It was cold and wet at 07:00hrs in Oamaru. The send-off committee consisted of Agent of Death and Morty. Agent of Death was so unimpressed by the cold and wet he didn’t venture further than the yard.
I have to say, the send-off committee is definitely better when Andrew is (about to be not) present. There was a distinct lack of streamers, bunting and muted weeping. Well, Her Goatiness was at a goat conference, so I wasn’t expecting much in the way of muted weeping. The nearest approximation was when Agent of Death stepped on Morty’s tail, but that was more a strident yowl.
I was glad it was raining on Sunday, as oppozed (what, opposed isn’t spelled with a ‘z’? Oh come on: it TOTALLY should be!) to freezing. If I don’t post this pic now, it’ll wallow on my hard disk forever never seeing the light of LCD; so here’s what Saturday’s crack of dawn looked like:-
Yep, it really was that cold.
It rained pretty much all the way to Christchurch. I was picking up a bread machine in Riccarton at 11:30 and found the street despite my scribbled directions to myself (I can no longer read my own handwriting). I located Number 4 Flat 3, and hammered on the door for a while. It was opened by a student who had evidently just tumbled out of bed. He featured a spectacular quiff and was wearing a scarf and not an awful lot of much else. I had previously thought Kiwi blokes’ aversion to clothes was limited to summer. Not any more.
“Dude, I hope to god you’re not Shamsen from Trademe,” I said, backing up sharply.
“Grand, sorry to disturb you.”
After some frantic texting, Shamsen from Trademe located me and handed over the bread machine.
When the weather picked up a bit, I stopped to give Jed a run. Since the boot was full of Husband’s crap treasured belongings, Jed was creased into the passenger compartment. The novelty of sitting on the seat headbutting the gearstick soon wore off as he struggled to get comfortable in the footwell.
The rest of the drive was moody, the mountains drifting in and out of mist and veils of rain. I stopped for a couple of photos, although it’s always tricky taking pics along the SH1 which don’t lo0k like a close up of a fence, or a study of a lorry’s radiator grille. I’m not a big fan of landscape photography generally – mainly because the digital representation never looks anything as good as the real thing. These images convey only a fraction of the atmospheric broodiness – (I’m thinking around 2/31. Too generous? 3/92 then):-
The trailer posed few problems. I guess the main key is avoiding awkward situations where e.g. the car is hanging over a cliff with the trailer at a right-angle behind. But that only happened once.
On another occasion, I misjudged how trailer-friendly a garage was from the other side of the road in pouring rain. I basically cut off all access to the rear yard while I filled up, then had to park nose-kerb to pay. However, at the peak of the park I twiddled the steering wheel so the trailer was pointed in the right direction for reversing, and whatever I subsequently backed over was small, so it was all good.
(All things considered, I would call that garage trailer-antagonistic.)
After negotiating the entrance to our drive in a frankly brilliant five-point turn, I was probably over-confident in deciding to back the trailer into the garage. I approached the manoeuvre with a soupcon too much flair, and fetched up in a tree.
The tree/car was on a fairly aggressive slope. It took twenty minutes and the delicate aroma of stewed clutch before I finally positioned the trailer.