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Good on Yer, Hoe!  by Stu Massie

The Coromandel Charger...

I approached the run down garage with sheer excitement, bounding in. It was straight out of the sixties, good old time rock 'n' roll on the stereo with equally dusty American diner pictures to match dotted around the walls. 

A guy with his hands soaked in oil, rag hanging casually out of his pocket, came up to me beaming and I shook and slid off his hand. 

"You must be Stu. There she is!" He pointed to the forecourt where my Mazda chariot awaited. I double-checked he had aimed in the right direction for me to observe.

My eyes became as wide open as my mouth. It seemed to fit the criteria of a car, with some wheels attached to some kind of basic metal. But it looked as though it had previously exploded upon its last ignition. And a very heavy object had been thrown at its roof. Checking the log book, it may as well have stated "Oil changed. Sparks changed. Cannonball attack by pirates unfortunate today." 

However it was the only motorised contraption for miles, and time was not just against me, it was laughing in my general direction. Boots may be made for walking, but they can't get you to the other side of the range quickly, I thought. And I doubted rocket boots were an option here.

Some big smiles, a haggle later and a crisp fifty bucks were in his rusty old till. A fine deal for the day, indeed.

I honked the horn as I pulled out, watching the dust and my new mechanic friend settle in my rear view. Some very tall mountains that nature had kindly constructed were now in front of me. They looked high. Very high.

Lights on. Wipers On. Nothing seemed to want to go off.

Gas. My God, this bucket had no power. It had to scream up the mountains in very low gear, and I gave it and myself regular rests so we didn't burn out on the tortuous winding roads. 15 km/h Heaven. If I had put it in the rivers that carressed the road, it would have at least given it more momentum along with a few looks.

As well as the engine, rain appeared to be its enemy too, as the caved-in roof managed to leak its own waterfall on top of me. Raindrops kept falling on my head. The retro stereo picked up a cracky and weak station, suddenly hitting high volume now and then. "We're on a road to nowhere" and suddenly extremely loud weather warnings thundered out the speakers, 'causing me to bounce off my chair and nearly out the window.

It was a hell of a laugh. This was also shear adventure in a capitvating inspiring landscape. "To Hot Water Beach to warm up!" I exclaimed with relish.

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resources : http://www.rumdiaryfilm.com

Location: Aotearoa, New Zealand
 

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