Nicholas Reid reflects in essay form on general matters and ideas related to literature, history, popular culture and the arts, or just life in general. You are free to agree or disagree with him.
A MOMENT OF FEAR
It was my good wife who brought it up. She said Matariki was on its way and Matariki was the season when we should greet and meet our children and friends who live outside Auckland. She suggested that it would be good to drive from Auckland to Wellington. And we did. We booked a place to sleep down south [in the Hutt]. After packing and all the bother of making sure that the house was being looked-after, we first had our night’s sleep then, at five in the morning, we were on our way, me taking the wheel. The night was pitch-black, but at that time there were endless cars and trucks heading out of Auckland on their way to Hamilton and further south. Of course we merrily listen to jazz music and some pod-casts as we went along. My good wife took the wheel at Lake Taupo ; then I took over when near Mt. Ruapehu; then we stopped for lunch at Bulls; then she drove the rest of the way to the Hutt… and we were bushed and tired and slept a little at the motel. It was a long haul taking up the whole day.
Our four days in the Hutt and Wellington was a great success – visiting my wife’s cousin in Paekakariki; joining our eldest son and his wife in looking at the modern Maori paintings in Porirua; joining up with the daughter of another son; having lunch with another cousin of my wife; visiting the widower of one of my brothers; and having lunch with my eldest brother and his wife. Mission accomplished. The bonus was that the weather was good when we were in Wellington despite the wind.
So, you ask, where was the moment of fear? It came when I was driving along the so-called Desert Road. We were on our way back to Auckland. No problem there, but once we were past the Desert Road we hit thick fog and – if you know the terrain - you will know that the road and the hills that follow twist, go down, go up, and make sharp turns. From where I was sitting the fog meant that I could see only a yard or so in front of me. So naturally I slowed down, gritted my teeth and drove reasonably slowly. In itself this was difficult. On the rare occasions when there were laybys I would pull over and let some cars overtake us… but, the fog being so thick, I couldn’t understand why anybody would want to go faster than I was driving. Some drivers behind us did what we did - pull over to the laybys – but there were a number who thought they had to go faster as if they were in a race. This was where the fear came in. Why, I wonder, do some drive faster when they don’t have to? I doubt if any had some urgent event they had to reach.
The fog cleared after the hills were past. We slept a night in a motel, and then happily drove our way back to Auckland.
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