Reading through the newsletter, I noticed the Tauranga Christmas Rally. Hmm.

A day or two passed before I put the suggestion to my dear wife. "What say we jump the ditch, and check out Tauranga?"  Having only points enough now, (thanks Ansett) for one to fly, I was given leave pass to go solo and join my fellow members of The Morris Eight Tourer Club of NZ for the Christmas Rally.  I did suggest borrowing the fare money for her, believing in the saying, "Borrow money from pessimists - they don't expect it back."

But how will it all happen?  If I can get to Auckland, how will I get across to Tauranga?  Where will I stay?

The plane flights booked, not really to my needs, but then at this late date asking for anything in "the silly season", beggars can't be choosers.  It looks as though I'll have to be happy to enjoy as much time as I can with the gang before departing a couple of days before the show is over.

The e-mails started flying fast and furious, and pretty soon the doors of hospitality were thrown open. 
Soon I had offers of a ride to Tauranga with Richard Fuller in his Tourer, or with Chris and Judith from Katikati, and also a couple of offers of accommodation.  I took Alice and Lloyd up on their offer.

These brave people knew not what they were letting themselves in for.

Arriving 7.00 am Christmas morning red eyed and weary, I thought of family members who would be waking early to see what Father Christmas might have left whilst I, through bloodshot eyes, sought transport from the city to Tullamarine Airport for the next leg of my journey.  Fortunately, Sky Bus Co. runs a pretty regular shuttle from down the road from where the Firefly settled, and once again I was on another short leg of my Journey to the airport.

As the aircraft hurtled down the Tullamarine runway a quote from Stephen Wright (whoever he is?) flashed through my mind. "Eagles may soar, but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines".

Hope all self-respecting eagles are at home in their nests around now, and the weasels are keeping their heads down.

Previous email photos from Chris depicted Judith firmly entangled within the clutches of some weird exercise machine he'd picked up at a trash and treasure, or a garage sale.  So I felt quite confident, Judith would still be wearing the thing, and should really stand out in a crowd, ensuring easy identification.

But no, here she was, freed from the chromed monster of exercise; but earlier photos exchanged over the Internet made identification an easy task for all of us.

After a scenic drive along the coast we arrived at Katikati, did a mural tour, met "brother Barry," and settled in for the night.

My chauffeur Richard had arrived earlier that day in his fine example from the house of Morris, and I couldn't wait to get on the road with him. 

"If this is the photo shoot," I thought, "nothing grand will happen here."  Shooting into the sun, and an angle that wouldn't maximise the features of the cars, was definitely going against all photography rules.  We found out later the Gun Photographer was from the local paper, and his efforts in the next day's paper sort of did the job.

After his departure, the real photography began. 

Well that was after a large number of vehicles were physically aided up the slippery slopes of the banked and grassed amphitheatre, the narrow tyres not gripping on the dew soaked grass.

Then the sound of clicking shutters and motor driven rewinding from many cameras frightened the birds from the trees.  One avid photographer was even seen scaling the walls of the quarry for that different angle. 

The afternoon's activities saw us climbing The Minden Hills, and when we finally found each other along the way, following The Ruahihi Canals to McLaren Falls.  It was in the falls area where one of the cars broke a rear axle shaft. No problem. All good Morris drivers have one under the seat, soon all was repaired, and the car was under way again.

What an array of vehicles met our eyes when we entered the barn.

This is not only one man's collection, but also a storage place for those restorers who have run out of storage space at home, and a place to show off the vehicle you wish to sell.

These factors contribute to a constantly changing exhibition of motoring through the ages.

Sunday saw us visiting the Windsong performing miniature horses. A great show for the children, but I don't think the human stars of the show (Minni Ha Ha, and Crazy Cow) do much to promote the fairer sex of New Zealand. (Grannie chuck wagon wasn't too hot either)

From there, a climb to the Kohi lookout for a panoramic view of mountains and fields in one direction, and ocean vistas in the other.

Richard and I on the way up to the Kohi Lookout.

This stop also doubled up as a good spot to get heads under bonnets. One member's distributor rotor breaking, which some say, was also a contributing factor to that same car getting bogged, and later running out of juice. Maybe the green plastic glasses will alleviate similar happenings in the future???

Soon we were in Whakatane for lunch under the Pohutakawa trees that dot the picnic area.

After lunch we wound our way to Bert Watchorn's Truck and Car Museum. 

Not too sure if this is one man's collection of trucks and cars, but boy! What a collection.  After a cuppa it was time to head for home, Richard electing to give the main roads a miss and return via Lake Rotorua.

What a great day we had.

Today the clouds set in spoiling our record of many sunny days but the weather remained fine so tops were still down.  The drive along Poripori Road offered many scenic views but, due to the cloud coverage, the camera stayed out of action.

Arriving at our morning tea destination at Raparapa Reserve, located on the banks of a small stream, all seemed a picture of peace and serenity until Chris and Judith rolled up in their "GMH Comode".  The beast making gurgling, clanking, noises, and smelling pretty hot, seemed in urgent need of medical assistance.  The original plan was to travel to Auckland with Chris and Judith as they journeyed north for a family reunion, but now the wheels had fallen off all of those plans.

One more time, Richard to the rescue.  Richard offers to return with me to Bethlehem and from there I take the Air Port Shuttle bus.  New Year's Eve in one of the YMCA's noisiest rooms didn't make for ideal sleeping conditions, but the alarm ringing at 4.00am (1.30am SA time) did wake me.

Two flights later found me in the arms of loved ones here in Adelaide. (Aaahhh).   After such a big day, this little explorer didn't see too much TV that night.

Many thanks to my new found friends, and as they say in show biz, "Break a spring, Break an axle,"

Break something!

Barry.