were everywhere shouting 'Hi Harry',and feeding George with loose change.

Three boards were soon largely full of signatures, and when Sandy and Brenda went off to the funeral they handed over a bucket with more than $80 in loose change. Mark and Takapuna Steve went off back to Takapuna: Linfox Steve and myself decided to fortify ourselves with a sausage sandwich at RD1 where the gentleman with the barby was doing a roaring trade.

Then we strolled down the main street: by midday we'd had an unsuccessful foray into another hairdressers (we lacked Mark's charm, we decided) and had reached our last port of call, the smart Monarch Café, the sort of place where you had to save up to go in.

But we did: and we were offered an all-day breakfast ón the house'.

It didn't take us long to realise that we perhaps DID have time to take advantage of this generous offer, and the customers proved equally generous. My second cooked breakfast of the day went down a treat (the sausage sandwich didn't count!), and it was 12.30 before we tore ourselves away and set off on Highway 22. Pukekohe was emptying fast, ready for a lazy Saturday afternoon: when we counted up later, we found we'd raised $NZ 331.55 and $Aus. 5.00

Lots of cars passed and hooted: many stopped and donated money over the next 7 kms before Debbie picked up Steve and took him home for lunch. I won't tell her that you'd already eaten TWO breakfasts, Steve: that'll remain our little secret.

I strolled though Karaka: lots of cars stopped, the drivers had read about us thanks, once again, to Steve and Cilla and the Franklin CountyNews.

It was getting dark by the time I reached the bridge over the motorway and turned into Papakura.

Flemming took me home to a special meal and to meet friends, who'd brought their children to a party there that morning and had just, sort of, stayed on.

It was such good company that I even missed the Chiefs and the Highlanders on big screen TV: by the time I settled in front of the screen the clock said 79.40 minutes gone, and not much happened in the remaining time.

I totted up the money: we'd raised $790.25 in Pukekohe (plus, of course, $ Aus. 5.00), plus the money that Heather was to raise by organising a 'mufti day'at school on the last day of term and which realised a massive $454.00!

Day 41    Papakura to Ellerslie

I was having a pee behind a bus shelter near Otahuhu when I became aware of a cyclist waiting patiently by, gazing at something in the far distance so as not to be accused of voyeurism.

He was, he informed me, Danish: and he'd just spent tree months cycling round Australia, which distilled down to the distance an 8.5 hour train ride from Sydney could cover.

He hadn't trained for it, because he'd heard that you could easily overtire yourself; then he told me an incredibly long and boring story about a book he'd read about someone who'd gone to Australia as a convict, married another convict, made good, and established some sort of hotel and convention centre.

Now he'd just finished cycling frpmDunedin to Auckland: and tomorrow he was going home, via Thailand. He was rather regretting that he'd told a cycle dealer at the airport, who was going to buy his bicycle, that he'd give it away if he couldn't sell it. I saw what he meant.

He didn't come over as one of the world's greatest entrepreneurs.

He signed my board, adding 'Denmark'with a firm hand, and cycled away.

Half the population through Otahuhu and Papatoetoe along The Great South Road seemed to be selling used cars to the other half: it was probably a good job that most were tucked safely away in car yards, otherwise it could have caused a traffic jam stretching far down towards Wellington.

I stopped and telephoned Justin Brown (Round England on a G string): from Classic Hits: he arranged to catch up with me in Ellerslie tomorrow if I could find Ellerslie, which given MY record might prove difficult.

Somehow I lost my way, and ended up on the Mount Wellington Highway and then the splendidly named Ellerslie Panmure Highway.
When  I reached Ellerslie, Mark Habgood had come out to rescue me.

I stopped at a garage, swathed in smoke, and with flames licking up the back wall where someone had set fire to a conifer screen. But nobody appeared too concerned.

Mark got me back on track: eight hours walking, some 30 kms covered, and well on track for the Devonport ferry tomorrow.

We went back home to Auckland, where my Mrs Mac's pie was already festering in the deep freeze. It had been a good day's walking.

Day 42    Ellerslie to Takapuna

I'd only just reached the Shell Station in Ellerslie when Justin arrived: he lived just round the corner. Traffic was a bit noisy.

'Let's do it behind the bus shelter', suggested Justin. I told him it was a long time since I'd had an offer like that.

I wandered through Parnell, and bought a bottle (yes, I collect old bottles!): from Wanganui, with a Kiwi embossed on it in case anybody should have any doubts about it's provenance.

I was impressed by two huge Cathedrals side by side in Parnell: turned out one had been on the OTHER side of the road, but they'd moved it across a few years ago to make room for a housing development.

The Archbishop of Canterbury would have had a fit if that happened in England, I guess.

I sent a message to the driver of the ferry to ask if he could make an announcement on board about Harry the Wheelbarrow Man: but apparently it wasn't company policy.

He met me on the gangplank in his overalls at Devonport to apologise: but by partly blocking the exit, and making it difficult for people to avoid me, I got a few donations anyway.

A chap commented that what I was doing would probably go down in the anals of history.

I hope he meant annals, but I didn't like to take him up on the point.

Nicole from the local newspaper met me at Devonport: she co-opted a family from Northampton for a photograph, and promised to send them a copy! I was pleased to see that the café on the pier sold Mrs Mac's Pies: but I thought that it might spoil my tea if I indulged now.

I strolled through lovely historic Devonport and on towards Takapuna, where I called in on an old friend, Don McKay, who'd made All Black history by scoring a try in his first minute as an All Black, and had been Manager of the recent All Black Barbarians on their visit to England.

I like his e-mail address: it begins 'oldmacpharm' (he's the local pharmacist, just in case the subtlety of it all might be lost).

Then down to the Habgood house, my New Zealand home, and tea: and an evening writing my diary. Four days of diary written: I felt that warm glow of satisfaction as I spent two and a half hours hunched over the computer, polishing epigrams and finely polished anecdotes: and just as I was about to send it to Kate, my hand slipped and I lost THE LOT.

It took me a long time to get to sleep that night.

Day 43    Takapuna to Carmel College

Mark dropped me off in Takapuna for the Rotary lunch, and I met Marilyn Glover once again, it was nice to renew an old acquaintance.

Again Rotary came to the rescue, and they donated the $43.00 from that day's Sergeant's Fund to Myfanwy's Charity.

I wandered round Takapuna until I realised in a panic how time was passing: and I walked (quickly) the 4.5 kms to Carmel College with Jan and Georgia so that I was poised for departure from there next day.

Mark collected us, and took me over the route for tomorrow up to North Cross where Pippa (nee Whelpton), Charlie's sister, was to collect me.

I'll never forget Charlie on the Felbridge Juniors tour to Trinidad and Tobago in (1974?): he dislocated (or broke) a collar bone early on in the tour, and we spent the next few days floating him round the swimming pool in an enormous lorry tyre.

Day 44    Carmel College to North Cross

It's a long time since I spoke to a School Assembly at a Girl's School: in fact, come to think of it, it was the first time EVER. I sat on the platform, in my yellow T shirt and my shorts, waiting for the Headmistress to finish morning assembly and to launch me as Guest Speaker.

It was, as they say in New Zealand, awesome.

It was a bit like the Eric Morecambe performance with Andre Previn (Andrew Preview): I said all the right things, but not necessarily in the right order.

I was presented with a cheque for $200.00, for which I was very grateful.

Then a brisk trot round the corner with Mark to North Shore Hospital, where Jane Hunter, Executive Director of the North Shore Hospital Foundation, took me up to meet the top oncologists and haematologists who gave me brief presentations on the work that the were doing related to melanoma.

At last, I felt, somebody was taking what we were doing seriously: and it must have been very satisfying for Mark after the immense amount of work that he had put in to the organisation of the walk.

I really felt now that progress was being made, and that perhaps my walk MIGHT act as a catalyst to the formation of a melanoma society in New Zealand.

George waited patiently behind the enquiry desk downstairs.

We set off together on the hilly walk along East Coast Road, pausing briefly in the chilly wind for a sandwich.

It wasn't long ( 500 yards, despite Mark's patent coaching) before I took the wrong turn AGAIN: 2 kms out of my way to King's Plant Barn.

I rang Mark in desperation for directions.

I eventually reached East Coast Bays Rugby Club, but nobody was there: n