the plankmeister's interweblet

Friday, June 21, 2002

Paihia : New Zealand

Woke up early and was filled in by Rich and Seb on lastnight's happenings after I came home. I missed a lot. The highlights of which were: Seb climbing a ten foot wall and leaping into a small tree, which had the effect of snapping the tree in half. Ooops. Rich climbing the same ten foot wall and jumping from the top of said wall to a balcony a gasp-worthy distance of nine feet away, and nastily wrenching his back as he did so. Then, lowering themselves to the ground, they found themselves in the grounds of a motel. So upon finding the swimming pool, they decided it would be a good idea to throw a table and some chairs into it. Then, when they were obviously bored of being reckless, they ambled back in the wee hours to swim naked in the hostel's swimming pool. How they didn't wake me up when they got back I don't know. Then we all clamber into Bugger and drive randomly until we find ourselves at a big waterfall. What with all the incessant rain in the past week up in these parts, there's flooding everywhere, and every river is swollen-to-bursting. This one is no exception. There must be billions of gallons of water per hour crashing over that waterfall!

Onwards! To the very top of New Zealand! We decide to check out the famed Ninety Mile beach. (Even though it's actually only about 50km long) On the way, we see a sign hanging skewed from its pole, and it's telling us that the beach is that way, so we dutifully turn left and trek down a gravel road for miles and miles and miles and miles. It's good fun thrashing the living shit out of bugger, however, it's obvious that there's not even a mile of beach around these parts, let alone ninety. We turn back the way we came and at length arrive at the sign. Someone's obviously been having a laugh... The sign's been rotated ninety degrees. So we head in the right direction this time and end up in the car park at the south end of Ninety Mile beach.

The wind is a strong and steady force eight or so. Walking up the sand dunes to look at the beach stripped away several layers of skin due to sandblasting, and gave my eyes a sort of crude type of laser-treatment. The surf is absolutely raging. It's going completely wild out there! There's crashing white surf as far out as the eye can see. The sea is a rabid animal! There's wave foam cloaking the shoreline, occasionally being blown across the beach by a freak gust of wind. Back at the top of the dune, Seb's testing the wind strength by leaning into it. He manages to get to about thirty degrees from the vertical before falling over. This is not a gentle breeze. We all randezvous back at the car, and Rich's back is giving him a lot of problems, especially getting in and out of the car.

We notice a large sign. It reads along the lines of: "DANGER! If you drive on the beach two hours before or after high tide, you risk losing your car to the sea. It is highly recommended that only four wheel drive vehicles attempt to drive on the sand. Several cars have been lost to the sea." We look at the sea again. At a guess, we decide the tide is going out. Even though it looks ridiculously high. Oh well! How long can it take to drive 50km? So we make the only wise decision. We jump in Bugger, the front wheel drive Mazda 323 Estate with almost bald tyres, and commence driving northwards along Ninety Mile beach.

Well... we do after we've had a little bit of fun. Parking up on the sand, I slip into reverse, firmly engage the handbrake, and put on full left lock. Drop the clutch and neeeeeeeeeeeeooooooooooooooowwwwwwwwww!!!!! With the rear left wheel perfectly stationary, we're spinning around crazily and we're all pissing ourselves laughing. We're spinning really fast! About one spin every 3 seconds! Hahahahaha! It's soooooooo much fun! Then I execute a few handbrake turns and J-turns. Much fun!

Then we commence driving up the beach. Everything goes well. A few more crazy spinning sessions help break the monotony, and seb gets a few photos. Much laughter. Then we happen across our first washout. A washout is basically where a freshwater stream crosses the beach to the sea, and erodes the sand to varying degrees, producing potentially deep trenches across the whole beach. The first one is pretty big. And very bumpy. And deeper than we thought. But Bugger does us proud and sees us through without so much as a single complaint. Bugger positively thrives in the excitement of it! Onwards! Several more washouts are encountered, and after another spinning session or two, we pass a section of beach where a spit of rock extends out across the beach leaving a narrow gap between the end of the rocks and the sea. From a distance, it looks impassable, but there's loads of room. Onwards!

We pass a washout that is surely a river, and Seb spots a sign in the distance, so goes to check it out. On a flyer we picked up for an organised coach trip here there's a crude map with a road back to civilisation right about here, which is worryingly labelled quicksand. It is the road out of the beach. The sign says "Warning: Soft sand. Increase speed and use low gears." Soft sand? It's a fucking river! All this rain! ARGH! Now what?

Ok... it's only a few more km to the very northern end of the beach. So we go there, climb out and do a spot of cliff climbing to the top to get a good view and take some photos. Conveniently, there is a monstrous great set of steps leading up the cliff, which must be at least 150 metres from bottom to top. Exhausted, we reach the summit, and are treated with absolutely stunning views. I take some photos with my wide angle lens, and then, of all the times it could possibly happen, at least 50km from civilisation, my camera battery dies. ARGH!!!!!!!! You are having a laugh! I quickly overcome my pissed-offness and we all head back down the cliff to the car. On the way we pass thousands of pampas grass bushes, so I snap off the stalks and throw them like spears at the other two further down the steps. Much fun. I discovered that the longer the stalk, the more accurate its flight. The two metre stalk I threw was actually a homing stalk and spiralled directly towards Rich, arrowing him right on the bonce. Ooops!

Back at the car, we come to the conclusion that our extremely wise decision to drive along the beach was actually very unwise, as the tide is rising fast, and the occasional wave laps at the tyres. We arrive at the exit road, sorry, exit river and I make the impulse decision to drive up the river through the shallow parts to get a better look at what we're facing. Bump! Bump! Bump! We bang through the washout, and water is splashing everywhere. Can't see shit out the windscreen, and we plummet into a deep bit. Luckily, we have enough momentum to keep going through the deep bit and back into a shallow bit. But why would you need momentum? I hear you cry. Because Bugger stalls. Yep. You read that right. Bugger stalls. We're parked in the middle of a sandbed river, and it's flowing fast. Now, anyone who's stood on a beach with the waves lapping at their feet will know that if you stand still for long enough, the water flowing around your feet will make you sink slowly into the sand through the effect of erosion. In this case, however, it's not feet that are sinking. It's Bugger's wheels. And of course, Bugger is attached to the wheels. Bugger refuses to start. I try for a minute or so, but it's no good. We're stuck. We all jump out into ankle deep water, but Bugger has already sunk an inch or so into the sand. It's at this crucial juncture that Seb decides to leisurely take a snap for the family album. Richard comes out with a classic line. It only sounds right in his Irish accent: "What's yer man doing?! The feckin' eedjit's takin' photographs! We're feckin sinkin' here!" With Seb's impersonation of David Bailey complete, we all begin the task of trying to push Bugger out of the quicksand. It's sunk further. A couple of inches now. This is getting to be a very serious situation. Try as hard as we might, we just can't move it. We're all grunting and heaving trying to shift it even an inch, but it's just not working. It's well and truly stuck. Already, my panicked mind is perusing scenarios and possible outcomes. Let's look at the evidence:

• We're 50km from civilisation
• It's high tide (near enough)
• Bugger won't start
• We can't push it out of the sand
• We're stuck in quicksand
• If we don't move it, we'll be completely screwed
• The chances of rescue are slim
• The chances of rescue are slimmer as we realise my phone has no reception
• Spontaneous rescue by someone else is impossible, as no-one would be foolish enough to drive up the beach at high tide, would they?
• We never saw anyone else the entire time we were on the beach
• We have no food, except for a slightly wrinkled potato and some out-of-date 2 minute noodles
• More importantly, we have no water
• We do, however, have a lighter and a tent

So. Things are looking pretty bad. I try starting Bugger again. Nope. No joy. Something's obviously wet. Very wet.

Pure, utter, complete and all-consuming panic seizes me and I just fail to function as a human being. Rich and Seb seem to be handling it much better than me, but this isn't their Bugger! With Rich and Seb grunting and heaving trying to push Bugger backwards, I try once more in vain, screaming in a terrified and disbelieving voice "START YOU FUCKER!" And that does the trick! BRRRRRMMMM!!!!!! Purring away like a tiger. Without even stopping to cheer, I slam it into reverse and just drop the clutch, and with the extra push donated by a shocked and surprised Rich and Seb, we manage to dislodge Bugger from it's potential sandy grave and I reverse back the way we came back out onto the beach. Firm sand! WOOOHOOO!!!!

We all mount up again, and we're all soaked... Sodden shoes, dripping wet jeans, all covered in sand, breathing heavily from a mixture of panic and physical exhertion. A few quiet minutes go by where out collective gasping and heavy breathing steams up the car. We all agree that we thought that was the end of Bugger, and the start of a real adventure. Imagine... camping out on Nintey Mile beach in a force 8 gale, being lashed by waves and wind relentlessly all night, with nothing to eat except a wrinkly potato and dry out of date noodles, and nothing to drink except a few dribbles of warm and old lemonade, to then wake in the morning and find Bugger sunk up to the wheel arches. Not a pleasant thought!

We head off down the beach again, and it seems that everything is out to get us. The sand in this direction is a lot softer. It's like driving through a ninety mile long vat of grease. I try to stick to the water's edge where the sand might be firmer, but sudden waves and aquaplaning make this slightly dangerous, as we discovered several times. But when we're slowed to 5km/h in first gear, there's not a lot of choice. Aquaplane, or sink. Hmmm. I'll take the aquaplaning, please.

Every washout we encounter stops our collective breath until we're through and safely on the other side. Sudden waves are more frequent now, and seem to be actually aiming at us. Where a wave has receded, the sand is definitely firmer, and Bugger is speeding along at about 100km/h, but then all of a sudden we hit a patch of soft sand, and it's as if I've slammed on the brakes as hard as possible. I guess that's why they put sandtraps next to roads on steep hills.

This happens repeatedly, several times co-inciding with a fresh wave fired at us by the cruel sea. After 20 minutes or so of driving, my adrenaline levels are so high that I'm buzzing my tits off, but the fear is still there, keeping me under control. We've basically been wheel-spinning the whole time we've been coming back down the beach. And I mean continuously. I guess it must be due to the slick tyres? More washouts... More waves... More soft sand. More and more obstacles obstruct our passage along the beach, and all the time the tide is getting higher and higher until at points, we have about only a four metre wide passage to traverse between the waves and the start of the sand dunes. A very dangerous place to be in a car, let me tell you. More washouts (some big ones that get me almost whimpering), more soft sand, more waves. All the way down the beach I'm saying in a very strained and scratchy voice "I don't want to be here. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be here." I think the stress is getting to me. The adrenaline is coursing through my veins like jam.

At length, we arrive at the narrow rock passage. And the tide is lapping at the rocks. Shit. There's no way we're going to get through there. Oh bugger. Well... that's it then. We're screwed. We have to wait for the tide to go out. Which will be at least another 4 hours before this section is passable. It'll be dark then. And more importantly, we'll miss the England vs. Brazil match. Shit. But hang on... what's this?!?! A sneaky little channel through the rocks further inland? Is it? Can it be? Oh my god! It can!

Like some scene out of a movie, we speed through the jagged and ominous looking rocks, with the tide and waves racing to meet us at the shore-end of the passage. Will we make it? Won't we? Will we? Won't we? We're getting closer... the sea is too... Will we? Will we?!?!?!?!

Neeeeeeeoooooowwww!!!!!

We burst through back onto the beach on the other side of the rocks with the waves lapping at the exhaust. You could almost hear the frustration in the wave from letting us escape it's watery grasp. Accelerating down the beach to what I guesstimate to be 100km/h (The speedo doesn't actually work. Ooops!), we encounter more washouts, more soft sand, more waves, until in the middle distance, I spy a slightly different shade of sand. Holy shit! WASHOUT!

I SLAM on the brakes and we skid and we skid and we scream and we scream and we skid and we skid and end up stopping literally inches from the edge of a two foot-deep washout. That was (if you will excuse my French) fucking lucky. If we'd have gone over the edge there, we'd have dug in nose first, and that would have been the end of Bugger, not to mention the whiplash and other personal injuries. I reckon if I'd have started braking a 10th of a second later, we'd have been over the edge. Phew! It's just lucky we made it! Reversing up, I try to pick my way through the shallowest parts, but there are none. It's a foot deep everywhere. Somehow, we manage to get across, and Bugger keeps going. Woohoo!!! Onwards!

It's getting a bit predictable now. Apart from the occasional scare when we think we spy another deep washout, or venture too far onto soft sand, or nearly get spun round from aquaplaning, it's pretty easy going, even though the adrenaline is still pumping.

It's getting dark now. I reckon another twenty minutes and it will be too dark to see approaching waves. All of a sudden we're at another washout. The drop-in is not too bad, but the water is a raging torrent! Surely we'll be swept away! With encouragement from Rich and Seb to "Just floor it! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!" I plant my foot to the floor and we bounce heavily across the torrent and the unimaginable happens again. Bugger stalls. Instinctively I jump on the clutch and we have enough momentum to roll us out onto the sand high up the beach, only a metre or two away from the start of the sand dunes.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Luckily, here the waves cannot reach us. We're about as far up the beach as it's possible to go. Bugger won't start. Again. A couple of anxious minutes pass where not an awful lot is said except for "Please please please please please please please." Nothing. Bearing in mind that it started again last time after a short wait, we decide to push the car rather than waste time just sitting there. We think it's not far to the road off the beach.

We find a safe-looking area that doesn't look as if it's been the recipient of any recent waves, and poke around under the bonnet. It's a bit wet under there... oh yes. Did I say a bit wet? I meant fucking soaking. There's water everywhere. All the electrics are wet, there's water collecting in pools in every available recepticle in the engine bay. Nothing is dry. Even the air filter is wet. I take the filter cover off with the assistance of Seb, who decides the bolt that holds it on is obviously extraneous and discards it down into the bowels of the engine.

In my panic I shout "Argh! You fucking idiot! We need that!" We spend the next five minutes searching for the lost bolt, but it's not to be found anywhere. We give it up as lost, and press on. I've had to take my socks off because they are soaking wet, and wringing them out I use them as a sponge to get all the water out of the air filter and attempt to dry the opening to the carburetor. It's at this moment that a freak wave sweeps in and takes us completely by surprise. I leap up into the engine bay, and from my perch, I feel the car getting moved by the surging water. It's lapping at the wheel arches! It's a big wave. This is not good. It reaches the very foot of the sand dune, then starts receding, taking all the sand with it around Bugger's wheels. Shit. Bugger starts sinking again. Panic sets in and we're all at battle stations, pushing and pushing and pushing, but it's sunk sufficiently to mean that we just can't budge it. Another freak wave. Bugger sinks further. It dawns on me that the exhaust system must be filled with water. These waves are easily deep enough to submerge the exhaust. And that's a bad thing. I think we really are screwed now. I try starting it again, anyway. It's turning over, but nothing's happening. Thank GOD it's got a good charge on the battery!

We start digging out the sand from around the wheels to make it easier to attempt a push to dislodge it from the sand, and a few more waves, though not as big, come and harrass our efforts. Seb jumps in the car and manages to start it. Yeehaaa!!! However, in ensuring the engine is definitely started, he revs it to the point where it's screaming for mercy and is surely on the point of using molten piston liners as engine lubricant.

Once more I lose it and scream abuse. Seb gets out of the car and helps Rich push it backwards as I jump in and slam it into reverse and stall it. "FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! YOU FUCKING C**T! YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKING C**T!!! START YOU FUCKING C**T!!!" I'm screaming, totally out of control. But it's not working. It's died again. Another freak wave. Some more sinking. This can't be happening. The tide is toying with us. It's actually playing with us. I can almost hear its malevolent laugh. The wind is relentless.

I basically just keep Bugger turning over until suddenly it fires into life again! WOOOHOOO!!!! With Rich and Seb pushing again (which does Rich's back absolutely no good at all) I manage not to stall it this time, and reverse back sufficiently to a safer area of the beach. Rich runs towards the car, and Seb (who seems extremely laid back for such an intense situation) has a little breather. I'm screaming "GET IN THE FUCKING CAR! RUN! GET IN THE FUCKING CAR!" because I can see some pretty big Bugger-sinking waves getting ready to launch a sortie at us.

With us all in (well... Seb half in the car) I speed off down the beach, racing the approaching waves with us all screaming in blind panic again. Once again, we outrun the waves. How on earth Bugger started with all that water in the exhaust I'll never know! We speed down the beach, and thankfully we encounter no more washouts, but the soft sand and waves are out with a vengeance and we find ourselves in 1st gear again. This could be bad. We spy a small gap in the sand dunes ahead and executing a handbrake turn, head back to it as we think we saw a road through the gap.

WOOOHOOO!!!!

After executing a ninety-mile wheelspin, Bugger finds itself back on tarmac. We made it! We're off the beach and back on the road! But it's not a normal road. It's a plant road for heavy machinery and logging trucks. We navigate through a maze of various roadways barred by locked gates until we come at long last to a junction with a normal proper average road with road signs and markings and other cars and stuff. We all take a collective sigh of relief and begin the process of unwinding from such an intensely stressful scenario.

We all actually thought, twice, that we were going to be spending the night on the beach watching Bugger either get washed away or sink in the sand. We stop at a petrol station to get some gas. Bugger is an absolute MESS. It's utterly covered with sand. There's an inch-thick layer of it stuck to the back. The licence plate is covered, too. It's 6:20pm, and the England vs. Brazil match starts in 10 minutes, and we're at least 100km from Paihia.

Luckily, across the road from the petrol station is a pub. And they're showing the match! Bargain! A much needed beer is drunk, and the match is watched. Owen pings in a beauty. However, Brazil respond with 2 goals, one of which, admittedly, is pure brilliance. So that's it then. England are out of the World Cup. Bugger.

We head home in a state of absolute exhaustion, and eventually arrive at the hostel. It's approaching 10pm. There's some sort of party going on at the hostel being hosted by a local radio station, and as we go into our dorm, we are accosted by 3 drunk girls and a drunk man, who are all very boistrous and just not at all what any of us can deal with right now. However, they take some ten minutes to take the hint, and eventually leave us alone. Some much needed laundry is started and showers are had. Then we realise we haven't eaten yet. Some food is cooked, where the boistrous and drunk people again amuse themselves by talking loudly at us, and then, at last, we get to bed. Bliss! A warm bed with a warm quilt and a pillow and nice clean clothes again.

We're the only three in the dorm and we talk for an hour or so about the day and the monumental events that occurred. We're all in hysterics, though I'm a bit contrite about my several outbursts in the heat of the moment. Well... What counts in the end is that we're all home safe, and Bugger still works!

Woohoo!