With the car good to go other than an exploded rear muffler, we headed to the meeting point of the Ferry Terminal to wait for the other South Island lads who had convoyed up from Christchurch during the day and been stuck waiting for a delayed ferry before enduring the boredom of the strait crossing.  We waited in the darkness or the carpark;

Spooky.

The Lancer to the right of the shot was part of the Wellington convoy, as was a late model BMW carrying some spanners.  Whilst standing in the darkness we had the pleasure of a conversation with an older gent who took a shine to the 323, he told up of how he put a Toyota V8 in his one and proceeded to go a million miles an hour or some lark, he was quite an amusing chap and it sounded as though he had built it in his shed.  He visited us twice during the evening, the second time was when Beaver showed up to say hello in his Avenger, a model of car this gentleman had also owned and done something with.  The ferry finally barfed all it’s freight and cars onto the northern island and the rest of our convoy was ready to go.  Mitsubishi Lancer, Mazda 323, Datsun 1200, Ford B2000, Ford Escort MkII & a modern BMW 520i.

The estate managed to get all of 70kms before the tube inside the ‘goon’s L/R tyre decided to commit suicide.  We pulled over and proceeded to change both rear wheels, given that the diameter difference was so large between the regular rollers and the spares it was the only option and Biz had specifically brought along 2 spares for this very occurrence, after changing them though we soon found out how terrible a condition the spare wheels were in, the wagon almost took on a life of it’s own with the rear end squirming about as though it was trapped in a diaper full of misgivings.  We made a stop in Levin to check air pressure, discovering that one was quite low we topped it up and found.. much the same problem.  This meant the voyage to Pohangina Valley would be a slow and precarious one.  The journey continued with a misfiring, backfiring, rear end wobbling estate tagging along with the rest of the perfectly running vehicles.

Unexpectedly, we started rolling into Palmerston North.  This was odd given that the quickest route to our destination avoided the place entirely and P. Norf is known for it’s “boy racers” and thereby the countering police force tasked with stopping them.  Normally this would be an issue but a hole in it’s rear muffler the wagon was barking louder than a rottweiler in an impound lot.  We cautiously followed the pack.. we were headed right through the centre of town ( a square, as it happens) we turned the corner and you guessed it…  Checkpoint.

-Michael

The start of the dampness of Autumn or Winter was probably not an ideal time to host a meeting of classic vehicles but when the options are limited to what becomes available at ideal locations, you do what you can.  As it was, the location at a camp inside the realms of the Pohangina Valley was only claimed due to a cancellation by another party and really we couldn’t have been happier at their choice to do so.  Months of organisation for the administrating bodies of oldschool.co.nz culminated in an event that could only be categorised under “success”.  I aided where I could/was useful in such things but my largest challenge was travelling over 1000kms simply to attend (then of course I had to get home)  A plane took care of the majority of that voyage for me and the rest was down purely to the kindness showed from my fellow automotive brethren.

Plane Boring.

I jumped on an Air New Zealand flight at circa 6am (having awoken at 5:20am) and was whisked up the country, directly into Wellington,  picked up at the airport by a lovely chap by the name of K-dribble, in a Citroen BX.  It was adorable.  I was then escorted into the city centre and left to wander about during the day, so I sent a txt message to a vegetable who found me with only the instructions “I’m in a Comic Book store”.  Together we moseyed about until the thought entered my mind that, whilst waiting to indulge in lunch with another friend, we would play some arcade games.  The step then became to find a damned arcade and wouldn’t you know it?  Wellington doesn’t fucking have one!  My friend, Broccoli, had rung directory who told us an address where there existed naught but space.  Gone.  Disappointed, we made our way to the meeting point for lunch and then dined with our Uncle at which point in time the disappointment ended.  After enjoying a lovely lunch and natter with UncleJake (who sadly would not be able to make it to the subsequent National event), we made our way to another comrade’s pad where I was introduced to the steed that would provide carriage for the journey northwards to Nationals.

323 Estate - styling by Bizzo.

We waited for Bistro to arrive back from attaining his registration tag thus making the estate legal for the drive and once he had done that,w e proceeded to break the car.  The car was started and left momentarily to warm up before I thought it would be amusing to give it a phat “choke port”, Broccoli pulled the choke and as expected it struggled along like a retarded sounding rotary for mere moments and the choke was slipped back in, at which point in time Bistro sat himself in the car and gave it a little gas which would have been fine were the exhaust system not filled with fuel enriched gases from too much choke, the car backfired and blew a hole in the rear muffler.  It was… hilarious, and so the journey and tribulations of Nationals had begun…

-Michael

OK, I’m still super tired and getting through the photos and filtering out the crap from the good.  There will be a bit more later but until then;

JohnnyFive's GSR

-Michael