Driving Wellington Hard

9 January 1998

It’s interesting the way you meet new people. For instance, Wayne and Ian. I already knew Sue, but then, I should - girlfriends shouldn’t be strangers, after all. Besides, you need a navigator you can trust when you’re driving.

The day of The First Great Wellington Drive dawned warm and overcast - for Wellington, it was a damn fine day, mostly because it wasn’t raining. And rain would have been bad indeed; road tests in the wet are either dull or dangerous, as the bored or dead will happily testify to.

Our meet point was specified as the bottom of Haywards Hill, in the Hutt region of Wellington. Haywards is one of my favourite quick bits of road, right behind Moonshine Road in Tawa (otherwise known as Dead Man’s Drive, after my late friend) and is reasonably quiet, an important factor for introductions. Before the crew arrived, I had the route mapped out roughly in my head - the first bit at least - and was idly wondering who’d turn up. There had been a lot of interest in the matter of telephone calls, but the first couple of gatherings of any kind can be kind of sparse.

Ian arrived next, in a shiny black MR2. We shot the breeze for a couple of minutes before Wayne’s brushed silver car rolled to a stop next to us. Introductions were passed around, and engine bays were opened for all.

We ummed and ahhed at Wayne’s rear suspension modifications, and were generally impressed by the hardness of his ride, if you’ll pardon the pun. Some people don’t mind having their kidneys jostled around, and a car like that must have handled pretty well, especially riding on those 17" alloys. Everyone looked at my extremely dirty engine bay, and admired Ian’s especially clean car. A couple of people didn’t manage to make it, so without too much further ado, we started our engines and headed for the hills. Literally.

Haywards Hill has actually claimed a life or two in its time. The road winds up the side of the hill, through some twisties, and around some nicely cambered corners. On the downward side it heads towards Paikockariki, through some narrow bends that can make your car twist and shake. I’ve heard the story of a man who followed his son over the Hill, after giving him a shiny new Prelude. On the other side, they never met up again - the son had taken a swan dive over the edge, and didn’t make it back.

No Fear. We had, after all, real cars.

As we passed out of the Hutt Valley and closer to the Coast roads, the air warmed up further. This was more like it - the sun was out, the birds were fleeing, and we were running three turbo-charged cars hard enough to make them scream. Scream for joy, of course - they loved it. It is, after all, much better to burn out than to fade away. Figuratively speaking? Maybe in real life as well, but I’ll let you make your own call here.

Traffic was middling, or meddling - I get mixed up - but either way we encountered some resistance, albeit small, on the way. As the lead car, I set the pace and managed to keep clear of most prospective bogeys. Ian and Wayne kept up well, no-one having to do dangerous maneouvers to keep up. On the downward side, things got a little worse - there was even one comedian who felt it his divine duty to stop for oncoming traffic to be sure of avoiding a collision (on a two-lane road) - but nothing dangerous.

We moved towards Waikanae, keeping a brisk pace up, flowing with what little traffic there was. Our destination was imprecise, but I figured a good place to stop for a breather would be Lindale, the maker of fine cheeses (and ice creams).

There was a MK1 MR2 in the Lindale car park, but no sign of the owner. A shame; the more the merrier, but the ice creams were good at any rate. We didn’t stop long - all were eager to be on the road, and throw a few more miles under the maw of their hungry machines. Next stop: lunch.

You’re right, lunch is really an idea, not a destination, but our route was to Foxton, and we figured we’d have to stop for lunch before then. After traveling down a mildly congested State Highway One, we found a good Fish ‘n’ Chippy at the end of Levin, many thanks to Ian. We set off to find a beach to eat by.

Unfortunately for everyone, I was still in the lead, and I only had the roughest idea of where the beaches around Levin-way are. As it turns out, Levin is a fair way away from anything close to a beach, although we found some especially attractive cow manure on the way. Heading North on SH1 again, we found the exit to Waitarere Beach.

What a road. What a drive. Sun in, windows down, stereo up, and applying generous doses of curry to the accelerator, we moved in on surf and sand alike. Slowing down for the speed bumps (it’s hard for me to even walk at a posted 15 km/h, let alone drive it), we made it to the beach at last. And a fine beach it was too - hardly a soul in site, apart from the odd person taking the family 4WD for a dose of clean sea air, and rust.

We parked up at the car park, meandered down to the waterfront, and chowed down. Drinks, food, air, conversation, and adrenaline - yes, still with us (me at least) at this point. Time for a relaxing Coke and a Smile, as they say.

After our brief respite, it was back in the saddle - destination Wylie Road, in Foxton. The road is aptly named after the well saluted Wylie Coyote, or at least that’s what I say. It’s probably the straightest, longest road in this area of the country; you could fire a canon right down the middle and not hit anyone at the T-junction at the end before you ran out of range.

I should mention at this point that I, still being in the lead, turned the wrong way after the beach, and headed further North than was necessary. Turning back, God saw fit to punish me for my ineptitude - a raven decided to race my car.

Neck and neck we were, racing back South down SH1. Then the little bastard cut me off by swerving in front. I didn’t even have time for the universal gesture of impoliteness before impact. Not a sound was heard, not a bump was felt, but I saw a shower of feathers hit Ian behind me.

So sad.

As we turned onto Wylie road, I put the wood in. The end was reached all too quickly, at which point Wayne pointed out my unusual, and extremely dead, passenger. The raven was lodged, very firmly, between the plastic below my front spoiler and the edge of the spoiler itself. A fitting end for all aggressive drivers, I’m sure you’ll agree, but unnerving nevertheless.

Back down Wylie road, everyone got to find out where their Speed Cut is on the car, and then it was back home again. The journey was uneventful, barring the encounter with the human who cut me off (I’m sure New Zealand’s tight gun laws are the only reason I’m not behind bars for Murder One), and the petrol station where I removed my dead passenger (he was dragging, anyway).

The next drive is scheduled for Sunday 15 February, 2pm, for a drive around the Wellington bays (the meet will be somewhere close to the fountain on Oriental Bay). If you’re interested in joining us, please contact Antz (389-5903) or Richard (021-664-655, richard@mr2.org.nz) for further details. It should be a relaxing hour or so behind the wheel for a scenic drive through Wellington’s finest - be there!