Misadventures in a bus

 

SEPTEMBER 2023

DAY ONE

Thames to Waitomo - first leg of our first proper road trip in our 7m Nissan Civilian bus imaginatively named Buttercup due to her having some yellow in her colour scheme. Ignore niggling voice reminding me that Mike is a school bus driver who once pulled over in the fog to let a wheelie bin on.

Heavy rain warnings everywhere we are going. Getting used to passenger seat which is more like an ejector seat. A sudden crash, bang, and rattle – turn round to see possessed cutlery drawer sliding supernaturally - the victim of an incomplete cupboard locking ritual.

Waitomo campground - seriously heavy rain sets in. Our heads ricochet off cupboards as we adjust to life in smaller dimensions. Internet won’t connect – all we get is a little round spinning circle of Wi-Fi doom. 

Have shower, water won’t drain away and instead rises alarmingly.  Mike plunges plug hole furiously with a flannel, to no avail. Use up all our towels and three socks to soak up water. Create mountainous pile of saturated laundry within ten easy minutes.

Exhausted.  Bed.  Dazzling camp night lights come on and a movement through curtain catches my eye. A fellow camper outside in a long rain cape silhouetted against the lights looks for a startling second like Batman.

Calm on the outside; chaos on the inside. 
 Waitomo camp.

DAY TWO

Morning – blue skies, birds singing, fry pan too hot, smoke out the bus, vents up, windows open, tui’s in kowhai trees chortling at us. Fancy bread brought as a treat is too big for our toaster.  Throw in direction of chortle.

On the road pass through Te Kuiti where we are dwarfed by a colossal statue of a shearer. 

A visual feast of farmland follows dotted with sheep and the feral goats which roam the King Country in herds.

Rugged, steep, landscape punctuated by yesteryear buildings -  shearing sheds and cottages with red, rusty corrugated iron roofs, tumbledown walls, weatherboards grey with age, and  bent skeletal frames. Present day farm houses float out of clouds of pink and white spring blossoms.

The Forgotten World Highway, which is 149, 150 or 155ks long depending on which information you read, begins.  Very dramatic steep gully’s and gorges, cliffs and slips with a muddy swollen river boiling alongside.  A sign cautions against loitering or stopping on a bluff. Mountains overlap each other, farmland glows with spring green grass amongst conical hills and the river swoops back and forth to the roadside.

Discussion on the proliferation of road cones and Road Works signs tipped over in the grass results in new name of Forgotten Works Highway.

We meet almost no traffic although there are scattered signs of civilisation- community halls, small schools, a bloke on a farm golf cart loaded with dogs.

Wind through Tāngarākau Gorge - the stunning native bush studded with patches of white starry clematis flowers.

Road turns to gravel, sheer rock gorge walls with bush clinging to them tower over us.  Wonder if we have accidentally strayed into a Jurassic Park movie set.

At the end of Tangarakau Bridge is an intriguing sign saying Morgan’s Grave. Find this fascinating as in my real life I write articles on the stories behind historic headstones.  This is turning into a busman’s holiday for us both.

(Joshua Morgan, pioneer surveyor blazed the trail for the road through the Tangarakau Gorge. Struck down with suspected peritonitis, the 35-year-old died in the remote bush and was buried on the slopes of the gorge. Sixty years later his widow's ashes were placed with him.)

Following in the footsteps of the intrepid Joshua Morgan we reach the 180 metre long, single lane Moki Tunnel, nicknamed the Hobbit’s Hole.  Inexplicably, about a third of the way into the tunnel, the bus lights suddenly fail and we are plunged into terrifying darkness.  Use hazard lights to guide us through.  Sign at end of tunnel has the cheek to say don’t forget to check your lights.

Farmland flows by studded with feral black goats perched impossibly on hillsides.

On top of the Tahora Saddle the view is a breathtaking panorama of mountains with the volcanic vision of the peaks of Taranaki, Ruapehu, Ngāuruhoe and Tongariro away in the distance.

Reach the Republic of Whangamōmona whose Presidents have been variously a goat, a poodle and a human or two, the position being fiercely contested at times by cats, a teddy bear, a sheep, and a cockatoo.  Pass through the small township where the buildings are charming reproductions of the past - general stores, carriers, blacksmith, a bank, post office, bakers' shop and the like – all dominated by the historic hotel.

Stay at the quirky and unpretentious Whangamōmona campground – another step back in time with cash only and no internet. Shetland ponies, chickens and roosters, possibly all presidential candidates, range free through the camp. Bus power lead threads through a manicured camellia hedge to the power box.

Very quiet, very relaxing, nothing could go wrong here. Small pony attempts to come in open bus door. Great commotion to get him to reverse without drawing attention to ourselves.

The potatoes over boil and put out the gas with a great steaming hiss.

Faint calls of morepork drift through almost pitch black tranquil night - no campground searchlights here.

DAY THREE

While waiting for the hotel to open investigate the deserted street’s information boards detailing Whangamomona’s rich frontier history. Have coffee at the olde worlde and enchantingly eccentric hotel. We purchase passports to ensure safe passage through Whangamomona in our typical back to front way - just as we are leaving.

Hit the road to Stratford passing a sign saying: ‘You are now leaving the Republic. Welcome back to New Zealand.’ Back in New Zealand Buttercup climbs up the steep Whangamomona Saddle – which snakes, with hairpin turns, through magnificent native bush. At a look-out there is a road cone in a tree. Of course there is. There are three saddles, Strathmore giving a breath taking view of the volcanic ring plain. Looks like a great green rumpled blanket thrown over the landscape.

At Stratford find campground that will have us.

In dire need of a laundry due to flood mop-up on first night, towels etc now a reeking pile. Camp washing machine swallows all the coins and refuses to start. Helpful camp manager gives the coin tray a mighty shove accompanied by a great grunt and the terrified machine bursts into action. Washing thereafter is successful, and buoyed by this, progress to the drier.

When unloading drier discover the nylon shower cleaner ball was accidentally mixed up in the washing and went into the drier unobserved. It is stuck fast by its suction cup to the wall of the drier and won’t come off. Eventually free it and nearly pull the insides out of the drier. The thing has shrunk and melted into a small hard ball of baked netting. Husband suction cups it to the wall near the bus door to use as a weapon against intruders.

Have camp shower. Water not draining away. In dire need of dry towels.

The Weapon on left, blue.  What it should look like, on right, pink. 

DAY FOUR

My back has been jolted beyond endurance and it’s raining so we decide on a rest day at Stratford. Have some housekeeping to attend to as well; including seeing a mechanic to investigate the horror movie moment we struck in the Moki tunnel.

Book another night at the campground. On the way out, at the dump station, the driver’s door suddenly locks up and won’t open. “What now?” cries Mike. On cue, the windshield phone mount suction cup suddenly gives up and falls off the window and refuses to reattach. Perhaps a spin in the drier would sort it out.

On the way to the mechanic pass a road sign that says Romeo Street. Directly underneath is a sign saying ‘Pregnancy Help’

At the mechanic’s Buttercup’s mysterious light failure is diagnosed as four loose belts and a jammed AC adjustor. A part needs to be machined off site and then returned by overnight courier. We must spend the rest of the day and night in situ on the mechanic’s forecourt which includes a 24 hour pay at pump gas fuelling station.

Campground kindly offers a refund and would we like to be collected and stay in one their cabins overnight? Decide to stay and go down with our ship. Walk to the library, VTNZ, and bookstore in sleety freezing rain.   Achieve Wi-Fi connection success at library; the curse of campground Wi-Fi having followed us to Stratford

At the mechanic’s the 24 hour pay pump is flat out and provides a tortuous soundtrack of continuous beeping.   Mike discovers the prongs on spaghetti spoon make a fine back scratcher. Amuse myself by writing ‘Help me’ in window condensation.

A difficult night of arctic temperatures and lights illuminating the forecourt so bright they can be seen from space leaving us in permanent daylight all night.

Night punctuated by vehicle comings and goings, door slamming, thumping car stereos, engines revving and beep beeping.  The gas here is significantly cheaper than anywhere else which explains the 24 hour frenzy. Three tankers arrive during the night and as they empty they creak adding to the rattle - bang noise of parsimonious people shaking hose nozzles to get every last drop.

This is absolutely everyone who stops there.

DAY FIVE

Morning finally arrives. 

Stagger up the main street to investigate New Zealand’s only glockenspiel, which isn’t due to perform for several hours. 

 Have coffee; get caught in rain, buy emergency umbrella to get back to bus. Burn lunch – toasted mince sandwiches – the mechanic in the bus engine bay works valiantly on through clouds of smoke.

Second walk in time to catch the glockenspiel.  This chimes four times a day for five minutes at a time while the figures of Romeo and Juliet appear and speak. Romeo and Juliet’s declarations are drowned out by Fonterra tankers, roaring trucks and an unwell little car that squeaks sadly as it passes.  Find all this hilarious and don’t know why.

Most of bus repair done now but by late afternoon apologetically told the part won’t be here till morning. Third trudge into town for another book and something for dinner. Get back to bus to be told by Mike there is a banana in the bus guttering.  Indeed there is.  Perhaps the forgotten world banana?

There is a sudden flurry of activity and within half an hour the bus is fixed and we are on the road again. Make the short trip back to Stratford camp ground for the night. On arrival discover a beer can has mysteriously emptied itself all over the floor, but is still whole, with ring tab untouched.

DAY  SIX

Refreshed and restored to sanity, we head for New Plymouth. 

Take a wrong turn and a snow topped Mt Taranaki suddenly rears up in front of us, obscured by cloud previously.  Mike downloads TomTom GPS onto his phone.

Visit Pouakai Zoo outside of New Plymouth – a small privately owned zoo where you can get fairly close to, and feed, most of the animals.  A Capuchin monkey takes umbrage at Mike taking its photo and after making a great chattering noise positions itself to pee on him.

Mrs TomTom helpfully guides us to the architecturally awesome Te Te Rewa Rewa bridge which is undergoing a repaint, one end obscured by scaffolding and wrapping.

Cold rain sets in.   I hear about the delights of Mrs TomTom all the way around New Plymouth.

At a seaside holiday park we score a great site overlooking Port Taranaki and the Tasman Sea.

Mrs TomTom gets shut off.

It is very wild and windy, seagulls struggle through the sky. Watch a ship side out to sea past our bus windows. There is an ever-changing seascape of squalls, sun intermittently slanting through clouds, and waves crashing over rocks.

Make a beef casserole to slow cook as the world churns outside. Remove casserole from oven and oven mitt starts sizzling and melting leaving a little circle of hard fluffy fabric fused on top of casserole dish. Not sure whether to add oven mitt, casserole lid or both to my weaponry.

DAY SEVEN

Awake at 4am.  Lights of Port Taranaki spectacular in the pre-dawn.

Sort our pills for the week from a large container that Mike calls The Hospital. Weather forecast not great but decide to push on to the Surf Highway 45 with its promise of beaches, surf spots and the Cape Egmont lighthouse. First stop though is a Laundromat, washing being the bane of my existence.

On the road we chase rainbows and squalls as strong wind pushes the bus about, leading to conjecture that it could also be called the Wind Surfing Highway. Quite striking small rounded hills begin to appear all over the landscape created by ancient lahars flowing from Mt Taranaki.

On the look out for Cape Egmont lighthouse, we glimpse a sign to the Cape Light and Museum. A stop and turn around results in a bump and a scrape and bit off paint off Buttercup. The museum is not open and the light is obviously not a lighthouse which must be further along the highway we decide.  It is wild and woolly with waves roaring and rolling in, rain splattering from grey skies, very atmospheric.

We press on. Mrs TomTom is silent as she has no data.  Snigger. At Opunake, which has a beachy, surf town vibe, we go to scenic look-out for lunch.  There are warnings about crumbling cliff edges.    Bus rocks in the whipping wind and the sea is in a temper.

Back in town attempt to re-fill gas bottle, which is actually still half full and get a long look from the attendant.

By now my spirits are sagging and still no sign of the lighthouse.

Roll into Hawera and descend on the i-SITE.   Discover we went past the lighthouse.  Or more accurately we had gone to it, but not to it.  It wasn’t far from the light and museum, but further down the road.  Trip Advisor advises we are not the only ones to fall victim to this.

At Hawera camping ground discover washing is half dry.   A good stiff laundry drying breeze is blowing so hang washing on the line where it immediate shoots out horizontally before twisting into a giant knot.

Thunder and lightning is spiced up by the growling of cars attending a hot rod show next door. Internet connection again gives us the spinning evil eye.  And so to bed, helpfully illuminated by industrial strength camp lighting.

DAY EIGHT

Day dawns foul and freezing with steely grey skies, rain and hail. Decide to shelter in place and stay in camp, stay another night, have a rest day.

Rest day is punctuated by the sound of hot rods still roaring past our site, on the other side of the fence. Manage to lose plug down the back of the basin.  Retrieved by bemused husband. Charge devices, download photos, read, people watch, nap, and tell lies on social media.

Reflect that we have mastered a type of  bus waltz which involves stepping forwards then backwards then squashing ourselves flat to pass each other. 

 

 DAY  NINE

Plan is to go to Mangaweka and from there follow The Country Road aka Manawatu Scenic Route down to Ashhurst and stay the night there.

Up early and out. Investigate the Hawera water tower which has 215 steps in what is described as a strenuous climb.  Decide not to push our luck.

Buy a plug in Wi-Fi booster – the circle of doom on laptop doesn’t even bother to show up now - there is just the grim announcement Could. Not. Connect. Mrs TomTom is also in a mood, repeating herself in a whisper we can barely hear even though the volume is turned right up. In revenge, for my sniggering probably, she sends us completely the wrong way, down a goat track road, necessitating a 90 point 3 point turn.

We eventually find Tawhiti Museum, which is superb, with its life size exhibits and detailed dioramas recreating past lives.  A mega display of tractors and farm machinery proves a good way to lose your husband.  The Whalers and Traders boat ride goes back to the Taranaki coast of 1820 - 40.  All passengers in our small boat fall completely silent in the watery darkness, in breathless anticipation, floating through the past. 

Onwards to Mangaweka which Google says is a couple of hours away.  Mrs TomTom says it is only 18ks away. We pass through Patea, home of the Patea Maori Club’s Poi E song.  This immediately gives me an earworm which lasts for miles.

Arrive in Whanganui.  Puzzled.  Re-set Mrs TomTom and roll on into Rangitikei district. Mike by now is having conniptions as all roads seem to lead to Palmerston North which is not Mangaweka. But, in a roundabout way, I grudgingly admit, Mrs TomTom does get us there via back blocks and country roads.

Stay the night at Awastone Riverside Haven on a site parallel to Rangitikei River with dramatic sheer cliffs opposite.   Mike, hypnotised by the beauty of the site, forgets he’s filling bus water tank with hose, which overflows and adds to the height of the river.

Pretend on daily face book post update that we had a no-destination-in-mind road trip today and look where we ended up, tra la la.

A sign in the ladies toilets, headed rather impolitely ‘What’s that Noise?’  explains that disturbing  animalistic noises in the night are Red Stag’s roaring.

Subdued night lights here and just the sound of the river chuckling by.

 

DAY TEN

Lovely morning, fingers crossed. 

Mike discovers Mrs TomTom was whispering yesterday as he had the volume at half, although he was sure it was full volume. She is given a reprieve.

Backtrack to Mangaweka township to get photos of the historic main street only to find cars, trucks and vans parked in front of everything we want to photograph.

Head off to begin the Manawatu Scenic Route and drive smack into ‘Road Closed’ sign.

Turn around and roll on through peaceful pastoral scenes bathed in warm morning sunlight soon ruined by all road signs seeming to be lead back to Palmerston North, like some horrid travelling Groundhog Day.

At Bulls we gorge on custard squares and sausage rolls at a bakery in fit of stress eating.

Give in and head for Palmerston North.

Mrs TomTom is switched off and silenced as we follow road signs.  Smugly reflect that she has a rather standard woman’s voice, amongst her many other faults, which we could replace at any time with Burt Reynolds, Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck or Darth Vader.

We arrive in Ashhurst, our original destination today if the scenic drive had been open.

There are wind turbines on hills and a lookout for them at the domain.  Decided to have a look and walk smack bang into a closed sign.

See another sign saying the Manawatu Scenic Route ENDS.   So we have done the start and the end, but not the middle.

Find campsite in Ashhurst domain which is next to a cemetery.

Attempt to put a good spin on it - that’s the beauty of road trips – you can go anywhere and have no plan and don’t have to be anywhere at any time.

Wind turbines on hill behind us only thing having a good spin as it is now gusting a gale.

DAY ELEVEN

Set off for Fielding.   Feeling discombobulated by our plans disintegrating and being thwarted at every turn by closed signs. To match my mood big power pylons march through the paddocks looking like extra terrestrials. “I think this is the best bit, buzzing along in Buttercup,” says Mike, oblivious to the alien invasion playing out in my head.

Get diesel, supermarket supplies, and a place name fridge magnet from the i-SITE. Place name magnet collecting has become a bit of an obsession.

Tap into free Wi-Fi outside McDonalds to sort out our plans, and mood improves as the day does.

Very cold, but sun comes out and Fielding’s Manchester square is a treat.  It is no wonder the Edwardian-themed town has won NZ’s Most Beautiful Town award 15 times. Despite all the architectural and floral wonder to gaze upon Mike disappears into a dollar store and buys something utterly unnecessary.

Head in the general direction of Turangi passing ‘Pony Poo and Worm Wee’ for sale sign at a farm gate.

Stop at Queen’s Park, Huntersville for coffee break. Am immediately drawn to a large statue of a Huntaway dog which has been erected to recognise the huge contribution this dog has made to the Hunterville farming district.  It is also a poignant memorial to other faithful and loved dogs whose names are etched into the bricks surrounding the statue.   

The fancy-sounding Belgian crème biscuits we have with our coffee are so hard we can barely bite them, even after a soak in hot coffee. Will add to my arsenal of hard and deadly things.

After some steep climbs, which start to tax Buttercup, our ears pop as we head down hill and eventually into the tussocky grasslands of the Desert Road.  Sign warns us, for our safety, to stay on the road as this is the Waiouru military training area.

Suddenly Mt Ruapehu stunningly topped with sunlit silver snow comes into view looking like it’s been painted on the sky.

Miles of more alien power pylons stride across this wasteland which a sign informs us is the home of the wild Kaimanawa horses.

Stop at a rest area where the wind is freezing, but people are pulling up in a ferment of photo taking before they all leap into their cars and drive off again.

At Turangi, head for a campground, following Mrs TomTom’s directions.  Arrive at a deserted area with building piles and foundation blocks smothered with overgrown grass and a battered reception sign blowing in the wind leading to nowhere. An online review did say it was an older-style camp.

Inquiries at the i-SITE send us down the road to Taupo which is of course closed until 4 the next morning.   

A good-natured road worker lets us through to reach a campground by the lake at Motuoapa Bay where you can be uniquely accommodated in retro VW campers and boat house themed bungalows.  

A sharp wind is blowing off the snow which we found so picturesque earlier in the day.

Buttercup’s electrics fail and we have no power.  Mike pulls the bed apart to access the fuse box but mystifyingly finds nothing wrong. He breaks his back and both knees and then gets stuck trying to extract himself. Console ourselves that we have gas for cooking and 12 volt for lights and can find an electrician tomorrow.

Reading a book about climbing Everest, and it’s so good I can actually feel the cold.

DAY TWELVE

I am actually feeling the cold. Wake up to minus one in the early hours. Absolutely glacial inside bus.

With no power to use the heater, we put more clothes on, heat water on the gas oven for a hot water bottle and hot drink, then flee back to bed where we watch our breath steam in the frigid air.

Decide we sound thoroughly incompetent and am going to stop writing this.

After a hot breakfast, regain my composure.  Mike decides to check out other power points in the bus in case it was just the one that failed.  No – still no power. On the off chance, he plugs our power lead into a neighbouring power box and - hey presto – we suddenly have power.

I lose the will to live.

In conversation with a lady in a van nearby she says she is running away from her kids and everyone she’s spoken to says they’re doing the same.

Due to the road to Taupo still being closed we leave a different way.

It is a spectacular morning, crisp, with a huge blue sky and snow capped Ruapehu peeking over the mountains and playing hide and seek around corners. Trout fishermen stand staunchly in the freezing rivers.  Later, passing through farmland, I see a hawk heart stoppingly hanging almost stationery in the air above a lamb.  Intriguing stone formations vaguely resembling Easter Island statues emerge from the earth.

A detour to Taupo, yes - a detour, not a road closed sign – I couldn’t believe it either - sends us down a back country road bordered by poplars tinged with promising green and patches of blue forget-me- nots growing wild on the banks.

Purply hazy ranges come into view and there is a feeling we have reached the top of the world.

We reach the Wairakei Geothermal Valley threaded with miles of large silver pipes, part of the engineering wonder of the Wairakei Geothermal Power Station.

Steam rises dreamily out of the ground everywhere.  Lake Taupo and the township come into view overseen by the bewitching Ruapehu.

At Huka Falls 220,000 litres of blue water per second thunderously pour over an 11 meter high waterfall. The sun-warmed manuka releases its distinctive scent reminiscent of camp fires.

Stop for lunch at Hipapatua Reserve – a quiet, calm, tranquil section of river before it morphs into the raging falls. Ruin the lakeside lunchtime ambience by serving tinned soup that resembles something dire.

The campsite we want doesn’t compute with Mrs TomTom (now named Mrs DumDum).

Ask for directions at a business, but the person seems to have been mind controlled somehow by Mrs TomTom as we are sent in the wrong direction and eventually run out of road.

Finally, we discover a campground sign and follow a gravel road thorough felled forestry, complete with logging truck warnings, and arrive at Wairakei Thermal Valley Motor camp which also sports a cafe, a thermal walk and a variety of animals.

The quirky, rustic vibe suits us down to the ground so we book for two nights.   Bask in the afternoon sun with a beer - our version of ‘Happy Hour’ includes chickens, roosters, peahens, peacocks, sheep, pigs, alpacas and a family of quail.

DAY THIRTEEN

Sunny day dawns, Mike puts up awning, awning falls down.

Head to the camp cafe for coffee where we are welcomed by a cat, a mature peacock, a young peacock and a white wolfish looking dog.  A chicken under the deck hysterically announces it has laid an egg.

The camp manager is not averse to practical jokes and after I have recovered from one we go on the geothermal walk armed with map and walking sticks. This is a ‘self guided’ walk.  Happy with this as we somehow once got ourselves kicked off a guided walking tour. The walk features fascinating formations, getting up close and personal with thermal activity.

After a reviving and charming Devonshire tea we wander back to Buttercup for a big snooze. This last day slips by too quickly but is not done with us yet. Camp manager appears to ask Mike to help him with a wild pig which he’s just shot.  Mike is no hunter but lends a hand hefting the pig out of a wheel barrow and up into the shed rafters.  An amusing juxtaposition – one minute the man is arranging pretty cups and saucers for Devonshire teas and next covered in blood gutting a pig.

 

DAY FOURTEEN

A foggy morning.  We try to leave but our way is blocked by a digger clearing debris from the sides of the road.  We eventually drive out of the mist and steam into a beautiful day, homeward bound.

And the roads are all open.

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We travelled in Buttercup a 1993 Nissan Civilian 7-meter bus.  

We travel the long way down back country roads, in different directions, looking behind us often and seeing things from a new angle. 

The rest of the time we live surpisingly successfully in our 9-meter Bedford bus, Myrtle, in the Coromandel.

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