Road trip - Taupo to Wellington

The day after the Taupo bike challenge, we drive from National Park round the back of the stunning mountains. Tongariro broods, Ngarahoe pops out cheekily, and Ruapehu skulks behind the clouds, dribbling snow down her chins and plotting her next eruption. I can hear frogs in the pond for the first time in about ten years.

It is a beautiful day in Ohakune. People sit in a pub watching a replay of last night’s rugby. We drink coffee and read the paper, then ruminate on the giant carrot and a bridge that goes nowhere.

The carrot was unveiled in 1984 to recognise the importance of market gardening to the local economy. It seems they also celebrate new crops, such as strawberry plants and asparagus, alongside the old stalwarts such as parsnips, swedes, Brussels sprouts, cabbage and cauliflowers. There is a carrot carnival in July when people dress up as vegetables. I promise I am not making this up.

We drive through rich volcanic bush and up to Turoa ski field. A bloke walking down has been ice-climbing at sunrise but says now the snow is heating up and getting mushy. Mt Taranaki glows like a pimple in the distance.

I love ski fields in the summer – they have an ethereal charm, as though they are waiting for their time which they know will come. Snow machines stand like creations from the War of the Worlds.

A couple of hardy souls (one in fluorescent overalls; another with bare torso) practice snowboarding jumps in the remaining snow. Utiku is home to a merino possum clothing shop (they must be odd animals!) and a fertiliser company. The houses have bright red corrugated iron roofs which stand out in stark contrast to the surrounding green grass – unless you’re colour-blind I suppose. It looks wonderful and I am bemused to remember the brouhaha over the red birds’ nets in Central Otago and Marlborough.

Mangaweka has a DC3 coated in Cookie Team advertising outside the DC3 tearooms. Further down the road, the Flat Hills café looks popular. The café serving farm-style food is right next to a park where tourists can pat ‘friendly goats’ – not too friendly I hope…

Hunterville is ‘the huntaway capital of the world’ and so, naturally, a statue of a huntaway dog graces its park. The Huntaway is the driving force of New Zealand farming; strong and agile with a kindly expression. Next to the statue is a park which strictly prohibits dogs. I imagine them slinking home with tail between their legs if caught out playing on the plastic slides and climbing frames.

Each year the Hunterville Huntaway Festival features dog barking, sheep shearing, obstacle races and ‘country entertainment’. There is also a Shepherd’s Shemozzle which involves the shepherds and their dogs competing over an obstacle and endurance course. And they eat some pretty horrendous things too. This photo is deemed ‘explicit’.

The Argyle Hotel is pink and black like an art deco liquorice allsort, but not a modern retro version – this one looks little changed from the 1920s. Buttercups line the verges and cotton drifts across the road as a farmer does the hay baling, suffocating his Dougals in swathes of plastic.

Sanson is not exactly a picturesque farming town and there is nothing to take photos of, but the Church Café does an excellent chicken Caesar salad with a poached egg atop and the coffee is heavenly – the sign says so and it is. Him Outdoors says his nachos and strawberry milkshake are also very tasty.

This area of the Manawatu is defined by trailers, mowers, bus and coach sales, contracting supplies and plastic tanks. A rusting rugby stand is forlorn by a mown paddock. Waireka honey claims to sell ‘more than just honey’. There are giant irrigation systems and post boxes in the shape of cows.

Foxton reveals a sign that says it is closed for renovations but open soon. Then we can all race back to the largest 2nd hand store in New Zealand, the ice cream parlours, John Deere tractor outlets, windmill and water towers. The petrol station is boarded up and the coming events board is empty. Foxton’s slogan is ‘Hometown NZ’ – I’m glad it’s not my hometown.

Levin has the usual fast food outlets and supercheap auto shops you would expect in rural NZ, where the word bogan might have been invented. It is a depressing town full of clapped-out clapboard shops and houses. It claims to have a cosmopolitan club but I’m not convinced. It also claims to be a high crash area and I’m not surprised considering the driving.
The fertiliser and farming pays off with a range of roadside fruit and vegetable stalls selling fresh, cheap produce. There are also sacks of pony poo however, so you need to check your purchases carefully.

If discount is your motivation, the Otaki is your destination. It is cheap and charmless full of factory outlets for the likes of Rip Curl, Bendon, Billabong, Pumpkin Patch, Pagani, Kia Kaha and Icebreaker. It should be awarded the wooden spoon for the worst town-planning ever, as a two lane roundabout abruptly merges into one lane and a pedestrian crossing – this is State Highway One remember.

Beware of the emu – lifestylers live here. The region appears to be a haven for catteries, dog breeders and basketmakers, according to the signs. Light aircraft buzz about in the sky and Maori carvings decorate the roadside. Buckets of canna lilies are for sale outside spacious homes, boutique vineyards and farmlets.

There are lots of side roads to intriguingly named beaches such as Peka Peka and Waikanae. About an hour (depending on the traffic) from Wellington, this is a beautiful place to live if you can bear the commute. You would be rewarded with sun, beaches, a rural hippy lifestyle, and less wind than the capital. And who wouldn’t want that?