SCENE:
Fresh faced traveler enters small, lakeside town offlicense
Handsome traveler: Good Morrow Shopkeep, one is stocking up on energy drinks for a fantastical voyage, have thee any Relentless™ or Mother™?
Shopkeep: Sorry bro’, We have VK in the small cans only bro’ is that Mother™ stuff any good bro’?
Handsome Traveler: Verily; one finds it more effective if imbibed before the comely mistress fatigue comes cradling at thy brow. Consumption is futile upon acceptance of her warm bosom.
Shopkeep: Sweet as, choice, bro’. Where you headed today bro’?
Handsome Traveler: A winding jaunt ’tis true. We aim to reach the port of Milton, most 100 kilometres yonder. We seek more agreeable conditions.
Shopkeep: Awesome, I think they just reopened the road from Alex (Alexandra) to Roxy (Roxburgh); you got ‘chains?
Handsome Traveler: Egad!!
END SCENE
Snow chains?!
Yikes, only 5 days into our campervan adventure and I’m going to need freaking chains on the freaking van, I’m freaking out.
I calmly inform Delyth of the good news only, the road is open. She can tell by my quivering voice, lip, hands and resolve that there’s something else. I come clean and we set off.
The signs start to pass:
ICE/GRIT
BEWARE ICY ROADS
ROAD CLOSED TO HEAVY VEHICLES
Whilst the signs were becoming increasingly stern, not a single one had the decency to tell us the truth or try and dissuade us from pressing on. After all, the road *was* still open. About 15kms outside Wanaka we passed another sign:
CERTAIN DEATH LIES THIS WAY
“Should’ve got more VK”. I tossed the first of many empty cans over my shoulder into the sink in the back.
I’d like to say the alpine views, snow-covered fields and mountains were stunning; the geologically unique passes beautiful; the hairpins grippingly splendiferous; but to tell you truth I didn’t see any of them.
My only recollection is eight knuckles gleaming white beneath my windscreen-flattened nose and my now-bloodshot eyes frantically scanning the next 18 inches of road for some grip.
Frightening is not the word.
Imagine driving on a wet skid pan. Now imagine that skid pan has frozen over. Picture that skidpan on a 1:3 slope; on a ravine; with no barriers and your car appears to have lubricated dinner plates for wheels.
Now you can imagine the ‘Alex to Roxy’ road in winter. We inched, ooed and ahhhed our way through almost 30kms of alpine deathscape before reaching Miller’s Flat, a section of road we’d dreamed of; hoping beyond hope that it’s name was as descriptive as it seemed. I swear at one point we were going so slowly that the odometer went backwards and the second hand on Delyth’s watch stopped. Ironic that surrounded by so much ice, our pace was best described as glacial.
Fortunately, Miller’s Flat was just that; flat, beautifully flat, level and more importantly completely devoid of ice. After pulling in to lever Delyth’s grip from the armrest we set about reeling in the next 70kms with relative ease. Although I’m pretty sure a WRC stage would’ve passed as ‘relative ease’ compared with the previous 30kms. Check out this terrain map of the route:
As SH8 came to an end we skipped Milton and headed into Balclutha as it was more inline with our ultimate destination, the Catlins. A section of the South coast served by the ‘Scenic’ and therefore ruthlessly fuel-inefficient Southern Scenic Highway.