Road Trip to Wellington

We set out much later than planned. A younger me would have been upset by this, but these days I have all but outgrown the impulse. “Perfect timing”, K remarks happily as we join State Highway 1, providing just the right amount of affirmation for me to relax back into my chair and let myself enjoy the ride. I snap a photo of the tangerine digits on the CD player… 10:41. Road trip underway.

Half an hour or so later we roll into a petrol station on the edge of the Pukekohe hills, the southernmost fringe of Auckland. It’s the last BP station for some distance, K believes, it’ll be best to fill up here. But in truth what we’re both thinking is: time for snacks. We set off again duly equipped, white paper bags stuffed with pies and baked snacks rustling in the car door pockets, a share bag of Doritos tucked behind the gearstick. K slides an Eric Chapman CD into the player, Asterix curls up peacefully in his hammock stretched over the back seats.

The hours go by almost imperceptibly, Eric Chapman never ending. Grey clouds loom above us, occasionally interspersed with rain. We roll over the Bombay Hills and take the new Huntly bypass, vast lanes of smooth tarmac flying across the lowlands and skimming the crest of the Taupiri Range, under the watchful gaze of giant carved pou. I feel the weight of the past few weeks slipping off my shoulders. We follow signs for Cambridge, twisting counter-intuitively through rural roads, before entering geothermal territory, where great gusts of white steam rise high from the cliffs. Somewhere in south Waikato we stop briefly at the roadside to stretch our legs. We coax Asterix out of his warm nest of blankets to do the same, pouring water into his travel dish while we drink tea from a thermos flask, invigourated by the caffeine and cold air. I breathe in deep lungfuls of it, relishing the taste. The temperature has already dropped a few degrees. As we continue downwards onto the Desert Road, it drops further still. The landscape now is windswept and barren, tight low scrub all around us, distant snowcapped mountains on our right. We stop again for snacks, a new selection of baked goods, a little jar of peanut butter with a bruised banana. Out of the desert, the temperature rises a little. We listen to podcasts, an episode of Desert Island Discs, several more of The Film Programme. We debate our own Desert Island picks, our attempts to play them for each other thwarted by intermittent 3G. Time passes peacefully. As we head into the flat valleys of the Manawatu District, travelling through small sleepy townships, the evening sun comes out, casting gold over the broad copper rivers and large farms, a haze of beauty and calm. On the outskirts of Wellington we enter the hills once more, a patchwork of deep greens and dense pink and purple ragwort, and then suddenly the sea is upon us, ocean spray flying up from a horizon of blue, the coast appearing out of nowhere, taking me completely by surprise. We’re getting close. Energised by this I queue a playlist of eclectic personal tunes, mine and K’s favourites: eighties hits, europop, the Eagles, Tracy Chapman, Billy Joel, Eminem, Obie Trice. We stop one last time. K pumps gas while I freshen up in a small cubicle, grabbing ice creams for us to enjoy on the last stretch of road: snacks until the very end. Dusk is falling now, slowly and softly houses light up with warm yellow hues. The air turns wet with rain, transforming the roads around us into a rhapsody of synthetic light. Traffic grinds to a cautious crawl. I’m so immersed in the wonder of it all that I almost miss the wider picture, the descent into the harbour where a thin cloud of fog hovers just above the water and the moon stretches out in a long white beam across the bay. I twist in my seat as we drive on past, wanting to hold tight on to every second of it. But we follow the curve of the road up up past Government House, running alongside the Botanic Gardens, before twisting into Karori, nestled in the hills.