Sharing the road downunder
New Zealand’s extra
short passing lanes, usually just one kilometre long, are death traps.
Drivers get plenty of
warning that passing lanes are coming up with advance signs at two kilometres,
one kilometre, 400 metres and finally a sign to keep left unless passing. But
at the death-end of the passing lane there is just one small sign showing the
lanes merging in 200 metres, and that sign could easily be obscured from
overtaking traffic by the traffic keeping left. (Readers from most countries
should note that in New Zealand we drive on the left and have the steering
wheel on the right, and there is no plan to come into line with the rest of the
world)
Dangerous features of
the passing lanes include the fact that the lanes merge after exactly one
kilometre regardless of visibility. It could be on a crest of a hill or on a blind
curve and it matters not to the road
engineers or the source of the funds. The money runs out after one kilometre,
live or die.
For many drivers one
kilometre is long enough to start a race, but not long enough to finish the
race. The death-end works like a concertina where the music comes from
screeching rubber, crushing metal and mortal screams. But in spite of close
shaves by the minute, ignorance continues to dictate that speed should have
right of way over caution and overtaking is more important than merging.
In her article Sharing the Road, Trena Marshall has
touched on two topics that are dear to my heart; road safety and motor
caravans.
I fully endorse her
comments about freedom campers who don’t play the game with toilet habits. It
may be time to outlaw rental motor-homes that are not fully self-contained, or
alternately require the renting companies to prominently display the rules and
the consequences inside their vehicles.
But, having said that,
perhaps it is time also for central and/or local government to start providing
more public facilities along tourist routes. Other developed countries don’t
have the problems that we do because they appreciate the benefits that tourism
spending has on the economy and employment, and cater accordingly for their
visitors.
Here is Trena Marshall’s article:
Freedom camping has
endured some blight but it comprises two distinct groups.
There are those who
hire a van set up as a camper. It will have a bed and cooking facilities but no
toilet – and some tourists, considering it is all-natural anyway, head for the
bushes.
Then there are those
who use public toilets, or drive or tow self-contained vehicles with cassette
toilets on board and willingly use dump stations.
The excellent,
professional New Zealand Motor Caravan Association (NZMCA) – membership now
nearly 54,000 individuals – publishes a monthly magazine as well as a biennial
Travel Directory bible which sets out information and GPS co-ordinates about
where dump stations are situated, as well as giving detailed maps and listings
of camping grounds, private park-over properties, free parking, Department of
Conservation camps, the facilities provided at each, and much more.
It has also been going
into bat to educate councils as they contemplate overly restrictive freedom
camping bylaws, brought about because of those irresponsible enough not to use
toilet facilities – and because the Government’s Freedom Camping Act 2011 did
not distinguish between certified self-contained vehicles and
non-self-contained.
Some towns are happy
to take on the label motor home friendly – a wise move.
The NZMCA rallies can
generate a great deal of money to local economies. The 2013 NZMCA National
Easter Rally was held at New Plymouth.
The event poured $1.6
million into the region. Latest figures on the Easter rally held in Mosgiel
have yet to come in.
Skilled association
members can issue self-containment certificates after a thorough check and
other bonuses are discounts, for instance on the Bluebridge ferry crossing. I
arranged my insurance, signed up to the association, and set out.
I thought towing a
caravan would be like towing the trailer – I am an expert at that after growing
up in a farmyard. Abe – my caravan – would follow like the waking wisps of a
dream. Lord knows, he was snuggled up close enough behind the car.
Except that it wasn’t
easy. For some reason, we struggled up the hills. When I came across another
vintage caravan parked in a rest area, of course I pulled in for a chat.
We left together but
their little car and quaint Lilliput caravan were soon miles ahead, going at a
jaunty pace up the hills while I seemed to get slower and slower.
It wasn’t until I
reached Kaikoura, alerted by squealing brakes, that I found the handbrake on
the caravan needed adjusting – it was half on.
If driving an
automatic, as I was, make sure it’s awash with fresh fluid: oil and
transmission. Changing the latter every 40,000km would be advisable the Honda
dealership told me.
Back on the road, I
tried to be a courteous driver. So intensely did I concentrate on the rear
vision mirror as well as the road up front that I nearly came back with one eye
higher than the other. As soon as I saw traffic behind, I searched for a place
to pull over to the left a bit and let it pass.
The trouble is, the
courtesy wasn’t a two-way street, and my pulling over to the left where a wider
stretch of tarmac allowed became a repeated exercise in fright as my bay ran
out and the cars behind poured on the power, arrows determined to make it
through – and too bad about the car and caravan with nowhere to go any more.
Running out of road
has a way of wearing on the nerves so after a few hundred kilometres of this I
changed from pulling left as soon as possible the second I reached a passing
lane.
Then I would let out a
breath, slow down, and let them go.
Only passing lanes
also run out. That last little bit of gap became the hell-bent goal for yet one
more car, and my hair would start to frizz again.
Some encouragement
came during a phone call from Paul Cooper, in Pukekohe, who did the restoration
work on Abe. He wondered how I was faring on my first long-range trip:
“Remember you have as much right to be on the road as anyone else,” he said.
It wasn’t all hard
work. At times, I forgot Abe was there. Backing was no problem whatsoever. I
could turn that caravan in a tiny space if I had to. The three-point turn
stretched a bit but I could do it.
Abe is now resting up
in my neighbour’s paddock. I am going to get back into the saddle again soon
for a weekend trip.
That beautiful caravan deserves to be under
cover though so if any Waikato farmer out there has an empty bay in a barn,
please phone (07) 825 8191.
Drive safely, or stay home with a good book
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