Peter Carr
Peter Carr
Normally I resist departing from Cambridge. I’m happy in our small-town environment but the attraction of three married daughters and off-spring to the south demands a Yuletide pilgrimage. Not, you understand, of The Three Wise Men variety but the calendar commonality has a distant meaning.
As usual we load up the night before and greet the very early morning sun as we hit the south-leading black tarmac. Being Boxing Day, the roads are clear of the multi-axled juggernauts that keep industry and supermarkets supplied, so driving is much more pleasant.
The first stop is always targeted at a favourite café in Taihape. Their coffee and crispy, well-done bacon are a welcome respite three hours into the journey.
As we journeyed southwards post a late breakfast it became a very pleasant drive with our side of the road pleasingly empty of traffic which greatly aided trying to maintain a limit on the fuel consumption in our new hybrid car.
Watching the gas guzzling needle slowed by maximising on cruise control gave a pleasing warm glow while the useful Gaspy app on the phone advised the optimum geographical point at which to top up the tank. For those who need to travel this road southwards that point is Levin’s reasonable pricing. Anywhere south of there displays fuel prices of eye-watering proportions.
After Taihape it was interesting to observe the cluttered and slow-moving traffic on the other side of the main highway. There was an endless stream of nose-to-tail traffic headed northwards – many of the with seemingly piles of ‘toys’ affixed to their roofs. It appeared that the vehicular caravan passing by on the western side of the road was hell-bent on destinations that bore the title Anywhere but Wellington. And, in fairness, possibly an exodus of ferry traffic.
But this Boxing Day’s well-behaved flow no doubt contained a large number of fathers who had finally departed from home with high pressure stress, having told the younger members of the family that there was no way that ‘that’ would fit in the boot. Hence a frustrated father, a mother just wanting peace and a fuming group in the back seat of the car bemoaning the intransigent attitude of the driver!
Not, you would think, an auspicious start to the annual family fun-filled break in the sun where tents, sand, crashing surf and new friends all combine to provide a break from the humdrum of fifty weeks in the city. Everyone has different perceptions of what a holiday should provide.
Now call me churlish if you will but the first seven days of our well-earned holiday rest was anything but that. We were destined to be part of a labour unit topping the top 10 metres or so off 71 tall pine trees that border some of the paddocks at our resting place. This would permit the later cleaning up of the remaining 10 metres to be kept under control every two years or so by a whirling dervisher of huge noisy circular saws that also trims the sides of the trees. So, job done, much more light and good grass growth on the paddocks and a huge problem remaining to remove the resultant mess that we have grouped into one pile.
By the time you read this we will have returned home for 50 weeks of rest!
See: Loo and beyond
