Skip to main content

17 September - The Van

So it's been brought to my attention that maybe "Dan" and his use of the word 'lede' wasn't as incorrect as this blogger would lead you all to believe. Well, I'd apologize if I thought I had anything to apologize for. Who the hell uses the word "lede" when "lead" is so much more well known? It's like saying "masticate" when you mean "chew." The only difference is that masticate sounds like a very funny word for playing with yourself, while "lede" only serves to sound pretentious and confuse well-read CMC literature majors.

Allright. Back to the trip.

New Zealand is one of those backwards, Metric system countries that drives on the left. I really have no idea what the benefit is to this. The majority of people in the world are right handed, so it would only make sense that the gear shift would be on the driver's right. But New Zealand doesn't want to make life easy so we drive on the left hand side of the road. I bet "Dan" from cafeabroad.com would love it if everyone in the world had to drive on the left. Dear god do I hate that guy. He's the Hugh Jackman to my Dr. Cox. There are so many things that I hate about what "Dan" chooses to be...

Allright. Back to the trip.

I didn't drive that much on the South Island (since technically it would be illegal), but when I did (when has that ever stopped me before?) I had to keep telling myself "LEFT. STAY ON THE LEFT. TED KENNEDY LEFT." And all the while I'm doing my best impression of Alvy Singer trying to navigate his way through L.A. traffic (Five Schrute Bucks if anyone other than my parents gets that one).

So for those of you worried about my driving abilities, take solace in the fact that I was in no way responsible for what happened on our way to Milford Sound. Read on...



So this was our beautiful camper van. We nicknamed her CVI (and due to our penchant for roman numerals, 106). I was pulling for christening the vans "Snowman" and "The Bandit," but apparently no one else in my group was familiar with classic pieces of Americana or CB Lingo.
I spent 16 days driving around in this bad boy. The four of us got to know each other very well after two and a half weeks. Got accustomed to other people's eating habits, snoring habits, sleep walking, sleep talking (that one's me, as anyone who's shared a room with me will know), political views, passive aggressivity, taste in iPod playlists, etc. And I also got addicted to Nutella, but that's a long story for another blog entry.

106 had treated us well for the first 9 days, and then the unthinkable happened.
We got stuck in a tunnel.



You see, as we were entering the tunnel, another camper van (probably a drunk driver) was driving right down the center of the road.
(Note: I have found that there are very few drunk NZ drivers. Why is this the case? It's because drink doesn't effect hobbits at all. The only substance that they can become dependent upon is heroin).
So our van swerved to the left and that was followed by the unmistakable sound of plastic on concrete.

The damage wasn't so bad and we were able to reshape the car to the point where no one could tell the difference.
And then the birds attacked:


Yes, a rabid swarm of Kea (a highly unusual species of parrot found in the alpine regions of the South Island of New Zealand. Source: wikipedia.) descended upon our camper in a Hitchcockian fury and started going to town on our roof like Star Jones at IHOP.



And thanks to those photos, we were able to prove to the insurance company that we were not liable for the damage. And that's why you always keep a camera in your glove compartment. True story.









But thanks to duct tape and a couple of animal sacrifices, we found safe passage. We even traveled up the world's steepest street in Dunedin.



Definitely going to miss my camper van days. After nomadically sleeping in my sleeping bag on a bench for 16 days, it was strange coming back to a twin sized bed.

So it goes...


-MGD

Vernon Davis Fun Fact of the Day:
Superman may be able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, but has he ever proved it at the Combine? Yet another reason why Vernon Davis would whoop the Last Son of Kypton's ass.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

It was labor day weekend, I was 17. I bought a coke and some gasoline.

It's currently day three of my blogging adventure, and David Delgado has still not accepted my challenge to get off of his lazy ass and start writing. This is why a hunger strike may be necessary. If Mr. Delgado does not cave in and post a new entry by the end of this week, then on November 14th, I, Max Davison, will officially pull a Ghandi and abstain from eating for as long as it takes. Homer Simpson also utilized this tactic when the Springfield Isotopes were planning on moving to Albuquerque. It worked then, and it will work now if necessary. Onto the blogging... I had a rather pleasant dinner at the Ath tonight. It was a class dinner for Prof. Busch's GOVT20 class. The highlights included conversations about the Ivory Coast, strange roommates, and (most importantly) they had some great cheesecake. So great, in fact, that we raided the empty tables to ensure ourselves some extra slices. Cheesecake. I love it. Occasionally, I'm not sure if I want cake or a dairy

25 October 2007 - I'm not sure what his appeal is, but he deserves better

Superman has kryptonite. Mike Tyson has Buster Douglas. Vince Young has grammar. We all have our weaknesses. But mine is a little bit more embarassing than any of the aforementioned (apart from VY's hatred of the present tense): dumb romantic comedies. Yes, it's not something that I like to admit and it's a vice probably better suited for the Probie or Sean Garrity , but I just like to sit down for an hour and a half, turn my brain off and watch two people fall in love. And apart from the Hanks/Ryan classics (which were ruined for me after Meg ditched Dennis Quaid for Cinderella Man ), there is one thread that links all of my favorites: Hugh Grant. I mean, just look at the guy. When he's not getting arrested for picking up hookers on Sunset (here's a better shot of the man), he's the epitome of the 90 minute romance. He's got "endearingly befuddled" down to an art form, he's also got perfect comedic timing and if you've ever seen hi

24 September 2007 - The One Where Max Curses the Ayatollah

I've been reading up on the Middle east recently. It all started when I watched "Syriana" and was thoroughly confused. Although, watching George Clooney get tortured gave me the same sort of orgasmic bliss that I get from watching Kirk Gibson hobble around second base. Before I started studying, Ayatollah Khomeini was just that guy on the t-shirt that Homer refused to sell at his yard sale. So I have resolved to take as many Gov't classes when I get back to CMC. I'm prepared to ditch my ignorance about that giant bed of sand that happens to be floating on a sea of oil. But in my honest opinion, the greatest victim in the ongoing war between Islam and freedom has to be Yusef Islam, the artist formerly known to the world as Cat Stevens. In 1978, Cat Stevens converted to Islam and left the pop scene to focus on education and philthropy. In 1989, he called for Salman Rushdie's head on a platter, insisting He must be killed. The Koran makes it clear - if som