Driving to Moon, and the Secret Companion

My eyelids were like blocks of lead, and the moan from me belly was incessant.

“Food. We need a food stop,” I groaned. “Yeah we’ll stop in the next town,” Tommy said blunty, his voice hoarse like sandpaper. I glanced over at him. He looked stiff as a board behind the driving wheel. Oh man, he really is sick. “You sure you’re all good to drive? You went so hard last night.” His eyes were placed firmly on the road, and didn’t flinch once as he responded. “Yeah I’ll be sweet. I just want to get to Wellington as quickly as we can.” 

I turned my gaze back out the window. Spacious fields of dull-green rolled out into the distance like great big carpets, lined with fences and packed with cattle. The sun was apparently defiant that day, refusing to crawl out of the clouds within which it was hiding. At least it was up; at least it was day-time. “Hey, we can see things today,” I said, turning back to the others. “Way better than driving in the night. I still can’t believe you guys were seriously considering driving last night. It’s ages to Wellington!” Toby and Ethan murmured agreements in the back. We were all as exhausted as each other. Fish and Mouse were perky though.

We made a gas and pie stop in the next town. Bloody gas, I cursed whilst screwing the fuel cap back onto the Emerald Wagons flank. While I was still in Queenstown five weeks prior, I had saved a whole mound of coins from busking: about $500, specifically for the SHEEP tour. And it was all gone, not even halfway down the country - spent entirely on gas. “You guzzle a lot of gas don’t you!” I exclaimed to the Wagon, giving it a light thump with my fist. An elderly lady at the other gas nozzle gave me a disturbed look, and hurried into the station. I’m not crazy! Just cranky…

I slumped over myself in the front seat the minute we were back on the road, eyelids drooping lower and lower. The beast on my neck - redder than it had ever been - had calmed down from its tantrum the night before. The pain came in waves, and thankfully, it was in a trough. For now.. I thought grimly. The rattles of Fish and Mouse in their cage were surprisingly soothing as I slipped into a much needed sleep.

The gig at Arcade in Tauranga was, in my opinion, the best show we had ever played. It was SHEEP at our ultimate - we reached our limit and surged far beyond it, with energy we didn’t even have. It was almost as if the music we played was manifest as an entity unto itself; brought to life by our own hands and our own fingers, sonically animated through the wizardry of amplifiers, characterised by the Tauranga crowd and their antics. This rampaging punk-enigma took hold, assumed kinghood, and even we became his puppets… We were forced ruthlessly to surrender, so we did. 

And we suffered for it. 

So, the drive to Wellington was a blur. The excitement and the fantasy of driving down the country in this ‘epic pilgrimage’ had quickly worn off. What I had envisioned as a fun summer adventure with friends was in reality a haze of cramped legs, grumpiness, grogginess, a ruthlessly painful boil, hopeless attempts at sleeping in the car, stiff bones, lame views, average weather, and the inescapable stench of cow dung regularly wafting into the Wagon. I was sleeping when we drove past Lake Taupo, and also when we drove past Mount Ruapehu. The best scenery of the whole drive, and I missed it. “Dammit,” I complained when I woke the third or forth time, rubbing my eyes, “we may as well have made the drive last night!” The comment was met with silence. I really need to catch up with my companion soon… 

With still a fair distance to travel, Tommy was done. He was almost at the end of his seemingly bottomless tank of energy, and so I took the wheel of my own car for the first time on the whole journey. “Uhhhh, I feel so discombobulated,” he said in his robot voice, before curling up in the front seat and falling asleep.

Driving made me feel much better. I was no longer mulling in my own exhaustion and dwelling on my frustrations - I had to focus on the road, and make sure my friends and I made it safely to Wellington. Tommy and Toby were both snoozing, but Ethan was awake. “Ethan, what’s the go with the show tonight?” I asked, glancing at him through the rear-view mirror. He leaned forward from the middle seat. “Ah. Yeah. So, the venue is called Moon, and it’s in Newtown. I think quite a few people will come, but there are two other cool gigs on tonight as well, both in the city. I’m just hoping we pull a decent crowd.” He sounded uncertain, and he was the one that lived in Wellington. I focused keener on the road. “I reckon tonight will be be pretty average if you ask me. Just what I feel, especially after last night.” We continued in silence. 

Toby took the wheel for the last leg. For the first time that day, we were all awake - it must have been well into the afternoon. In an attempt to trigger the energy and pull the vibe, Tommy put on Blondie and turned it to its loudest. The Emerald Wagon had some good assets; but the speakers topped them all. “Bro!” Tommy yelled over the music. He was sounding a lot more cheerful after a sleep. “I swear there is a Taniwha under Wellington aye.” Ethan chuckled. “A Taniwha! What! Why?” Tommy turned to us in the back with that goofy grin. Good to see he’s better. “There’s just always drama, every time I’ve been. Just wait. Something will probably go wrong with the gig tonight.” I laughed to myself, wondering if he was being serious. 

After skirting alongside the boundless ocean for a time, we veered inland upon the main road which quickly became a motorway, carrying us up and over the suburbs that were spread through the valleys. I was starting to feel the thrill of adventure return - that feeling of not knowing what was around the corner.

Wellington, the big tall Wellington, swallowed the Emerald Wagon whole. We tumbled out only when we reached Newtown; when we reached Moon. 

THE FOURTH SHOW: MOON, NEWTOWN, WELLINGTON

Moon was big - at least five times the size of Arcade. It was almost like two retro rooms joined at the hip, one of which had a big stage at the front, overlooking a crowd of tables and chairs. “Yeah I’m not feeling this one either aye,” Toby said as we entered and walked, rather slowly, around the venue, checking it out. The first thing I noticed were the stools huddled beneath the tables. “Damn, these stools are too low.” Ethan took a seat on one of them. “I just gotta message the other bands real quick,” I heard him say as I searched the bar. There was nothing in there that would do for a good keyboard stand. Damn, what to put my synth on tonight? 

“Aww no,” Ethan said, both hands holding his phone and fingers frantically texting. “These guys said they can’t play tonight. They said that their singer has a sore tooth.” He frowned down at his phone. Toby and I both looked at Tommy. Tommy, who had literally vomited the night before after playing, and was legitimately sick. Tommy, who had wanted to drive that same night. Tommy, who predicted there would be some drama in Wellington. He shook with laughter. “A sore tooth? He has a sore tooth?” His voice still croaked, even in mirth. “I told you guys there would be some kind of drama.” I felt my boil, warm and plump. “Man, if I can play with this beast on my neck, surely he can play with a sore tooth.” 

So one band pulled out. And the other band was late. Our predictions proved entirely correct. Very few people came through the door and paid the $10 fare for the gig. Most people didn’t even know there was a gig on at all. “Oh, we’re just coming to drink some beers. We’ll just sit outside; we don’t have to pay, right?” One lady said as she and two of her friends just waltzed passed us into Moon. We couldn’t even object. Tommy opened the safe - we had earned 20 dollars so far. “Man, it’s a poor business being in a band,” Tommy said. “Ah, the money is nothing anyway,” I said, trying to be positive. “This is still an epic journey bro!"

When we took to the stage, we found that it was indeed way too big. The drum kit was way behind us, right at the back, and Tommy and I had so much distance between us you could herd an entire flock of sheep through there without even disrupting the performance. Toby said that his drum stool was wobbly and extremely uncomfortable. The stand I had found for my synth - a small square table - was much too tall for my liking, and it made me feel awkward. To make matters worse, our audience of about 10 people were all seated. 

Tommy had not a care in the world. Strained voice and all, he played the joker for this show. He started off with a huge, cheesy grin on his face, strumming guitar and nodding his head left and right, singing as if to a meadow of flowers. Then, he started head banging as if it were the last thing he would ever do. Mid-song, he lunged to the mic. “THE NEW SENSATION. BEEF BURGER. MAYO. LETTUCE. MAYO. PICKLES!” Holding the baseline steady, I glanced over. Man, he really doesn’t give a shit tonight! I missed a note. Oh shit. I missed another. Ah whatever. Suddenly, the bass cut off. The tape had shifted; power chord come loose. Only half caring, I dealt to it as Tommy and Toby continued the song, bass-less, and not even bothered. 

“Well that was fun!” Tommy said as we were packing down our instruments. I wasn’t sure if he was sarcastic or not. “Who sits down at a fucking rock concert, man?” 

— — — 

(Photos of Wellington Explorations of the following few days) 

— — — 

It was right in the heart of Wellington, the flat. An acquaintance of Toby said that we could stay there while she was away. It felt like a blessing, or some kind of reward for making it half-way on the tour. It was a cozy city cubbyhole, a place where we could relax and recover before carrying on to the South Island, and where Fish and Mouse could run wild.

“You coming?” Toby yelled up from the bottom of the steps. I was still on the top step outside the flat, gazing up at the sky-scrapers. Hmmm, what to do. I looked down; only Toby remained. The others were already halfway down the street. “You go!” I yelled back. “Don’t wait for me. I’ll catch up with you guys later on!” He nodded before running off. I turned back to the tall city, my headphones already tangling with my fingers. It was a nest, one which I eventually unfurled and strung through my shirt, thread from my phone to my ears. Ah, yes. Jeremy Soule. Music filled my ears; reached my spirit. Alright, it’s about time I caught up with my companion! I glided down the steps and into the busy city, alone. 

I needed to contemplate things. It seemed that, in the mayhem that was the past few days - playing the two gigs in Auckland, driving to Tauranga to unleash the punk-enigma, driving to Moon, and mooching about Wellington - I had lost touch with my side of the story. I had been completely swallowed by the craziness of the tour, and I needed to reground myself. We’ve already played 4 shows and travelled half-way down the country. Things are moving so quickly! Where did it all go?

I needed to find a place to catch up with my companion. Dodging pedestrians, I walked briskly down the narrow city streets. It was a flurry of beeping noises and buildings and people and bikes and cars and .. me. I stopped abruptly and glanced upward, feeling like an ant underneath the foot of a giant. I need to get above the city. I kicked into stride again, searching the streets. After a few more twists and turns, I found it. Ah! That’s what I’ve been looking for! The Funicular. In the matter of a few minutes, I was being carried above the city on the diagonal hill-bus. The view over the city widened.

It was as if rising above the city helped me rise above the clamour and chaos that was the tour, as I was starting to see the tour from the higher perspective that I originally had. It was a unique journey across New Zealand, this tour - one which I had personally dubbed a ‘pilgrimage’ across New Zealand, to Dunedin. It was so easy to get lost in the sway of things, and forget about the journey. 

When I stepped off the cable car, I found myself at the top of the Botanical Gardens. Aha! Perfect place to catch up with my companion! I ventured into the bush - the air was cooler where the sun couldn’t shine through the thick wall of trees. Thinking about the journey here was exciting. So much had happened in just 4 days: The Auckland contemplations, discovering Taoism, playing these crazy punk shows in Auckland, Tauranga and Wellingon, traversing the North Island with my good mates, 2 rats, and a raging beast of a boil growing out of my neck. I wanted to let it all out!

I slowed my pace as the bush thickened. It smelt mossy and rich, and I could hear a faint sound of trickling water nearby. I really need to tell this story. My companion is gonna like this one! So much to catch up on. I followed the forest path to its end. There, on the small patch of grass encircled by trees, and with no sign of any city nearby, was the perfect bench to catch up with my companion. 

I sat, took a deep breath, reached into my leather satchel, and pulled out my journal. Time for some writing! Where do I even begin… I touched pen to paper, and got lost recounting the events of the past few days to my secret companion - documenting the tour; raising it from a journey into a story, never to be forgotten.

— — — 

Before the crack of dawn the following morning, and after demolishing a bowl of nachos between us, we were driving the Emerald Wagon into the belly of the Interislander. 

The time had come to make the crossing to the South Island, and continue our journey.