On the way down to Mt Ruapehu we play the numberplate game – just glance at the three letters and say the first thing that comes into your head. It keeps us amused in the motorway traffic.
10:30am and the traffic’s moving smoothly south on the motorway
kindersplinder, canticle, doorknob
Trucks cruising and lane changing nonchalantly
toting trailers of mysterious machinery
Main Freight, NZ Post, Transit Fast, Toll
Heavy metal Haulage, PB Tech
Toll … Maersk … Toll
Pacific Concrete chunters along a chink behind Majestic Horse and Brave New World
Kafka, Carlene, Gypsy
Silver tankers sleek like tombs as we merge at Mercer and sweep past a combine harvester prickly as a Christmas Tree.
We have our entrances and our exits
Off goes Pacific Concrete and a ute with a bike.
On come Fibula, Jabberwock and Blitzkreig 3
An orange road man leans easily on his broom
– SHOULDER CLOSED –
The radio starts farting at Pokeno, spirting Bachus Interruptus,
and an alien antenna on a digger swooshes round to ladle up rocks
like a beef casserole.
Caesar Slipstream, KFC, Demon Bird
A mini pick-up truck jounces along on the raw
Bouncy bouncy bounce and dumps a load of gravel – whew!
Abracadabra man who sells Previas rides ahead with a hairy arm hanging out….
And – we slow to a crawl past Huntly, Yankee hamburgers selling from a van with stars and stripes.
An unfortunate possum and hawk have melded together in death, with the wings still lifted –
That’s one fantasy creature removed from the gene pool
Palimpsest, Has-been, Secret Agent, SAM
We hug the even camber of roundabouts and Hi 5 Bro takes the Ngaruawahia exit.
Off goes the radio, on goes Les Mis:
We’re headed for the King Country.
South Paw 