It’s summer holidays – a time for road trips and light reading.

What was your worst ever road trip?

Mine was way back when I was a 20-year-old student at Otago University in Dunedin…

I want to go home for Christmas in Hawkes Bay, so I answer an ad to share costs in a car bound for Napier.  Sorted!

We arrive at the appointed meeting place.  There are five of us.  With the university year over, we have brought most of our worldly possessions.  The car is a small, elderly Toyota Corolla.  With difficulty we cram ourselves and our stuff into the car, luggage on our laps, luggage under our feet, knees near our ears.

But this is not the worst thing.

The Corolla has a manual transmission.  The car’s proud owner only has one arm.  And no, he doesn’t want to share driving, he will drive the whole way.

He is an impressive driver.  Put the car in first gear, let go of the steering wheel, reach his one arm across his body to the gear stick, change into second, quickly grab the steering wheel again, pull the car straight from whichever direction it has veered, and repeat for each change up until top gear.  Then down again, and up again at every bend and hill. Skilful driving it is.  A smooth ride?  Not so much.

But this is not the worst thing.

It is a long way from Dunedin to Napier – nine hours to Picton, then four hours across Cook Strait on the ferry, then another four-hour drive from Wellington to Napier.  Crammed and cramped into the little car, the trip seems endless.  Are we there yet?  No.  We stop for meat pies and milkshakes in Christchurch.  Twelve more hours to go.

But this is not the worst thing.

Just north of Kaikoura we realise we are running late for the ferry.  So our driver goes into rally mode, screeching round the hair-pin bends, wrenching the car in and out of gear, swinging us back on course.  Fear of missing the ferry mingles with fear for our lives.

But this is not the worst thing.

“I feel sick – can we stop?” says Joanna, sitting in the middle beside me in the back seat.

“Can’t stop,” says our driver.

A short silence.  Then,

“We have to stop – I am going to throw up.”

“Can’t stop, we’ll miss the ferry,” he replies.

Joanna throws up.  A  forceful, fountaining, meat-pie-and-milkshake chunder that rains down on all five of us.  Then a second spurt, smaller but still fulsome, puke deflecting off the front seats, liberally splattering us back-seat passengers, and pooling in poor Joanna’s lap.

But even this is not the worst thing.

“Can’t stop,” says our driver to the howls of horror.

Windows down, in grim silence, and covered in reeking vomit, we lurch and swerve the last 50 kilometres to Picton, making the ferry with only minutes to spare.  This is the worst thing.

This, and the disgusted reactions of our fellow ferry passengers, as we try to get clean in the bathrooms on board.

True story, and definitely my worst road trip.  But eventually I get home safe and sound to Hawkes Bay to spend Christmas and New Year with my family.  Worth it in the end.

Wishing everyone safe and joyful holidays.

And feel free to share your road trip stories in the comments below.