Wheelin' in the years in style

COLIN MOORE is transported back to his youth when he test-drives the Mazda MX-5.

Perhaps I shouldn't admit to this, but it has been raining for some hours before I reach the Waioeka Gorge on the road from Opotiki to Gisborne.

It's not as adventurous as the old, unsealed road through Motu to Matawai, but the highway follows the twists and turns of the Waioeka River almost all the way to Matawai.

As well, this is unstable land and rain soon brings down rocks from the cuttings.

I'm fortunate enough to be driving a car with six gears, rear-wheel drive, all- independent suspension, disc brakes on each wheel, low-profile tyres and the handling ability of a speeding limpet. James Bond never had it so good.

I suppose I should be looking at the spectacular bush and river views that this highway traverses for about 50km. But I'm having too much fun driving my nifty sports car around these bends and dodging rocks lying on the road. Arms and legs straight, hands on the wheel at 10 am and 2 pm.

There's nothing like a sports car to bring the child out of the man, or woman for that matter. I started grinning as soon as I set eyes on the new red Mazda MX-5 that was to take me down the Pacific Coast Highway to Opotiki and on to Motu.

It's a lifelong regret that before setting out on the Big OE, I had to sell my bug-eyed Austin Healey Sprite. It, too, zipped around corners like a limpet, and if ever I win Lotto I am going to track it down.

The Sprite is now a classic and the MX-5 is fast approaching that status. Since its introduction in 1989 more of them have been sold than any other lightweight sports car in history.

It has a classic layout with north-south engine and rear-wheel drive. It is also simple, free of the needless bells and whistles found on many modern cars. And it's a looker.

The sun is shining on my return from Motu and the hood is down. Shearing is in full swing and I stop to watch with awe as eight blades deal with the flock tirelessly and at incredible speed. The shearers keep it up for nine hours at a stretch.

Outside, the gang's cook and his pre-schooler son are eyeing my car with some awe, so I give the young fella a ride down the road and he opens the last gate for me.

At tiny Motu school the principal, Paul Cornwall, manages to stuff his long legs under the wheel while a clutch of pupils stand around with mouths open.

In Opotiki I give my mother a ride around the block. She has a weep, remembering rides in the Sprite.

Then it is home on the Pacific Coast Highway. One of my favourite stretches of highway is along the coast between Whakatane and Te Puke and it has never felt more pleasant than tootling along with the wind in my hair. This is a wonderful country, why would you travel anywhere else?

I've got the car for the weekend so the next day, with the hood down and Bob Marley "jamming" on the CD, my teenage daughter and I head north on the Twin Coast Discovery Highway.

Before we leave she learns the downside of a small sports car; there's not a lot of room for luggage.

It's a holiday weekend and the traffic is heavy, but it is hard to get road rage with the sun on your head and six gears to play with. When we come to a passing lane and I use the gears, I look across and see my daughter grinning. The Old Man still knows how to drive. The kilometres tick by effortlessly.

We used to stop at Kamo for petrol, but now that there's a bypass through the town I wonder how the petrol stations are faring.

At my Taupo Bay bach a neighbour yells out "yuppie."

Long before there were neighbours at this beach I drove here in the Sprite with Mum to check out the place. I bulldozed much of the then unsealed road with the engine sump and camped under the pohutukawa tree that our bach stands beside.

Stick an old man behind a sports car wheel and the clock soon ticks back. Open road, open car. All I need is a spare $45,000.