November 4th 2010
LP struggled to sleep, tossing and turning as the pain shot up his right leg. His knee cap had been bandaged for over two weeks and was giving him trouble, making long distance driving demanding. He lay awake, thinking what daylight might bring besides pain.
Daybreak’s silence was broken by his son's screeching alarm clock and kookaburras laughing. His son had to be up at five, ready for his boss to pick him up at the servo not far from home at 5:25am. LP prepared his son's lunch and would give him a lift to the Shell Service Station, as he had done for the past four months.
In the New Year, his son would get back his driving licence. He had recently had a brain snap, resulting in him losing his licence for drink driving.
But LP was looking forward to the New Year for more reasons than one.
He finished packing, making sure nothing was forgotten. Squeezing down, zipping the cases closed, LP then weighed them to ensure there wouldn’t be any excess baggage charges.
Although Christmas was only six weeks away, LP was preoccupied with thoughts of what happened back at the bora ring, and on George’s mountain, all those years ago.
One thought kept popping into his head. “Go back to the mountain.” He knew it was a mountain in New Zealand, not the Glass House Mountains. A mountain he had climbed back in 1974, where he reflected on what life would deal him after returning with his mates from the Bells Beach surf contest.
LP and Ingrid finally arrived at Brisbane airport at two in the arvo, after travelling through painfully slow traffic.
They had travelled by cab with a driver who was a refugee from Afghanistan. The driver was trying to avoid the gridlock on the Gateway Arterial, and had taken them down a maze of rat runs. These were short cuts not even LP knew of, and he had thought he knew every back street.
LP wasn’t impressed when what would normally be a thirty-five dollar fare became fifty dollars, including a tip. “Buy a Navman and set it for Brisbane not Afghanistan and you’d get everyone to their destination quicker”, LP had said sarcastically.
“All boarding flight 537 for Christchurch, please proceed to gate 27. Thank you.” LP and Ingrid heard the announcement and joined the queue to start their brief seven day holiday travelling through the South Island of New Zealand.
Seated in the aisle seat G3, with Ingrid in the centre, LP looked across to a young lady with the window seat. With a big smile, she said “Hi I’m Gwen.”
They waited for takeoff. As their flight taxied down Brisbane’s airport runway, LP’s thoughts spiralled back to 1974, when he was on the same runway headed towards the same destination: Brisbane to Christchurch.
He didn’t want to repeat the hassles that had greeted him on arrival last time. With long brown shoulder length hair, back pack in one hand and struggling to carry his surf board in the other, customs officers had pulled him aside. It seemed that profiling had targeted him as a possible drug courier.
LP had been strip searched for drugs, and a knife was jabbed into a crack in his surf board and twisted to see if any white powder came out. Either cocaine or heroin, he wasn’t sure what they were expecting to find.
The border security officers had told him, “We don’t like your type here.” LP’s welcome to New Zealand had been similar to the westie’s encounter with authorities in Queensland in 1973. ‘Welcome to Queensland’ one minute, in the slammer the next.
LP and Ingrid sat chatting about their itinerary. They had calculated that they could travel by camper van around two thousand kilometres in seven days.
Ingrid had mapped out and marked each town with their estimated arrival times. The road trip would take them from Christchurch to Milford Sound and back, crossing through Haast Pass’s snow capped mountains. After walking and climbing Fox and Franz Josef glaciers, they would head back over the Alps through Arthur’s Pass.
LP looked around and saw that every seat on the plane was taken. The cabin crew were demonstrating safety instructions and so he prepared himself for takeoff.
Belt tightened.
Seat upright.
The engines roared as flight 537’s wheels bumped along the runway, lifting off and reaching 35,000 feet in no time.
As the seat belt light turned off, LP reached up to turn his reading light on. He loosened his seat belt and then pressed the left arm rest button. He reclined a little and settled in for the three hour flight.
Time passed as shades of orange reflected off the plane wing tip. Sunset drew a faint black line across a distant horizon, connecting the vastness of space with our blue planet. LP while glancing out from his aisle seat, asked Gwen, “Have you been to Christchurch before?”
“No” she answered, “I’m on my first visit, to go to a six day meeting.”
LP asked, “What type of meeting takes so long?”
“It’s not quite what you think” Gwen said, while rummaging through her handbag. She handed LP what looked like a large business card which read Avatar - The Compassion Project.
“Oh, you’ve got something to do with the movie?” He wondered, thinking she might have been one of the cast members.
“No, nothing to do with the film. We had copyright over the name Avatar well before anyone else wanted to use it.” Gwen said confidently. “Why don’t you call in and join me at the seminar while you’re in Christchurch? You’ll get a bit of an idea what we’re on about”.
“Thanks, we’ll see how we’re travelling, but we’re on a tight schedule. Anyway, what are you drinking?” LP asked, as he turned, looking up into the deep blue eyes of the flight attendant.
Gwen asked for water, and Ingrid requested bourbon and cola. LP asked for a coldie of VB.
Virgin’s smiling flight attendant handed their drinks across as LP asked “Which do you prefer, Australian or New Zealand dollars?”
“Doesn’t matter to me” she said.
LP did a quick calculation and handed her a New Zealand twenty dollar note. He had worked out it was like getting a twenty percent discount off the drinks, because of the favourable exchange rate of the Australian dollar. It was currently almost at parity with the US dollar.
A couple of VBs later, the three of them had their own private party going, talking and laughing about life in general. Like time travellers, their journey seemed to take next to no time.
Touching down, the engines roared in reverse. LP breathed deeply a couple of times as he looked out into the darkness.
They had arrived without any drama at 10:30pm New Zealand time. They said their goodbye’s to Gwen and decided that they would try to catch up before heading back to Queensland. Like many well meaning plans though, they never did manage to catch up.
Standing up, LP pulled down his and Ingrid’s carry-on bags. Waiting anxiously for people to start moving, LP couldn’t help the nightmare thought of being strip searched by customs again.
Waiting at the carousel to collect their baggage, Ingrid spotted two cases with red ribbons tied to their handles. LP pulled the bags off the conveyor belt and they headed over to the customs checkpoint. Security officers were everywhere. One officer stepped forward and indicated to LP to step aside.
“Oh, not again” LP thought. But the officer pointed to the exit and said, “You’re right to go.”
LP looked back and saw the queues of people lined up to have their luggage scanned. He turned to Ingrid and said “Profiling worked in our favour this time.”
Smiling, they walked out into a windy, clouded Christchurch night. Pulling their luggage behind them and struggling with their carry-on bags, they made it to a bus stop.
The bus driver looked like he might have been of Maori heritage and said helpfully, “Where are you going? I’m heading in to the city in five minutes.”
They climbed aboard his minibus while the driver placed their luggage in the rear trailer. As he pulled out from the curb side, three Asians ran in front of the vehicle, waving and yelling in a foreign language. You didn’t need to speak their language to understand what they wanted.
The driver braked suddenly and gave them a mouth full of expletives. Using his own brand of sign language, he pointed to the side door to enter. They were carrying only backpacks and so didn’t need to put any luggage in the trailer. Ten minutes later, the minibus pulled up outside Best Western on Riccarton Road.
LP stepped out first, helping Ingrid down the step. Walking over to collect their luggage from the driver, LP handed him three ten dollar New Zealand notes, and said thanks and goodbye.
The keys to the motel room were under a pot plant outside the sliding front doors, just as arranged. LP unlocked their room door and dropped down onto the double bed in exhaustion.
He looked up at Ingrid and said, “I’m stuffed, and my knee’s aching. Give me ten minutes, and I’ll help unpack.”
Ingrid wasn’t tired. Her watch was still on Queensland time, so it was only 8:30pm. She was keen to do some late night sightseeing in the city, and check out the duty free shops to buy gifts for their sons and daughters.
“OK, wake up, your ten minutes are up.” Ingrid soon said. He slowly opened his eyes saying, “I wasn’t asleep, just mediating and relaxing.”
The technique had been passed on to him in a secret ceremony at a Buddhist monastery in Vietman.That knowledge allowed him to transcend time, where past, present and future become one. It could be described as an out of body experience that takes you to a place that cannot be described in words. The meditation technique also gave him renewed energy.
“OK, I’ve got my second wind. Hand me two painkillers for my aching knee and we’ll get on our way. What do you want to see first?”
“Duty free shops” she replied.
“Fine, after that we’re goin’ to the Casino.” LP stood up, stretched, then walked to the door ready to go.
LP figured all they had to do was start walking, hail a cab, and they’d be shopping in twenty minutes. There didn’t seem to be any cabs about though, and in the distance they saw a fish and chip shop with a public telephone outside.
“I’m phoning for a taxi if we haven’t caught one by the time we reach that takeaway place.” Ingrid said. LP agreed, as his knee was seizing up again.
While LP made the phone call, Ingrid made conservation with a gentleman carrying a wrapped up burger and chips.
He introduced himself, “I’m Graham. What’s your name?”
“Ingrid” she responded, “and that’s my other half trying to book a cab ride in to Christchurch’s Cathedral Square.”
“I’ll take you. Climb in.” said Graham, as he opened his front passenger door.
LP heard the conversation as he waited on the phone and said, “Look, you don’t have to do this, we’ll wait for a cab.”
Graham insisted. He could have been an axe murderer, thought LP, but his experience of New Zealand folk from his previous visit was they were very friendly and helpful folk.
LP took up Graham’s offer, and opened the rear passenger door for Ingrid to hop in, He sat in the front next to Graham for a guided tour and commentary of the city Graham loved. Even though he was from Invercargill, he was used to the drive as his job was to transport race horses from the North to the South Islands. His love for Christchurch was biased though, as it was the capital for horse racing.
Graham put his takeaway on the dashboard as he did a u-turn and headed towards Cathedral Square. Driving along a straight, four lane main road they passed many houses and shops destroyed by an earthquake only eight weeks earlier.
The destruction had happened on his birthday, the 4th of September 2010. He pointed out vacant lots that were once homes and were now completely destroyed. The debris had been removed by the council and now dark holes were left around the city. Daylight would reveal the true extent of damage to Cantabrian’s lives.
Tears welled up in Graham’s eyes as he described what he went through the morning of the quake. His first warning came out of the still of night. The horses were neighing and kicking up a ruckus in his stables. Before he could even get out of bed, the house he rented had started to shake, tossing him to the floor face down. After picking himself up, he ran outside to settle the horses in his charge. He said it was the scariest moment he had ever experienced.
Graham continued talking about what he loved most - his horses. This week was a big one for him, being Cup Week. He had just transported two race favourites; Monkey King and Smoken Up.
Now smiling, he said “I’ll give you a tip. Put some money on the Monkey, it’s a sure bet.”
With that advice coming from a bloke with good connections in the horse racing industry, the words struck a chord with LP as a SHAW BET.
When those words came to mind, LP’s gambling instincts kicked in. Shaw was a surname of a family of gamblers. They successfully bet against the odds by growing sweet potatoes and making a profit where others would fail.
Graham pulled up outside the brightly lit Christchurch Casino. He said, “Have a good holiday. You’ll love travelling through the centre of Kiaoroa.”
LP thanked him for his generosity and went to hand Graham a twenty dollar note. Graham refused the offer, but as he drove away, LP crunched up the note and dropped it through the passenger window, saying, “Thanks Graham. Hope you back a winner on Tuesday.”
Walking towards the large staircase in the foyer of the casino, LP and Ingrid caught the lift to the poker machines. Hundreds of machines lined the walls corralling gambling tables crowded with gamblers. Ingrid and LP decided to play the pokies first, and try their luck on roulette later. Every machine they touched paid out either mini jackpots or gave them free spins. Luck was on their side tonight!
After pocketing several hundred dollars in winnings, LP said, “I’m going over to play my favourite table.” Ingrid responded, “I need a drink first. I’ll see you over there in a minute.”
LP was standing next to other punters all looking for a win on roulette. He muscled his way in, pushing three fifty dollar notes across a green felt table, changing them for five dollar chips. The spinner was of Asian origin, very pretty, but with a serious look that glared out across her table.
LP was ready to beat the odds with his winning strategy. He was a counter, a numbers man. Looking at the computerised record of past numbers recorded, he started calculating the probability of his favourite numbers coming up. Now, he was ready to play. He pushed a five dollar chip onto number twenty-three and then split five dollars over zero and double zero.
With the red ball rolling and the wheel spinning in the opposite direction, LP watched as the ball bounced past his numbers.
“Thirty-five winner,” said the spinner, while raking the losing bets towards her. LP placed ten dollars on his same lucky numbers, this time doubling his wager, but without a win again.
He wasn’t perturbed though, as he continued to increase his bet to Fifteen dollars each, split over zeros and twenty-three. After two more spins there were no five dollar chips left in front of him.
Twenty-five dollars split over zero and double zero and Twenty-five dollars on twenty-three. LP had crunched the numbers and the probability dictated that this was the winning spin. To make sure luck was on his side, he whispered a chant, “Angel of light, protector, let me see zero.”
As he did this, he was stretching and arching backwards and forwards with his arms pointing to the wheel. To the security cameras, it would look like he was just having a stretch. He held his breath as the ball stopped on twenty-three.
“Winner,” called the spinner, pushing a mountain of chips over number twenty-three. LP thought to himself, “Bloody angels weren’t listening.”
Pushing twenty chips as a split bet over zero and double zero again, LP waited for the wheel to spin. He repeated what looked like stretching exercises.
“Double zero,” she called. All eyes turned to LP as he dragged in one thousand seven hundred dollars.
LP now pushed across his chips to be changed into higher denominations. Collecting his winnings in one hand, he waved to Ingrid to meet him at the cashier’s counter. She spotted LP pushing a wad of notes into his wallet and asked, “How much did you win?”
“Two thousand six hundred! Let’s get out of here quick. Security may have profiled me as a counter acting suspiciously.”
As they made their way to the lifts, LP spotted two security guards heading their way. As the lift doors opened, they scampered in and watched the doors shut out their pursuers. At the ground floor level, they hurried towards the exit to the taxi rank. Ingrid climbed in the back seat, and LP sat next to the driver.
“Where to mate?” the driver asked, “Best Western on Riccarton, please, and make it quick!”
“What’s the hurry?” asked the Maori cabbie.
“I don’t think this Casino likes people like me,” replied LP.
“What do you mean mate?” the driver asked.
“Casinos throw counters out.” LP replied. “Surveillance cameras must have picked up on how I was playing the roulette table, and security followed us. I have a winning system that works most of the time.”
The cabbie responded, “Most guys who come out of the casino at this time of night are flat broke, drunk or both. They barely remember where they live or what their name is. You did well.”
“Yeah, we’re from Queensland; maybe good luck followed us.”
“Look out the window, what do you see?” the driver asked.
“Wind, rain and darkness.” LP replied.
“Darkness, you’re right. What you can’t see is what shook this city, and left behind painful memories and rubble to clean up.”
Their cab driver slowed as grating wheels scraped against the curb side. “That’ll be twenty-two dollars fifty, thanks mate.” LP pulled out a handful of notes, giving them to his new friend.
“This is more than a tip. I can’t take all this” said the cab driver.
LP said, “Give this to your family and friends who have suffered from the disaster.”
As Ingrid and LP entered the motel entrance, Ingrid asked, “How much did you give that guy?”
“You can count what’s left when we get back to our room,” replied LP. He handed his wallet across as he fell backwards into bed. “Wake me for an early start in the morning. I’m stuffed” he said as he crashed into bed.
Ingrid slowly counted what was left in LP’s wallet. One thousand nine hundred and eighty-five dollars.
Ingrid was first up at 7am. She made a cup of coffee, showered, dressed and after putting on her make-up was ready to see Christchurch in daylight. Even though it was looking like an overcast, windy day outside, she was still keen to get going.
“Wake up lazy bones, I’m ready to go. We’ll be late for picking up our camper.”
LP sprang out of bed, did his morning constitutional, shaved, showered and brushed his teeth using whitening toothpaste, and was ready in under seven minutes. With their hand luggage packed and suitcases in tow, they paid for the room and left.
They stood out in the motel’s driveway waiting for the cab that had been booked at reception. Ten minutes passed and when their cabbie arrived, it was none other than their large Maori driver who dropped them off at the motel only hours before.
“Hey bro, where do you want to go? I’ll take you all around my city, no charge today.”
“Thanks mate, but we’ve got to head back to the airport.”
“Leaving so soon? You just arrived. Is security still after you? Do you want your money back?”
“No, that’s all fine” said LP. “At 9:00am we pick up our camper from a place opposite the airport and head south.”
“I know the place. It’s called Backpacker.” said the cabbie.
Their new friend dropped them off outside a large glass plated entrance. They went inside and approached one of several kiosks, handing their internet booking form to a young woman standing behind her desk.
After filling out all the details, they watched a safety video on how to drive a 6.6 metre campervan, then Ingrid and LP were ready to hit the trail.
When they walked out, to LP’s surprise, there was a VW symbol on the campervan. He couldn’t believe it! He was about to drive an oversized Kombi packed with all the extras for camping. What a bonus! It was just like the old days but this time with luxury - he was stoked!
He thought it might take a while to get used to driving a vehicle like this, but to his surprise, his old Kombi driving skills had not deserted him. The campervan was now a dream machine taking him back in time. Ingrid reached down and picked up LP’s wallet, saying, “Stop in at that Pack’n’Save supermarket. We’ll pick up some food and drink supplies. You’re cashed up, so you’re paying.”
As she opened up his wallet to reveal a stack of $50 notes, she looked across at him and said “How much cash did we have when we walked into that gambling den?”,
“About one hundred and fifty dollars” said LP.
“So you’re well up, even after giving that cabbie a pretty good tip. What do ya’ want to spend it on?” asked Ingrid.
LP replied with confidence, “I’m gunna’ reinvest on a Shaw bet; Monkey King.”
“You’re not going to put all that money on a horse are you?”
“Maybe half” LP replied. His idea was to keep some cash for an emergency, or even a treat to surprise Ingrid.
Her final words on the matter were, “I don’t like what you’re thinking, but your winning hands back at the casino worked magic.”
LP did as he was told and pulled in to the Pack’n’Save car park. He drove around the packed car park, waiting for someone to leave, until Ingrid pointed to a car backing out.
“Over there” she shouted.
It wasn’t as easy as all that though. 6.6m of van wouldn’t fit into a regular sized car space. Luck was still on LP’s side. The spot he was about to drive into was next to a KFC drive-through, with a concrete dividing barrier the length of their van. He was able to park perfectly without blocking the traffic.
As they ran through the rain to the Pack’n’Save entrance, LP started limping. His knee was giving him trouble again.
Once inside the Pack’n’Save, LP grabbed a trolley to use as a crutch. Moving down the first aisle, Ingrid commented on how the prices were pretty similar to back home.
LP put it down to independent food outlets in New Zealand having a greater share of the grocery industry, unlike Australia where Woolworths and Coles controlled eighty percent of the market. He figured the competition must be good for locals and visitors alike.
Another plus was that you could purchase grog while grocery shopping, all under the one roof. Pushing their trolley through the checkout, and paying and packing their own groceries, they headed back to a drenched road and van. LP unlocked the sliding door and put the groceries away, putting a couple of beers in the fridge to chill down as they drove. They were now ready for their adventure.
With the Navman connected, they directed themselves out of Christchurch’s city traffic. Their first destination was the Mt Hutt ski area, where LP wanted to have another photo taken after thirty-six years.
Ninety-one clicks later, LP turned off the main road, following a sign pointing to Mt Hutt. Rain drizzled down as the wipers clicked back and forth, making visibility dangerous as he drove up the winding gravel road. Climbing higher into low cloud, watching the rain water running off cliff faces, he decided to turn back. His luck had run out.
“We’ll try to climb that mountain on the way back if the weather is better” he said to Ingrid, as they drove back onto the main road.
They slowed down on the outskirts of the next township. Geraldine was the birthplace of Phar Lap, the most famous racing horse in Australian history.
LP pulled into the first gas station they came to. They could see mechanics working under the bonnets of cars in the rear of the building.
After filling up, LP parked at the back of the servo and walked through the light rain, which was making mud stick like glue to his runners. He asked a mechanic if he could have a look at a problem with the van.
The Kiwi asked, “What sort of trouble needs fixing?” LP said, “Don’t laugh, but it’s the cigarette lighter. If I don’t get it fixed, my wife’s going to kill me.”
“Heavy smoker, huh?” the mechanic laughed in disbelief.
“No, we’re running the Navman and a thing called Cruse, which gives a running commentary via satellite. It all runs off the cigarette lighter” LP replied.
Because the van was insured for breakdowns, the bill for the repair was charged to Backpackers in Christchurch.
Half an hour had passed by the time the repair had been completed. LP was feeling tired and his knee was playing up. He took off his boots and scraped the chunks of mud off them, then swapped into his old Ugg boots as they headed the campervan out of town.
By 4:30pm they had travelled less than two hundred kilometres. At that pace, they wouldn’t make it back to Christchurch for their return flight to Brisbane in six days. Both Ingrid and LP were feeling tired. It was possibly jet lag, but maybe closer to the truth was that they had only had four hours sleep in the last thirty-six hours. Stopping at a park with a statue of Phar Lap, they climbed into the rear bunks for a bit of shut eye.
An hour and a half passed before they stirred again. There was still daylight and LP figured they could continue on to the next town and stay there overnight. LP said, “You drive. I’m going to take a painkiller for my knee. It’s only forty six clicks to the van park at Fairlie.”
Before climbing in to the passenger seat, he went to the bar fridge and grabbed a coldie. As he put his seat belt on, he said, “Let’s get going before it gets dark.”
It was nearly 7:00pm and rain was still falling. The dull remains of daylight gave an eerie creepy feeling. Goosebumps quivered down their bodies, but they weren’t caused by the cold. It was something else.
Driving past the van park where they were going to stay, Ingrid continued to an intersection and turned left, parking on an angle outside some shops.
It was time to do some sightseeing in the main street of Fairlie. There was about as much excitement in town as you would find at a nursing home as residents waited for their Friday night menu special of Tripe with White Sauce.
They soon headed back to the van park, but Ingrid felt apprehensive. Her earlier feelings still unsettled her. Reluctantly, she drove into the van park, with the dimming twilight giving the place a spooky feeling.
By 8:30pm they had booked in and Ingrid backed the campervan up to a small stream flowing through the park.
Their new home was not yet crowded with other travellers, although other families arrived through the night. Fishing rods were laid against trees, indicating they planned to be up at first light, fishing.
The facilities were second to none, with spotless amenities for showering, another for preparing food and a TV room with a fireplace. They took advantage of the warmth of the fire, watching an hour long special of Faulty Towers with John Cleese, just as politically incorrect these days and just as funny as when they had first seen it many years before.
As they watched TV, a loud explosion startled them. The first thought that came to mind was about their earlier hesitation in staying at this particular camping ground. LP jumped up and ran over to the door, looking outside.
It sounded like a gas explosion in the communal kitchen. Another loud bang soon followed, and he was becoming concerned, until it finally clicked.
This was Cup Week and the townsfolk were watching fireworks at their local park. Wind and rain hadn’t dampened their enthusiasm as the temperature dropped to near zero.
LP said to Ingrid, “Come on let’s get some shut eye, and we’ll be on our way by early morning.” Ingrid poured herself a bourbon and cola nightcap. LP grabbed himself a cold beer from the fridge and sat in the passenger seat to listen the weather forecast on the van’s radio.
The 10:30pm news bulletin reported more rain to come, along with gale force winds.
Their trip was off to a slow start. They were already behind schedule and now the weather was worsening. Unless the weather Gods smiled on them, they would find it difficult to complete their journey in time.
Mt Hutt was looking like being off the radar. They needed to travel more kilometres each day, otherwise LP would miss out on climbing the mountain, and they would even risk missing their flight home.
LP’s knee was still giving him trouble.