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The Morris Eight Tourer Club
of New Zealand (Inc)

After three nights at Manapouri in a delightful cottage set in a peaceful, secluded glade, I set forth under threatening skies on the 250-mile trip to Roxburgh, in central Otago, via Invercargill and Bluff. The road was deserted, indeed it felt as though I were the sole human survivor of some global disaster of Hollywood proportions, for I encountered only two vehicles in the first hour. The sensation was reminiscent of my travels in Rhodesia by motorcycle in 1977, at the height of the terrorist war, though about twenty-five degrees colder. Despite winter clothing, gloves, scarf, and thermal underwear, it was none too warm as the good old Morris hummed southwards on the sort of roads it was made for. By Clifden the rain had started, triggering the decision to take the inland route to Invercargill—a wise move, for a freezing southerly was howling straight off the Antarctic. Invercargill seemed a pleasant enough town as I passed through, its wide streets uncluttered even though it was Christmas Eve, but Bluff, some twenty miles further south at the very tip of South Island, was a Godforsaken place, windswept and desolate with dilapidated buildings. I stopped the Morris in front of the sign at the end of the road and scrambled out in the rain to take the obligatory photo to prove I'd been there, then pointed the Morris northwards once more, hastened by the gale at our tail.

A sudden thought—would petrol be available in these remote regions to see me through to Oamaru on Christmas Day? Wasted much time in Gore trying to find out, but finally learned that there are two garages in Roxburgh. The Morris could just make the 180 miles from there. Residents of central Otago seem very proud of their district, which undoubtedly is beautiful and would have been more so but for persistent rain.

My diary note for Christmas Day reads, "Rained overnight, but fine and cold for start. A great many steep climbs from Roxburgh to Alexandra, and a long ascent over the ridge to Poolburn on the back road through Ida Valley to Ranfurly. Much snow on the Hawkdun Range, but no rain or wind all day—miraculous!" The long, winding road from Ranfurly through to Palmerston felt rather isolated, with just an occasional farmhouse or car the only signs of civilisation, but in sharp contrast the main road up the east coast carried fairly heavy traffic. Thus it was good to turn off and follow the quiet coast road through Kakanui, to emerge on the main road just a few yards from the motel, where I found my pal Lloyd's two-seater already parked outside after a leisurely run down from Tauranga over the previous week.

With only seventy miles to go back down the coast, a late and relaxed start was in order for the final leg to Dunedin. Wherever we found them we pottered around narrow coastal lanes well away from the main road, stopping to inspect the Moeraki boulders and other points of interest. A long winding climb over the now-deserted old main road led us to sweeping views of Otago harbour before descending in soaking rain to Dunedin, venue of the Morris 8 Tourer Club's week-long rally. The Morris had clocked up 2,200 miles since leaving Auckland.

Unfortunately we missed the first day of the rally whilst doing necessary maintenance on the cars, the tourer having covered almost 1,500 miles since its last attention in Christchurch—the handbook calls for extensive chassis greasing every 500 miles. Our daily runs on quaint, lightly-trafficked roads presented the picturesque charms of Dunedin and its environs and the delightful old buildings and homesteads, some preserved, others painstakingly restored. For the most part even the weather was satisfactory, though it blew like hell the day we went to the albatross colony at Taiaroa Head. We had a relaxing time catching up with old chums from all over the country whom we see only on these occasions.

Larnach Castle, Otago Peninsula, near Dunedin. The arrival of a gaggle of old cars caused much excitement amongst the several busloads of American tourists from a cruise ship moored in the harbour.

It almost goes without saying that cold and rain accompanied departure from Dunedin at eight o'clock on 2nd January. It came down in buckets as I threaded the Morris through quiet country lanes south-west of Oamaru and along the main road westwards through Duntroon, and finally stopped just before Omarama. After a short lunch stop down a side road a strong headwind sprang up, slowing progress to the annoyance of the surprisingly heavy traffic using this route. The soft turquoise hues of Lakes Pukaki and Tekapo were as lovely as I remembered, but the beastly wind and lowering clouds deterred any thought of recording them on film. A refreshing cup of tea and a biscuit at Tekapo, thence onwards into drenching rain and by 2.30pm was parking the tourer in a welcome carport at the motel in Fairlie, the 210 miles having passed rather more quickly than anticipated. Lloyd had just arrived—we were sharing accommodation but travelling separately, he preferring shorter, more direct routes whilst I went exploring.

It was cold and still raining the next day, spoiling what otherwise would have been a beautifully scenic four-hour run through Geraldine and along the inland route to Mount Hutt and Oxford, where the rain finally stopped but the cold was biting despite gloves and scarf and thermals. And this in January, the middle of summer, for heaven's sake! A quick lunch in the car, then more rain as I left Oxford and proceeded through pretty Ashley Gorge, the wet easing briefly around Amberly as the Morris rumbled steadily northwards to Culverden. Here, after a run of 190 miles, the motelier, an old fellow with a couple of veteran Harley-Davidsons, cleared his garage of modern vehicles to make way for the Morrises, so at least the old things were warm and dry as we watched news reports of Dunedin receiving a month's rain in one day, flooding in Mosgiel, and a foot of snow falling above Queenstown. The forecaster heralded more rain for the morrow, together with gale force winds for Cook Straight, precipitating a duet of groans from those present.

Thus it was that yet more rain characterised the next day's start. One really had to wonder where it all came from. The lovely winding road through Waiau to join the main road near the coast was still enjoyable, and the run northwards to Kaikoura rather more interesting than I remembered. The weather had cheered up a little by the time I caught up with Lloyd near Kaikoura, a strong southerly blowing us along, and by Seddon, where I pulled off the road for lunch, it had become quite warm in the car. At least it was dry and sheltered whilst we killed several hours in Picton waiting for a ferry which became progressively later owing to tumultuous seas across the Strait. The Top Cat finally sailed seventy-five minutes behind schedule after the interminable process of loading 600 passengers and 240 vehicles. A tolerably smooth crossing was spoiled when the driver messed up his approach to the Wellington heads and had to turn around and head out to sea for another shot, at which point the ride became somewhat lively and many passengers sick. Finally docked in the gathering darkness just before eight after two and a half hours wallowing around on what is supposed to be a fast ferry. Wellington greeted us, as apparently it does everyone, with wind and rain, but at least we were back on North Island and in control of our own fate. With a toot and a wave Lloyd and I parted company at Ngauranga Gorge, and in half an hour, 12½ hours after starting out, I was signing the sheet at the motel in Plimmerton.

Wednesday 5th, day 25, and for the first time, with no motel booking for that night, I set off unsure how far I would travel that day. With no alternative to the main road the Morris was harried by heavyish traffic until Levin, where I steered the old vehicle onto the first available secondary road, still much busier than anticipated, through Shannon. Finally shook off the traffic whilst striking out across country around Palmerston North and Fielding, rejoining the main road only when forced to at Vinegar Hill. More heavy traffic through to Waiouru, where I took the preferred and significantly quieter route via Ohakune to Taumarunui. Indeed, it was so peaceful that there seemed little point in opting for minor roads when the opportunity arose. At five o'clock I was stowing the hood in Otorohanga, it having become simply too warm to keep it up. Hard to believe, but true. Had a lovely run through the back road to Ngaruawahia and up the west side of the Waikato River, thence across country on the delightfully tortuous Glen Murray road to emerge in the gloaming at Tuakau, where sidescreens were erected to fend off the cool evening air. An hour-long grind up the motorway saw us at journey's end by 9.20pm after exactly 13 hours and 400 miles, feeling so comfortable and car going so well that I could have easily carried on to Kaitaia.

R.A.F.

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