Ngauranga Gorge, an Epiphany

 Ngauranga Gorge (Blackmail Press 10) 

A little introduction, a must, you see, 

 to get the feel of my trip of glee.

 Herman Thwubblethwaite, raconteur. 

The sorriest thing you have met, for sure. 

 Resident poet of Titahi Bay, 

decided on a trip one fine Wellington Day, 

fired up the ‘64 black and gold Mini. 

Yes, I fit in; I’m a poet, and skinny. 

101 Off I went, gear stick in action, 

four bald tires and not much traction, 

past that megalith down by the sea, 

Te Papa, that venerated place for history. 

Then past the ferry berths, none in dock, 

the Mini hit the motorway and suffered a shock. 

has not been past fifty K in two years or more, 

so when she hit 80, it was with a roar. 

Then I saw it, the left turn quite clear, 

the part of the journey that filled me with fear. 

But onwards and upwards a path I did forge, 

and into the belly that is Ngauranga Gorge. 

Watching the needle as the climb took effect, 

I suddenly realised I had time to reflect. 

As the needle dived back to a sedate 40 K, 

I knew this would be the saddest part of my day. 

Then it began, that which I feared, 

I had to shift down, to a dodgy second gear. 

The shaking and rattling were worse than I wished, 

an FJ Holden flew by, both occupants pissed. 

Then the wind blew hard and swiped me aside 

as an eighteen-wheeler doing 90 flashed by. 

I gripped the wheel hard, held on for dear life, 

took a quick peek to the left, Thank God! No wife! 

The revs slowly abated, changed up into first, 

if I slowed any more, don’t know what would be worse. 

So, I checked my feet and running shoes there were, 

imagine the sight; Mini being pushed by a scruffy cur. 

But the trucks were a boon, and created a drag,

and I whistled in relief as I saw the car sales flag. 

I knew the worst part was about to end, 

and there it was, the crest ‘round the bend. 

I sailed into second, then third, then forth, 

and patted the old Mini for everything she was worth, 

and I ventured on down that golden stretch of road, 

was suddenly hit with a sense of forebode. 

Why had I come all this way? I did think. 

Was it because I was going shopping for a sink? 

Or could it have been a trip to Wainuiomata? 

Hell, the wrong way. God, I wish I were smarter.

I raged into despair again, cried for a while, 

and the Mini cruised on and ate up the miles, 

until it came to me; of course, that was it. 

I was off to see Mum in Otaki, bloody twit!