01 - How it all started

My love, and obsession, with driving.

My friends will tell you that I love driving. I’d take a road over the sky. I’d take a road over the sea. I’d always take the road, regardless of the time it takes to get there. The world is a magical place, and part of that magic is looking around you, experiencing the journey and not the destination. That’s a cliche right there, but it’s also a truism. Enjoy the fucking journey.

I started driving when I was twelve. But, truth be told, I was always interested and observant way before then. From sitting on the armrest of the family Valiant VIP (the biggest production engine ever assembled in NZ – 5.2 litre V8).

The might VG Valiant VIP

I was acutely interested in gear sticks, speedometers, buttons, and pedals. I was sometimes, at night, allowed to operate the floor-mounted dip switch. Remember when that was a big silver button you pushed with your left foot? Later on, I was allowed to change gears for whoever was driving, but only if it was a floor shift gearbox.

My Mum taught me to drive along the stopbanks of the Tuki Tuki River in Waipukurau. Twelve years old, running our dog alongside our 1972 Mini, I was taught how to change from first gear to second.

“Release the accelerator, depress the clutch, move the gear stick gently down, then release the clutch at the same time as applying a little bit of throttle.”

Holy shit, I’m actually driving. First to second is much harder than second to third, or third to fourth. There’s just no margin for error. Once you can master those lower gears and do it smoothly, you’re sorted.

This is a 1969 Mini but our 1972 model was the same shape and colour.

As well as driving the car, I also experienced motorbikes. The first motorbike I rode was a Honda 90, step-through. OMG. It was out at Porangahau Beach with my friend David. What a thrill! No looking back after that.

When my Mum, sister, and me separated from my father, we lived in a farm cottage on Lindsay Road. In the school holidays, I worked for Bruce, the farmer who we rented our cottage from. He gave me a Yamaha AG100 to ride home every night. Independence, the road, the beautiful Hawkes Bay mornings, no helmet, wind in my face. I never looked back.

When I turned 15, I bought a Suzuki TC100. It had a high and low ratio gearbox. To be fair, it was a piece of shit, but I loved it.

By then we had moved into town, and I had secured a ridiculously well-paid after-school job, cleaning classrooms at Central Hawkes Bay College. I saved so much money that at the end of the year I walked down to Waipukurau Motorcycles and put an order in for a brand-new 1976 Suzuki GT250. Honestly, I’m sure it was the first road bike to have ever been sold by them. Until very recently, it was the only brand-new vehicle I had ever bought. It cost me $1,700 NZD.

1976 Suzuki GT250

The bike arrived over Christmas, and because the shop was shut for statutory holidays, all I could do was visit, press my nose up against the glass window, and dream of getting my hands on that motorbike over there in the corner. The one with the SOLD sticker. Probably, undoubtedly, the longest four days of my entire life.

While two wheels had me in their grasp, I also loved larger more industrial modes of transport. Tractors. We had good friends who owned a farm in Cambridge, and we’d often visit for the holidays. One of my most enduring memories was being given the keys to a little grey Massey Ferguson tractor, and being asked to chain-harrow a field. I was 13 years old. I was finally driving with responsibility and purpose. The thrill of maneuvering a large (to me at least) vehicle round and round a paddock. I would have done the whole farm if I’d been allowed

Massey Ferguson tractor.

I hope you get the picture.

In more recent years, my motorcycling has become an obsession. I’m a member of the Iron Butt Association (USA) where to be granted membership you need to complete a Saddlesore 1000. The SS1000 entails riding 1,000 miles (or 1,619 km) in less than 24 hours. It’s not easy, but also, it’s not as difficult as it sounds. For the last twelve months, starting in March 2022, I have ridden one SS1000 every month, for twelve months. My reward? A certificate, for the Silver Mile Eater award. There are much easier ways to get a Silver Mile Eater. I chose the hardest, because, well, it’s the journey. Why the hell not?

Lockdown for me was bloody fabulous. I have a son in Auckland at University. When the borders were closing I made a mercy dash to Auckland to collect him. Then for reasons I won’t go into, I needed to drive him back after the lockdown was relaxed. At one point, I drove Wellington to Auckland and back, in one day. In the two chaotic years of Covid 19 I did over 40,000 km, predominantly between Auckland and Wellington. Heaven.

This brings me (finally) to the reason for this blog.

Last year, in anticipation of one day following my dream of driving a truck, I completed and passed my Class 2 license. This will let me drive a truck, or bus, up to 18,000 kg.

Last week, I was made redundant. While this wasn’t on my plans, it’s actually been a godsend because I have no excuse. I can become a professional driver.

What better way to do this than to become a bus driver? It’s a role that’s in demand. It’s helping the environment (if people use the bus). It’s a role with great responsibility. It’s a public service. But more importantly, it’s about driving a huge vehicle through the narrowest of streets. Therein, lies the challenge and the thrill.

I just want to finish this post with a quote from Rowan Atkinson after he successfully completed his HGV license in 1981 and around the time he was gaining notoriety for Not the Nine O’Clock News.

"The thrill of making 2,000 people in a theatre laugh is but a light breeze compared to the tornado of excitement I felt at that moment."

That’s what I’ve felt about many different driving experiences, many different times over, and I expect to feel this when I finally become a bus driver. More on that journey in the next post.