WE knew it would be one of our longer stretches in the car (the drive time between the cities of Queenstown and Franz Joseph), but after all the action and adventure we’d been having, we were ready to settle into our seats, enjoy the scenery and spend some time in good ol’ R.T. (R.T. is the name we’ve given our mini-van on this trip.) Well, we didn’t really know just how long that “stretch” in the car would actually turn out to be…
Now, IF there WAS a sign warning drivers that there were no gas stations between Haast and Fox Glacier, well, we missed it. That ominous amber glow of a mini gas pump began to light up our dash directly in the middle of a beautiful no-were about an hour or so before our estimated time of arrival. Road and time kept passing and no gas stations, or civilization for that matter, were to be found. I’d look away from the fuel light for a little while and then look back really quickly; or sometimes, I’d just peek out of the corner of my eye in hopes of the dash indicator would tell a different story, but my optical game really helping anything and the questions in my head that I was trying so hard not to consider were stubbornly gaining volume. “Are we going to make it?” “Who’s going to do the walking?” “Will there be a shoulder we can pull onto?” Etc. etc.
Fumes, I tell you, fumes brought us into the town of Fox Glacier a little after 9:30pm and the very first thing we saw in the distance was a beautiful BP station right on the edge of town! Elation quickly turned to eye strain as we tried to determine if maybe just needed to change a few light bulbs or if they were, horror-of-horrors, actually closed. (You see we’ve realized - but haven’t yet adjusted to the fact - that the rest of the world doesn’t really maintain the 24/7 crazy pace that Americans strive to maintain.) So our “Beautiful BP” that was going to fill our tank and get us back on the road toward our soft bed awaiting us in the next town soon turned out to be a dark , closed, deserted BP. The station did have a little “After hours” pump that operated from special prepaid gas cards; so, our new mission became finding a local who was awake and willing to let us use their gas card for a few gallons of gas in exchange for cash. Again hopeful, we marched up and down the rainy street, in and out of every pub – I even took McKenna with me thinking, “Who could possibly say no to a soaking wet, stranded mother and little child?” …Well, I’ll tell you who can say no, the people of Fox Glacier who are still awake and out after 10:00pm, that’s who. (Apparently, this happens often enough that the locals have grown a little weary of tourist with sob stories.)
After ruling out the refueling possibilities, we decided, with apprehension, to see if R.T. had just enough gas left to get 20 minutes down the road to the Franz Joseph. It was dark, we were tired, everything in this town had closed, we had a paid room and a credit card operated gas pump waiting for us in the next town; it just seemed logical…scary, but logical. As we slowly pulled out of the BP lot, McKenna asked if I would pray. “Lord, please keep us safe and …” and then I stopped, because we stopped. Curt and I shot confused looks at each other; “Are we stuck on something?” he asked. Looking out the window, I could hardly believe the three large pieces of drift wood that were now lodged under our van – where did they come from??? I jumped out and was able to pull them from underneath without too much effort, but you would have thought that we had just had some major collision from the way the van responded after their removal. R.T. started jerking and lumbering and making such a terrible screeching noise with every inch forward that the owner of the house next to the BP station came out to let us know that we had disrupted her sleep. We apologized and explained that we weren’t trying to be disruptive. Turning the wheel, as best we could, we herky-jerky screeched our way back into the BP lot we had just tried to leave. About that time, I just started to smile, because I think God is pretty funny sometimes. I mean, talk about comedic timing - I didn’t even get past the word, “Safe,” when Divine Intervention and some driftwood finished my sentence and our silly notion of continuing to drive that night.
New plan: park at the “Beautiful BP,” sleep in the seats we had ridden in all day, wait for daylight…and the mechanic.
Morning finally came, and I think Curt and I both woke to thoughts of car repair costs and timing and how both might affect our plans for the final leg of our journey through NZ. A few minutes before 8:00am, a green-shirted BP attendant approached our van, seeming to already know our situation, and asked us to pull our car a few feet out of the way to wait for the mechanic. As Curt put the key in the ignition, we all breathed our own quick silent prayers and braced for the sound and motions that would follow. Ignition, gas…smooth motion! What, where was the herk? Where was the jerk? Where was the awful screeching noise that the four of us (and the neighbors) all heard the night before? Curt and I shot bewildered looks at each other this time. Could this really be??? We did a few doughnuts in the lot just to test things out, and, sure enough, our little van was driving perfectly normal again. We were all amazed and silenced by it all until we just busted out laughing - because that’s really all you can do when you receive such an extraordinary unexpected and unexplainable gift.
And that, is how it all happened – The Miracle At Fox Glacier.
Now, IF there WAS a sign warning drivers that there were no gas stations between Haast and Fox Glacier, well, we missed it. That ominous amber glow of a mini gas pump began to light up our dash directly in the middle of a beautiful no-were about an hour or so before our estimated time of arrival. Road and time kept passing and no gas stations, or civilization for that matter, were to be found. I’d look away from the fuel light for a little while and then look back really quickly; or sometimes, I’d just peek out of the corner of my eye in hopes of the dash indicator would tell a different story, but my optical game really helping anything and the questions in my head that I was trying so hard not to consider were stubbornly gaining volume. “Are we going to make it?” “Who’s going to do the walking?” “Will there be a shoulder we can pull onto?” Etc. etc.
Fumes, I tell you, fumes brought us into the town of Fox Glacier a little after 9:30pm and the very first thing we saw in the distance was a beautiful BP station right on the edge of town! Elation quickly turned to eye strain as we tried to determine if maybe just needed to change a few light bulbs or if they were, horror-of-horrors, actually closed. (You see we’ve realized - but haven’t yet adjusted to the fact - that the rest of the world doesn’t really maintain the 24/7 crazy pace that Americans strive to maintain.) So our “Beautiful BP” that was going to fill our tank and get us back on the road toward our soft bed awaiting us in the next town soon turned out to be a dark , closed, deserted BP. The station did have a little “After hours” pump that operated from special prepaid gas cards; so, our new mission became finding a local who was awake and willing to let us use their gas card for a few gallons of gas in exchange for cash. Again hopeful, we marched up and down the rainy street, in and out of every pub – I even took McKenna with me thinking, “Who could possibly say no to a soaking wet, stranded mother and little child?” …Well, I’ll tell you who can say no, the people of Fox Glacier who are still awake and out after 10:00pm, that’s who. (Apparently, this happens often enough that the locals have grown a little weary of tourist with sob stories.)
After ruling out the refueling possibilities, we decided, with apprehension, to see if R.T. had just enough gas left to get 20 minutes down the road to the Franz Joseph. It was dark, we were tired, everything in this town had closed, we had a paid room and a credit card operated gas pump waiting for us in the next town; it just seemed logical…scary, but logical. As we slowly pulled out of the BP lot, McKenna asked if I would pray. “Lord, please keep us safe and …” and then I stopped, because we stopped. Curt and I shot confused looks at each other; “Are we stuck on something?” he asked. Looking out the window, I could hardly believe the three large pieces of drift wood that were now lodged under our van – where did they come from??? I jumped out and was able to pull them from underneath without too much effort, but you would have thought that we had just had some major collision from the way the van responded after their removal. R.T. started jerking and lumbering and making such a terrible screeching noise with every inch forward that the owner of the house next to the BP station came out to let us know that we had disrupted her sleep. We apologized and explained that we weren’t trying to be disruptive. Turning the wheel, as best we could, we herky-jerky screeched our way back into the BP lot we had just tried to leave. About that time, I just started to smile, because I think God is pretty funny sometimes. I mean, talk about comedic timing - I didn’t even get past the word, “Safe,” when Divine Intervention and some driftwood finished my sentence and our silly notion of continuing to drive that night.
New plan: park at the “Beautiful BP,” sleep in the seats we had ridden in all day, wait for daylight…and the mechanic.
Morning finally came, and I think Curt and I both woke to thoughts of car repair costs and timing and how both might affect our plans for the final leg of our journey through NZ. A few minutes before 8:00am, a green-shirted BP attendant approached our van, seeming to already know our situation, and asked us to pull our car a few feet out of the way to wait for the mechanic. As Curt put the key in the ignition, we all breathed our own quick silent prayers and braced for the sound and motions that would follow. Ignition, gas…smooth motion! What, where was the herk? Where was the jerk? Where was the awful screeching noise that the four of us (and the neighbors) all heard the night before? Curt and I shot bewildered looks at each other this time. Could this really be??? We did a few doughnuts in the lot just to test things out, and, sure enough, our little van was driving perfectly normal again. We were all amazed and silenced by it all until we just busted out laughing - because that’s really all you can do when you receive such an extraordinary unexpected and unexplainable gift.
And that, is how it all happened – The Miracle At Fox Glacier.
Ok, imagine you are in Queenstown - The Adventure Capital of The World, and you are kinda scared of heights, but a little voice keeps telling you this is the "HOME OF BUNGY" and your one chance to bungy from the world wide birth place of bungy, the Kawarau Bridge (Curt). As Nike would say...JUST DO IT! Bungy pioneer, A.J. Hackett, put this place on the map by attaching glorified rubber bands to his ankles years ago and leaping to bungy fame. Of course, there is no better way to strengthen a marriage (aside from taking Bill and Leslie Bedell's "7 C's of Marriage" class) than by bungying with your mate! We checked to make sure all insurance policies were accounted for, that our Last Will & Testament was current, that our children knew how to work the continuous exposure feature on the camera, gave them both goodbye hugs and kisses, checked that harnesses and caribeners were in place, and took the plunge!!! Later, even the A.J. Hackett staff commented on our perfect form as we dove head first toward bungy euphoria. We are told that we have now become more than just your "Average Joe." Hmmm, do you think they're trying to sell more jumps? The fact that we didn't die, and comments about "perfect form," must have increased our marriage bond. Well... it probably didn't do a whole lot to really strengthen our bond, but what a great thrill to experience together! 
