I made it about halfway up Uluru, aka Ayers Rock, when I stopped, had a drink of water, and sat down on the steep rock.

For the really steep bits there’s a chain you can hold onto and white stripes mark the “path.” I like to climb things as much as the next guy, but I’m no rock climber. I looked up. The lonely chain slumped against the red rock as it led up to the uninterrupted blue sky. I was already pretty high up. Good solid exercise, certainly good enough for one day, I thought.

“Ay, g’day” A 70-ish guy said as he hiked right by me. He muttered “pansy” as he passed. I was half-way around the world, sitting on one of the world’s most famous natural formations and some Australian geriatric was calling me out. I wasn’t having it.

Chris at Ayers Rock

I hiked on and caught up with him at the next false-peak. He glanced at me and brushed aside his sweaty white hair, “American?” “Yeah” What’s it to you, gramps? “I’m from New Zealand. Thought I was gunna have to hike her meself. My name’s Greg.”

“Chris.”

That’s how I met Greg, halfway up Ayer’s Rock.

We hiked up together. Greg was some sort of ninja Kiwi, jumping up the rock, smiling the whole time. We made it to the top, took pictures of each other at the little marker and explored the peak. I asked him what brought him here.

“I hiked this when I was twenty.”

“And you wanted to try to do it again?”

“Ay, I don’t believe in ‘once-in-a-life-time’ experiences, I always wanted to do it again. That and me wife said I couldn’t.”

I like Greg. He’s traveling around with the “old lady” now, redoing all the things that sparked a love for traveling in him when he was young.

“I’m just travelin’, y’know, knockin’ the buggahs off one by one again.”

Rock on, Greg, you old Kiwi ninja.