The Wheels on the Wagon Go Round and Round

If there's anything a child of Doug and Gena Reader knows about used cars of questionable quality (and we should know a lot), it's that the best way to test them out is to go on a road trip.  The trick is to set yourself up for some real inconvenience when it breaks down and then it surely will; unless it won't, in which case, you're golden.  I'll call this Reader's law... and it's actually worse than Murphy's because Murphy's problems were only opportunistic; the Reader family's car problems generally seemed much more calculated.  It's not just 'if anything can go wrong, it will', it's 'if anything can go wrong, at the worst possible moment, it will'.  And so, a nice long trip away from home with the car loaded up with kids and stuff is a pretty good setup.  One of our family legends is the tale of our trip to Mount Rushmore.  Almost everyone has heard it (probably repeatedly; sorry), but just in case you haven't, here's the Coles notes version:  Mom and Dad loaded up our beasty old station wagon and we set out for South Dakota.  An hour and a half later, said station wagon was toast on the side of the road and we hadn't even made it to Winnipeg.  What happened next is a bit foggy in my memory, but I vaguely remember Dad hitchiking in to the city (note: in Manitoba, regardless of where you are, 'the city' == Winnipeg) to get help while we stayed with the wagon.  A million years or so later, we were rescued.  Another car was purchased and we gamely continued our voyage.  We made it into the States but were still a long way from our destination when wagon the second came to a pitiful stop on the side of the road.  The rest of Dad's holiday was spent waiting for the car to be repaired while a family friend came and carted the rest of us back home.  Good times... good times...

Surely Buster was up to the challenge, though (thanks for the other name suggestions... all good (or better!), but Buster was already catching on by the time of my last post), so we planned for a bit of touring before settling into our new routine.  We headed South and East of Auckland and made our way to the coast.  At the outset, I'll say this about driving in New Zealand: the GPS has a better idea of time than you might expect.  In Canada, GPS times are always a bit ridiculous.  Sure, if you're Shirley Temple (yikes! Shirley Temple?!  Seriously... when was she famous?  100 years ago?  Am I really this old?) and drive 1km/h less than the speed limit everywhere you go, the GPS might be bang on.  If you're like most people I know (alright, most guys I know... girls generally don't seem to have the same fascination with 'making good time'), the game is now to see how much you can shave off the GPS estimate over the course of your trip.  And, with a sorry lack of humility, I'd have to say that I'm pretty good at that game.  In New Zealand, though, it's really, really hard to make good time.  And, truth be told, there's the exact opposite of any reason to do so (doesn't entirely stop me from trying, though).  Honestly, the countryside is gorgeous and there are new and interesting things to see around every bend (and bends they have aplenty!).

First stop was Waihi beach; a strip of endless sand on the east side of our interim island.

Although the days are comfortable, they are a bit on the coolish side as we move into winter here and the beach was basically deserted.  The kids had a great time; Annalise collected shells and Everett set about trying to make himself as dirty as possible.  It would seem that for our little boy, the funnest thing in the world is picking up a clump of sand in each hand and smearing it into his hair before dumping the remainder down his back.  It’s possible that the squalor of it was only part of the attraction, though.  His plan may have been to ensure that the beach would go with him wherever he went… by the time we left, he had over a pound of sand in his diaper and Sheri was still finding grains socked away two weeks later.

Next stop was a Kiwi farm on the way to Rotorua.  Like the beach, that place was as quiet as a Manitoba highway monument (did you know that in Ashern, where I was born, there is a giant statue of a Sharptail grouse beside the highway?  It’s not as big a tourist draw as you might think.).  We had missed all the tours that day and only the gift shop was left open.  One of the staff took pity on us, though, and opened up the ice cream stand so that we could try some of their homegrown Kiwi flavour (not bad, but don’t expect to see Haagen Dazs pick it up anytime soon).  Then, she came out and gave us a mini-tour and even let us have some of the fruit that the pickers had left on the vine.  Apparently a kiwi is only picked and shipped if it fits within a certain shape profile; I thought the ones we got looked perfectly normal, but she explained that they were too ovular and that the pickers get fined for having “reject” kiwis in their bins.  So, the pickers are pretty selective, but it’s a fine line; too few rejects mean that they’re passing over acceptable fruit and that, too, will be penalized.  If that doesn’t make life as a kiwi picker sound bad enough, consider that kiwi vines form a canopy five feet off the ground and the pickers spend their days carrying heavy bins back and forth under there to collect the fruit.  Altogether, I have a whole new appreciation for anyone that has done that job.

Leaving the farm, we set our sights on Rotorua and arrived there in time for supper before confirming that we were, in fact, staying in the same hotel we visited on our honeymoon (we suspected it might be, but had long since forgotten the name).  I think it’s fair to admit that one of the things Sheri and I looked most forward to on this trip was simply a few days of nice, cozy, normal room temperature.  That hotel is getting dated and rundown and is probably a far cry from the nicest in town, but it was warm and all that we needed and we loved being there.  As mentioned in my last post, we went to the thermal baths the following morning and had a great time there.  Many other diversions are available in Rotorua, but most are on the expensive side and our kids are a little too young to derive the full value from some of the proffered life experiences.  With that in mind, after naptime, we set off to visit the Redwood forest (it was free) and took a long walk through the amazing trees.

The next day we headed off to Taupo; first stop Huka Falls.   Or, I guess I should say ‘first intended stop’; our electronic navigator did a good job of finding us a nice patch of trees on an abandoned road that was in no way remarkable.  It kept saying ‘You have reached your destination!’ but it was apparent that its idea of our destination and ours were entirely different.  In any case, that was our first stop and one thing we saw along the way to newly-dubbed head-scratch forest was a large geothermal operation.  There’s so much heat bubbling away under the surface in that area that they are using it to generate electricity and heat some huge greenhouses.  Kinda cool, so I guess the detour wasn’t a total loss.  Huka falls, on the other hand, is quite impressive; a huge pile of water roars through a narrow canyon and gushes out over a precipice to the river below.  It’s not anywhere near as large as Niagara and hasn’t had anyone tightrope walk across it (as far as I know), but it is just the right size to make people think they can navigate a boat down it.  Based on a quick survey of the local literature, ‘think’ is generally the operative word.

After lunch, we settled in to another cozy room with geothermal radiators keeping the place toasty.  It also had a 5-foot deep spa in a little enclosure out back that we could fill with hot water drawn straight out of the ground (so hot that you couldn’t touch the “hot” stream on its on).  I think I could get used to living in a place where I could have all the hot water I wanted for free!  After naps, we went for a walk through the botanical preserve (a little dull in winter, apparently) before retiring for the evening.

Thursday morning arrived bright and crisp. Only a couple of degrees C outside when we set out for a swim in a stream.  It was really hard to imagine layering down to only our swim suits when the air was so chilly, but this was, of course, no ordinary stream.  Wherever the water starts, it must be very toasty indeed.  We walked for quite awhile along a steamy ravine before finally coming to a place where we could get in.  I was the first undressed and into the water and it was on the edge of too warm even though the air was so cold.  The water was really rushing and Annalise didn’t like it at all but Everett seemed thrilled with the idea of having a bath involving sand, rocks, and mud.  What’s not to like?  Sheri went in search of a cooler pool downstream and happened upon some nude backpackers having their morning bath (all of this is free and publicly accessible).  So, we waited for a while until the area was a bit more family friendly and then trucked our munchkins down to a cooler bathing area where the water was a little calmer.  That spot also happened to be where the thermal stream emptied out into a large river and, in summer time, I gather that’s a perfect place to paddle around and pick the temperature you like most.  At this time of year, the warmth extends only about a meter from the outlet.  Still, I had fun diving into the icy river and then swimming as quick as I could over to the stream to be heated up again.

Our last adventure in Taupo involved visiting a place called ‘Craters of the Moon’; another geothermal attraction, this one noted for its outlandish terrain.  Huge steaming craters and bubbling mud pits are sprinkled around an excellent stroller-friendly path system.  Steam is drifting around everywhere and the ground off of the boardwalk is warm to the touch.  I don’t think the kids were too riveted by it, but I thought it was pretty awe-inspiring.

We had a final night and final soak in Taupo before the last big endeavour of our little trip.  In the morning, we packed up and headed into Tongariro national park.  The park offers a huge array of hiking options, from simple 15 minute scenic strolls all the way up to the world-renowned 8 hour Tongariro crossing trek (and beyond; there are huts positioned for multi-day treks, too).  The big debate for us was how daring should we be?  We wanted to do more than just a little walk, but we also wanted to enjoy ourselves and not head home frustrated.  In the end, we decided to tackle the Taranaki falls hike; ~2 hour roundtrip.  And so, we arrived at the carpark and loaded Everett onto my back.  It was a bit chilly and there was a fine mist falling, but we were determined to try.  15 steps down the path, Annalise fell and started crying.  It was pretty close, we almost cried uncle right there; both Sheri and I were thinking that we were crazy to try a 2-hour hike with a toddler and a fitful walker (substitute walking for talking and she’s a champ; moving those two feet, though, is sometimes hit and miss).  But, neither of us wanted to be the first to throw in the towel, so we trudged ahead.  Once we came to the first forest, life improved considerably.  The trees sheltered us from the wind and the rain and Annalise started to have fun being ‘the leader’ over any bridges we crossed.  Later, the sun came out and we made pretty good time.  It was a good walking track with great views of the lowlands on one side and snow-capped Mount Ruapehu on the other.  We came to the falls from above and it’s a bit unsettling to be able to walk right up to the edge of a cliff with no guard rails or anything.  A climbing group was there rappelling down the cliffs and I can imagine it takes some courage to hop out over the edge…  it’s a long way down.  The falls are beautiful and we were very glad we had taken the challenge and made it this far.  We found a flat spot to sit beside the little river and ate our lunch listening to the cascade.  A different track is used for return and we gamely set out after our brief rest.  Everett eventually fell asleep on my back and, wonder of wonders, our little 3 and a half year old girl walked the entire way back on her own 2 feet!  It was stupendous!  She was absolutely in top form and we joked, laughed, and told stories all the way back to the car.  Patting ourselves on the back, we loaded up and turned Buster North.

That night was spent in Hamilton and the next morning, we decided to check out the zoo.  You can’t go wrong with monkeys, tigers, giraffes, rhinos (some of them quite ornery), and such; we had fun looking around and it was a great cap to a fun week.  Sheri and I were both very happy we took the trip at this stage; there’s so much that’s strange and difficult about being displaced so far from home that it was really good to see the wonder and beauty of New Zealand again and remind ourselves of why we came.

…

But what of our much maligned motorcar, you may ask?  And the answer is: it’s golden.  We went here and there, back and forth, up and down, around and around and it puttered along without complaint.  Our pastor here in Auckland asked us about it the Sunday of our return and I told him that our car doesn’t inspire confidence but that it does seem to be pretty dependable.  Since his parents had a car just like ours that he and his wife used quite a bit, he was curious about its quirks.  And, for pretty much every one of them, he had a reassuring answer: battery seems weak, as if it can barely start the car… oh no worries, Subaru’s generally have starters that sound like they’re barely up to the task, but they are;  water sloshing in the dash…  yeah, it’s condensation from the A/C that starts to accumulate in older Legacy wagons.  Nothing to worry about and not worth trying to fix; oh yeah, well how about the engine missing? …  do you have a high-performance air filter?  Yep.  Well, that’s the problem.  It’ll give better performance at high rpm but can cause engine stutter at low revs; his car had the same issue until they reverted to a stock air box and filter that fixed it right up.   So, it’s all good.  Buster is a beater, but he’s our beater, and he keeps on chugging along to wherever we want to go.  My Dad would love him…