On the road: Ash hills, aimless hoons

By TONY WALL

The hills south of Blenheim look as though they have been napalmed.

Grass fires that burned out of control last month in the Wither Hills have left hectare upon hectare of black paddocks. It feels like Death Valley.

The acrid smell of the scorched earth wafts through the open car window on a stinking hot day as we drive towards Blenheim on our epic road trip.

Flames licked at State Highway 1 in places.

Passing from Kaikoura district into Marlborough is like entering another country. Gone are the green and blues of the Kaikoura coast: enter vast tracts of brown and black.

We pass a golf course that has dust-bowl fairways and watered greens that are obviously struggling to stay that colour.

Despite the drought, which some farmers say is the worst they can remember, people have kept their sense of humour.

"Bugger" has been scrawled on a blackened hillside. Another etching pays tribute to the volunteers and firefighters who battled the huge blazes.

Oh, what the people here wouldn't do for the rain that Auckland and Northland have had.

We pass through wine country and into Blenheim, a pleasant town situated at the junction of the Pawa, Omaka and Taylor Rivers.

The town has a mellow feel to it, with several good cafes, restaurants and bars.

It also has an interesting hoon culture. Even the lead vehicle in the local taxi fleet is a souped-up Holden.

Sitting on the veranda of a cafe, we watch as dozens of hoon-mobiles packed with young people wearing their caps backwards drive up and down.

You can kind of understand this in Auckland, where there is a fair bit to see, but these kids have only a few blocks to circulate and the streets are virtually empty.

Why don't they stop and have a party? It would be more fun.

The next morning we leave for Picton to catch our ferry to Wellington.

Picton, gateway between the North and South Islands, is a pretty little town full of interesting people. The view out to Queen Charlotte Sound on a sunny day is not bad either.

After roughly 1000km in a car, we find the perfect way to relax is to take a ride on a horse and cart.

Diana Blackmore and her 5-year-old gelding, Little Red, take me on a walk-trot around town.

Ms Blackmore reckons this is the perfect way to relax for motorists who may be suffering the symptoms of road rage after long journeys.

She claims that in several summers of taking tourists for rides, she has torn off only one vehicle's wing mirror.

But not everyone likes the way she holds up traffic.

"We've had toilet rolls thrown at us, dogs run at us - someone fired a slug-pistol at us once," Ms Blackmore says.

Most people adore Little Red, however.

One lady gave him a kiss and left pink lipstick on the side of the superstud's nose.

From a 100-year-old form of transport, we move on to something more modern for the trip across Cook Strait.

The Lynx fast ferry may be an environmental disaster with its surfable wash, but it should at least get us across quickly.

No such luck. The boat is 45 minutes late leaving and takes an age to board and disembark, meaning an all-up travel time of more than three hours.

As we say goodbye to the Mainland, we reflect on a week of hectic travel that has taken us through four provinces, all with their own distinctive feel.

People, on the whole, have been pretty friendly, despite their distrust of Aucklanders.

It is quite sad for me because I will not see my southern cousins for some time - I am off overseas.

So until next time, see ya fellas.

Feature: On the road with Tony and Mark