Pop some popcorn. I’m going to take you on a word adventure.
My journey up to Dunedin was brutal, you guys. I think I ran the gamut for vehicular challenges encountered.
My goal was to have a nice drive along the south coast with a few pit stops in key areas. The weather was shitty, but I was hoping it would turn good when I got to the eastern part of the South Island.
It didn’t.
[This has definitely become a blog complaining about the weather.]
I cruised through Invercargill and headed for a recommended spot – Waipapa Point. There was a lighthouse and shit.
As I arrived, it was, of course, raining but the wind was insane. It was blowing the car sideways at times. I got out and did a quick walk up to the lookout. Unfortunately, the view didn’t outweigh the unpleasantness of the elements. I decided to keep driving and just get the flavor of some spots from the car.
I was almost all the way through the “Southern Scenic Route” before i had to turn around because of a road in flood. There was so much rain that rivers were spilling over onto main roads. I tried to troubleshoot the way around with another set of travelers. No luck. I spent a half hour on the phone with various NZ services trying to get information about additional flooding and alternate routes. I didn’t have any more cellular data and there was spotty reception anyway. It was a part of the country with a bunch of small gravel roads, so GPS wasn’t much help either.
I wasn’t given any useful info from the transit authority or council. I looked at a map and sorted out some possible options. The first few were a bust — I encountered several more impassable roads and a fallen tree obstructing another way. I tried to pull the branches apart for a bit and make a path. It looked like a car had somehow gone partially over it recently. In attempting to drive on the “shoulder” to pass it, my car got stuck in the mud. Thankfully I was able to reverse and get out. Close call.
I had to back track an hour and a half to find what I thought would be a reliable main road. I mean, look how close I was to being through it. Because of the extra winding, weaving and retracing, my fuel tank was on empty. I had a partially flat tire to boot and only a donut in the boot (trunk).
After adding 3+ hours of driving onto my day, I thought I was in the clear and bound for a late arrival at my destination, but an arrival nonetheless.
I came upon another flood just outside of Balclutha. It seemed small enough to drive through if I went on the wrong side of the road.
Success.
It was dark by now, and the relief I felt when I got on the main highway was quickly evaporating. The stress was creeping back in. There were no other roads I could use to circumvent any more blockages.
Then I came upon a road crew stopping traffic. To the right, I noticed somebody’s house under several feet of water. That fucking sucks. There were people trying to help move the water but…where was it going to go?
That’s when I noticed what was in front of me. Major water flowing across the road. This was the last main township before Dunedin. I was so close. Please.
One of the crew motioned me up to him. I thought I’d reached the end of the line.
He said my car would probably make it through alright, I just had to go slow. They were only letting through one person at a time so the water didn’t wake and splash up onto peoples engines.
It must’ve been just over ankle deep and my car was not tall. I didn’t see much of a current though, so that was a silver lining.
Two cars came through from the other way and it was my turn to ease through it. High anxiety.
With the depth of the water and darkness, I couldn’t make out the lines on the road. I was instructed to hug the high side but I couldn’t tell what was what or where it ended. Holy shit.
I turned a slow corner, spewing water from both sides and saw the other part the road block. Phew.
I came up the unintended boat ramp and wiped the flop sweat off my forehead. I waved politely and ventured on.
I’d barely gotten back up to speed when I saw yet another flood ahead. This one seemed deeper and with more of a current. There was no road crew ushering people through or to give advice here.
I’d made it this far and figured they wouldn’t be letting people through at the other checkpoint if it was dangerous. I slowed down and drove into it.
Once again, no road markings. No lights or markers in the distance giving me an idea of what line to take or direction to maintain. Occasional water splashing up onto the hood. The fan belt screeching from getting wet — and being a bit loose and shitty, but that was a separate problem.
I was moments away from fully freaking out. It was starting to rain again and the windshield was fogging and the wipers were being temperamental. I noticed, again, that my fuel gauge was bordering on ‘E’. What other issues could there possibly be? Was some sort of ancient river monster going to swim up and swallow me whole? In that moment, I might’ve welcomed that.
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention it was my birthday. Sweet. The beer was somewhere in the distance. I was determined to get there.
Finally, I saw some reflectors up ahead. I stayed on track and made it through ford number three? Seven? Twelve? Lost count. But thanks, Oregon Trail, for all of the practice as a youth. Couldn’t have done it without you.
The low fuel light came on again, so I pulled over in the next “locality” to fill up.
It was a small town, so all the shops were closed. They have single pay stations, as opposed to the pay-at-the-pump options like we have back home. Even though I did this procedure earlier in the day, it was refusing my card. I selected credit but it was requiring a pin. I selected checking but still declined. “Techmology – is it good or is it whack?”
I had no choice but to keep going. I fired up my GPS to check how far away I was. 32 miles. That seemed pretty sketchy to ride on empty.
A few miles later, I came through another small town. There was somebody filling up at this station too. Good deal. Maybe this payment system would be different.
As I pulled in, the other person was getting back in their car. I ran through the whole process and my card got declined again. Fuck. I had to stop the person from driving off to ask if they could use their card in exchange for cash.
The guy was like, “I’ll have to transfer money over. The most I could do is $20.”
“Whatever you’re comfortable with. Will $10 get me to Dunedin?”
“It should get you there.”
“K.”
Holy S. $10 equated to a little over 4 liters, which is barely a gallon of gas.
It proved to be enough. The light came on again as I entered into the sleepy city center of Dunedin. It was 10:30pm. About 12 hours of problem solving had gotten me here.
My hostels reception desk was at the bar of the downstairs pool hall. I ordered a shot of whiskey while checking in. Two birds.
I hurriedly dropped my bags in my room and b-lined for the nearest bar. I realized I forgot my passport and usually they don’t accept a foreign drivers license as an ID. I almost turned around to give up but said fuck it and waltzed up to the place. No door man, thankfully.
I snagged a stool and a pint. Victory sip.
Then some incredibly gregarious, old Danish man started chatting me up when he saw I was left handed. After telling me why we were sinister, he asked to see my tattoos, asked if I was a numberphile and gave me all of his contacts so he could give me Danish lessons via email (without being prompted).
It worked out in the end because he had a cool, also tatted coworker who bought a round of scotch for my birthday. Gorm followed that up with a round of 22 year old Balvenie aged in Portwood – $28 per taste.
Deece.
We closed the place down and then I got invited back to have hot chocolate + cookies and watch Al Jazeera…at 2am.
I’ve always got time for the news.
Not really. But I did that night.
And that is the story of my 32nd birthday. Highs and lows. Life and death. Sinister and scotch. Hot chocolate and the news. I’ll take it.